JellyFaun

Chapter Three Starvation took Edmund and the dogs off that mountain. They avoided the thick hard trails that the monsters with glowing eyes ran on, and gave wide berth to the roaring lumber mill. So much noise must have been coming from a huge beast and the sound of the saws painted pictures of grinding teeth in their minds. A little wooden fort, what once might have been a camp of some type but now lay as desolate as their bellies, drew them. The dogs could smell man and Edmund knew to follow their snouts for tracking. There might be a man there now, and he might be alone, and then they would feed again! Broken glass, bullet shells and old clothes littered the ground and the vegetation grew thick in the corners, where creepers and moss had overtaken much of the wooden wall. It was just as wild as the forest, but the scent of man was driving the dogs insane. As they rounded a corner, the source of the stink was found. It was a person, bent over a plot of funny scented plants. They were digging with a little trowel and the plants stood in neat rows. Something shiny lay beside them. Overalls and a low brimmed hat of straw hid their hair. Even Edmund could smell the sweat off their back. One of the monsters that ran on the road slept quietly nearby, but the pack was too far gone to be subtle. They rushed the person in a body, barking and frothing at the lips. The being turned, grabbing the object off the ground in a split second, and the noise broke the world to pieces as the gun went off. One of the dogs flipped end over end and came to rest, dead, bleeding horribly. There was an audible "ch-chh" from the weapon as it was cocked again. Overtaken by surprise and fear, their hunger scared out of them, the pack fled in a mess. Every dog for himself! Another incredible boom and a cut-off yelp and another canid skidded to a final halt in the loose grass and gravel. Edmund, spattered in dog blood, ran as fast as he could. He looked all around for the pack, hoping they were following him, but saw he was alone. And worse, he was trapped. The fort wall was fifteen feet above him and he couldn't find the entrance. He scrabbled blindly on, searching for a place to hide, a place where the ringing in his ears would stop echoing. Sweat smeared into the mask of skin and fur and dripped into his eyes. He bolted for what he thought was a hole in his marred vision and doomed himself. It was a black blanket dropped low on an old clothesline that had half fallen under its own weight. Trying to pass through it, he entangled himself in it. Struggling, kicking and biting to get out, he wound the clothesline around himself. It caught his leg first, then crossed over to his arm and switched across his back. He jerked around viciously, trying to get away from this nightmare, and it cinched about his torso and finally around his throat, where it pulled viciously tight. The noise outside the blanket prison was dying off, though he couldn't hear it over his struggles. He snarled and fussed and rolled about like a hogtied fish. Where was the pack? Why weren't they helping him? Where was the human? Was it looking for him? He turned fast and poked his head through a gap in the net. A shadow of a person stood over him and brought him back to that night at his first home. But then the pack had been with him. He gasped for air. Why was it getting so hard to breathe? The world began to fog over. The person wasn't moving. They still held the stick that had made the world explode and were aiming it at him, but they were slowly lowering it. "Oh my god..." The voice was female and Edmund found the tiniest bit of solace in that. His mother had a voice like that and she sometimes talked to him when she fed him. He thought of her as the world began to turn white. The woman kneeled and put the stick on the ground. A hand reached for him and he took a snap at it, but was unable to put any bark into his bite. A flash of a knife and he knew he was doomed. He faded away...into darkness. The cord was cut from his throat and, after checking his pulse and breathing, the woman was assured he'd only been knocked out. She sighed, looking over his little body with the ribs almost poking through and the many scratches, bites and scars he had. He was filthy, more dirt than skin, and despite his actions and disposition, certainly human. "Well you've been through a lot, haven't you, kid?" She gave a nervous chuckle as she began to unwind the rest of the cord and blanket from him, looking around. The dogs had gone or lay dead nearby. The sun was setting and someone was certain to have heard the gun go off. She counted her weed plants and cursed. Not enough for what she wanted, but she'd overstayed her welcome. "Good luck, kid." Whatever he was going through was not her problem. She clambered into her car and started it, casting a look at the boy on the nearby grass, exhaling a sigh and glaring. She had an order to fill and was already losing the light. There was no time for a feral, dog-minded, vicious, blood thirsty boy who was dirty and starving and all alone in the big dark forest without a mother to cry on or a place to get warm... Another deep sigh, and she opened the car door, stomping out to him. Grasping him up under the neck and legs, she carried him to the back of her car, piling him into the seat and locking the door firmly. Perhaps it was a recent miscarriage that flared up some maternal instinct in her, perhaps it was curiosity in the boy's plight, or perhaps it was the shred of human decency that most criminals claim they no longer have. Whatever the reason, Margaret Gilthanus adopted the boy that night. Despite his many peculiarities and a chance of rabies, she couldn't just leave him there.

Life looks different at the wrong end of a pistol. Charlie had thought the day had been going so well, too! Two stores safely under their belt, a friendly chat with policemen non-the-wiser and the gang had even obtained some silencers! It had been a wonderful, productive afternoon with no arrests. And now, in a cloudy haze from her own hit of a bong, Charlie felt all that happiness of a job well done melt away. She stared at the gun, a little .50. Nothing to sneeze at but hardly as scary as the person holding it. Melody. Melody was a crackshot with any gun but at this close range, there'd be no chance of surviving. "Sorry to kill your good mood, Charlie. But I need some questions answered." She swallowed. "What are the rules of The Underground?" "To not point a gun at Charlie Bankshot?" she answered lamely. "Fair point. But what are the other rules?" "You're breaking rule one." "Answer the question, Charlie. Do we hold up or rob civilians?" "N-no." "Than why am I getting reports of you robbing the men in white and black checks?" Her mind raced. Had she done that and forgotten? Had she had another episode? Had she robbed someone at a lab? Recently? No, she had not been to labs in days. She knew these men were looking for her. Or were they? Broken telephone? Oh god she has a gun pointed at me and she's angry. Just breathe. Focus. "I have no earthly idea. I did not rob anyone!" "Charlie. I am getting dozens of text messages about it." "I didn't! Melody, I swear to you, I didn't do anything wrong. If-" A laugh. A laugh to break through the tension like a cellphone ringing broke through the darkest moment of her life. "I'm just fucking with you Charlie. I just wanted you to know that you've been promoted to Reaper." She could have punched her, but she just sighed as that happy wave returned to her. She slowly rose from the chair, and approached Melody with balled fists, to throw around her neck in a warm hug. She knew she'd fit in here.

Chapter 2 Three weeks had passed since that night. If anyone had come seeking Edmund, their efforts were fruitless. Feral dogs were not exactly uncommon in the area and nobody but one motorcycle ever even came close to his new den. At one point, a huge red beetle had flown overhead, making a dreadful hum. The pack ran for the new home and the cover of the nearby forest and remained low on their bellies until it passed. It circled around thrice that day, then never came back. It was soon forgotten. Set in a small cave in the rock face, he and the dogs had made themselves quite comfortable. There were bird carcasses and a few rotting rabbits littering the floor, but it was never enough food. Dog and boy were thinning out. One of their own had already succumbed to the throngs of wild living-a runt juvenile now lay in the longest grasses, flies buzzing around her still open eyes and the massive open cavity in her chest where the pack had feasted. But the meal, Edmund noticed, was missing something. And that made him irritable. There was no dignity or order in the pack, but there was respect. They killed their prey ruthlessly, bickered over the scraps without mercy. Edmund respected this and demanded respect from the pack in return. He made it abundantly clear that he was still alpha. If any snarled at him, he bit their necks. If any tried to steal his meat, he pinned them and choked them until they stopped fighting. None of them were exceptionally large dogs and he refused to relinquish his status. He washed himself in blood and his own urine to stink like an alpha and his mind, able to work out puzzles and problems, surpassed their tactics. He knew how to flush out birds and rabbits, how to grab rats and he could even climb trees to obtain bird eggs. But there were five of them plus him, and such small game was not enough to sate them when they were so used to fresh chicken and table scraps. Starvation was beginning to drive them all mad. They tried a deer one day. It was walking in the moonlight and its massive antlers caught the stars. A huge, healthy buck like that was almost suicide to attack, but hunger made them fools. They were tactless- loud baying hunting dogs with no master were like toddlers compared to wolves, and it simply trotted away at first. They pursued, Edmund at the head of them. Luck. Luck and a recent landslide alone stopped the buck. It had taken a trail it knew to be safe, a deer run in the shadow of the mountain with thicket on either side, but the rocks that fell earlier in the day now blocked it off. A dead end. The pack approached, jaws dripping, eyes showing white and not one hesitated. Legs flew, antlers caught snapping jaws. A well timed kick with both legs knocked Edmund into the thorns of the thicket. One dog's skull was crushed under razor sharp hooves. The stag stomped off the way it came without harassment or injury, save for a little cut on its neck. The very next day, a hiker chanced upon their home. He was outfitted in blue checkers and a tan vest, wore black pants and carried a big stick in his hand that he used to walk. He had black binoculars that he held to his eyes and often stared at the trees with them. The pack stared at him in turn, battered and bruised, salivating and knowing that they would not have a third chance to get a meal if this one got away. They stayed low, curving along beneath the cover of the bushes, silent as the grave. Edmund was at the head of the pack and lead the charge. The man, back to them, was against a cliff and watching an eagle as it passed overhead. He heard the snarl from Edmund just as the boy collided with his back. Teeth sinking into the neck, he clung on while the dogs grabbed the man's legs and pulled him down hard onto the packed soil of the mountain. Screams echoed off the peaks as they decimated Derek Parker, dying out and giving place to howls. They ate like kings that night and none had ever enjoyed a meal so much. All that remained by the end of the week was bare bones for the crows to fuss over. But it still wasn't enough. They would never have enough living like this and they could not rely on humanity to send one of their own for easy pickings. The first bite of autumn made the pack nervous as once again hunger began to claw at them. They needed to find easier prey and fast.

Chapter One The smell of warm meat and cocaine were among his first memories and now he dreamed of them every night. He no longer dreamed of dogs or Mummy G or of the dark room or of the policeman or the forest or of the hunt. He only dreamed of the scent now, and how warm and comfortable it made him feel. He often loathed waking from it, to face a reality that did not accept him. He had come to the world via caesarian, named after his father Edmund, and might have grown up as a fine boy had it not been for his namesake. A policeman by trade but only protecting the innocent when on the clock, his father had turned to drinking more than was good for him at home. The lived in a humble cottage in the backwoods, secluded and unbothered. He would take out the anger of killed comrades and escaped convicts on those who comforted him, using his hand or whatever else was close to it. His wife was the main target but his son was not free of scorn. The woman watched as her crying baby was allowed her breast but denied his crib, put down in the basement to live with the family hunting dogs for he made too much noise. The basement was dark but the dogs were sweet. The bitch, Carla, had recently whelped and her motherly instincts accepted the babe as one of her own. His mother, the only other human he saw, turned to cocaine to cope. She would have left but she had no job, no family, no friends and no-one to help. Cocaine helped. Cocaine made it bearable for herself and once in a while, she wondered if it would make it bearable for her son too. She would slip it into his food every day. Edmund Jr. grew in this way for ten years. He knew the day and night by a sole window that was too high up for him to see out of. He ate what the dogs ate- usually leftovers or a freshly killed chicken. He slept where they slept and played what they played. When they went hunting with his father, he was left alone in the dark room. He saw his mother when she was sober enough to remember he existed. Carla died. He used a sharp piece of broken glass to carve her face off, so he might finally look like his family. Her puppies grew old and died and their inbred puppies came to respect him as their alpha. They tussled often to make their muscles strong. And one night, they all escaped together. The sound of the cars on the gravel roused him from sleep and the cellar door to the outside was flung open. Bright lights shone in and flashing red and blue popped off his pupils. The dogs were up in a moment, snarling and raising their hackles. They were as unsocialized as he was, and a stranger was trying to breach the den. A man stood in their path, dressed in blue and holding a source of the light while behind him blooms of crimson and azure hid his features. "Good God-" was all the officer was able to say before the dogs and boy charged him. Edmund Jr. felt the grass beneath his feet for the first time. The lights, the noise of the dogs, the whiplash of a stale basement for cool, fresh air jolted and spurred him and he was half-inclined to run back for the safety of the den. But the pack was upon the officer now, biting and tearing at his flesh and their aggression won out. He joined them, pulling a chunk with his teeth. It was a nice meat, sweet and salty, and better than anything he had ever eaten. A boom from a gun sent the pack scattering as one of their own dropped dead. The red and blue men were the takers of peace and life. Edmund Jr. followed the pack as they bolted for the cover of the deep woods. Blood dripped off their maws and his own and adrenaline carried them far into the night, leaves slapping against them and branches cutting paws and hands to ribbons. Fear was soon drowned out by their panting and he found himself able to keep up with them. As the morning sun peeked over Mt. Chiliad, he flopped in the grass to rest with the pack, panting and curling in close to each other. He was tired, and decided that after a short nap, they would all go back to the den. The only trouble was...he no longer knew which way the den was. To be continued!

THREE MONTHS Charlie had cried that night on the pier, where the light of the Leviathan roller coaster flashed with a different colour for every thought she had running through her head. Gretchen had left with Charlie's grey jacket, a sign of her former status, over one arm and the family had gone with her. She had not been kicked out- she had been asked if she was happy. Her mood had been slipping, she had been floating for other groups and neglecting those who needed her. She felt as a stranger since their leader had passed in a storm of blood and bullets. The chapter for that life had closed because behind her forced smile and efforts, Charlie had not been happy. Melody to her then was a casual friend, an ex-member who had left because the vigilante life was not really cut out for her. She spoke to her sometimes. Three months. Three months she had been alone. She was not always by herself in the physical sense- she had a cooking partner, and her pier friends. She carried the odd chat with the old family and of course had her casual acquaintances that didn't shoot her at the drug labs. They may have left her be out of pity or because they knew she had nothing to steal. But despite these relations, she was without a family of the criminal sort. She admired them from afar the way one admires an erupting volcano or a purebred guard dog. The black suits, to suit smooth and mysterious personalities, beckoned to her with grand visions of a world where she was truly wanted, powerful and respected. Among them, one she admired, that she coveted. He, and her own promise to live by her mother's word to never back down, are what spurred her on. She would work hard, hard enough to make them see her. Time passed. She worked her fingers to the bone ripping out plants at labs. She arranged business deals through them. She laundered only through their hands. And, seasoned as a chef, she often took the helm of a large lab and produced enough truckloads of cocaine to satisfy all of Los Santos. She picked more weed, she cooked in the fancy lab, more weed, lab, wash rinse repeat. She wasn't happy...she was just drifting, drifting on a lonesome sea with a hope for a brighter future. Spurts of happiness came from time to time, grooming and stroking her desire to belong, to be wanted. She was once in a while remembered long enough to join them in holding down a lab, and sometimes they would call her to ask her to roll joints. Nothing more. And even though she was hopeful, she wasn't happy. Melody was with her friends, Rising Suns, and they had chatted in a friendly way more frequently than they ever had in the old family. An incident one day dealt a blow to her. Below standard. An ex-girlfriend, a woman she had tried so hard for, loved so much and given so much for, had said she was below standard as a lover, and that she had moved on to a proper lover. The woman's reason for this viperous attack? She was angry at her boss, and Charlie dared to be seen talking to him. Nothing more. She wasn't happy. Melody was able to calm her down and tell her good truths and wisdoms, how it was the ex's poor temper and cruelty at fault. That type of loneliness with an iron strike to the heart, weighs on a soul like Charlie's own, but she was determined...She just had to work harder. Then one day the call came. An old friend, one she had hand-picked for her previous family, appeared to her side soon after, overlooking the sunset on a sandy shore, both unaware that the last light of hope would be sucked out with the last light of day. They told her that they had left the old family, along with the ex-girlfriend, and the black suits had welcomed them as could-be members. A deep jealousy clouded her heart and mind, a soft rage that overtook everything else. She wasn't happy. After that night, she couldn't work as hard. She was unfocused, making easy error after easy error, filled with anxiety that those she was hoping to impress stood watching her fail over and over and over again. She had been in the back of a serious cop car about five times that week and the red and blue made her remember that night on the pier, looking at flashing lights through her tears. But she would not relent simply because three months of trying meant they might reach out any day and welcome her. Melody talked to her in that gentle motherly way that night, on top of the last letter of Vinewood sign, Charlie's special place. She spoke of how unfair it was, how the person joining probably just had better connections, promising her she would always have a home in the Underground if things didn't work out. But she knew how hard Charlie was working and supported whatever she decided. Later that week, Charlie was determined to impress. 500 weed plants. That would get her in for sure. That would forgive any shortcoming; It would rectify her stupidity and prove she was responsible. As she crept into Braddocks, a voice hissed at her to leave. Her old boss, the could-be member now confirmed to be a new recruit, and three of the men she wanted to impress. They told her to leave. They didn't say it was because they thought she was a liability, but she could sense it. Once more, tears in her eyes, she left. She drove straight to the top of a familiar hill, grabbed the rungs of the metal ladder, and clambered to the summit of the last letter in the Vinewood sign. She wasn't happy. Mind and body chilled by the wind and the rain that began to patter, she took off her shoes and curled her toes on the white ledge, looking down into the abyss below and wondering if she would feel any pain at all. Her text messages went ignored. She braced herself for the fall, and hoped she wouldn't regret it on the way down, when her phone rang. Melody. She picked it up and spoke softly for just a few moments. It was the pause she needed. That fraction of a second to pull her back from sorrow and make her realize what sort of error she was about to make. She called her therapist next. She wasn't happy...but she felt she knew what she had to do that might put an end to it. She texted the black suits and told them her story. Being left out for three months, being ignored, being forgotten, being told to leave and being below standard, while people were snapped up in less than a day and members in less than a week had pissed her right off, but she worded it sweetly so bridges would remain unburned. She threw her black wannabe suit into the closet with her other skeletons and hurried to the store, purchasing a pink sweater with donuts. Her hair? Pink. Her bike? Pink. Her mind? A whirl of emotions with pink fuzzy dice on the rearview mirror. She then texted Melody. "Do you... mind if I join you?" The answer was an instantaneous acceptance, a jolly and happy welcome and a radio frequency. That night, stores were robbed, banks were planned, police were run from and laughter and new tears, different tears, washed the sorrow of three months from her mind. And Charlie was happy.

maybe half of them or being able to pick and choose three a month? +1

i like it! i agree with the doctor, though, its crucial 911 and 6666 and other lines like that don't work. +1

i really really love 90% of what is being offered here. +1

I'm so impressed and proud of Damien! Great work! Also 16 new members! Holy fuzzy! You guys are gaining speed!

Sorry Twenty Five I am Charlie Bankshot, part of a part of a wonderful family that loves me. The world is painted black and white and we are the grey that cuts through both. The kind voices tell me I am wanted and needed and that my mistakes are not the end of me. I'm sorry it might not last. Twenty Four I wake up in the city. There are flippers glued to my feet. What the fuck happened? That birthday party was wild and I don't remember any of it. I have no phone, no car, no money, no shoes, no idea where I am and no friends to ask. I am scared. But there is a kind voice in the dark. I'm sorry I couldn't hold my drink. Twenty Three The sheep are annoying to me. My step-sister's annoying and my routine is boring. Fishing doesn't really cut it for me. Would it be too much to ask for a change of pace? I'm sorry I'm complaining. Twenty Two I like the sheep. They're so cute and my new step-sister is nice. I feel like she and Elizabeth would have gotten along really well. New dad is going to take me fishing this week. But this place doesn't feel like home yet. I'm sorry, it will take time. Twenty One Mom wants to get married to this Bankshot fellow. I think they're a perfect match, and it will be nice to not live in a car. I got fired for my attitude again but deep down I know its the smell. I'm sorry I can't keep a job. Twenty Mom met someone new at the hospital. He can't pick up the broken pieces but maybe he'll have a new puzzle for us instead. I'm so tired and if this guy works out, he can help pay for stuff. I'm sorry I can't keep us afloat. Nineteen The broken bones and bruises will heal. Mom is on life support. He's in prison but I want him dead. I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough. Eighteen Mom is screaming and my birthday cake has hit the wall. Dad has kicked the dog three times and I am on my tenth drink. I am happy I am old enough now. I'm sorry I did nothing. Seventeen I can't stop thinking about her. Mom blames me. Remus blames me. Dad might blame me if he was ever sober. I'm sorry I couldn't hit the brakes faster. Sixteen Mom bought me a car! It goes so fast! I can't wait to drive it. But I'm worried. The bills have been piling up recently and dad's been home a lot lately. I hope they were able to afford it... I'm sorry I didn't buy it myself. Fifteen I'm hot and sticky and Sean didn't want to stay the night. He's the only one who came to the party and nobody would find out. When we finished, he told me he had to go pick up his girlfriend. I'm sorry I didn't say no. Fourteen I got a puppy! He's so cute! Mom says he will help me when I'm scared or angry. The therapist says going for walks and playing with him will help with some of the pent up frustration. I'm sorry I wasn't able to control my temper. Thirteen School sucks. Sean graduated with me and followed me like a bad taste. My chest hurts where the ribs got broken. People have been bullying me a lot lately because of my name and then laugh when I fight back. I have to see a therapist at the school. They said I started it. I just hate being called Charlotte. No presents this year because dad didn't get that promotion, either. I'm sorry I called Sean an asshole. Twelve I'm so excited to go to my new school, but I'm a little scared that Elizabeth can't come with me. She gets picked on a lot by that Sean guy. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to protect her. Eleven My teachers called home today. Mom sounded angry at dad. I can hear them yelling and keep hearing the word report. Report card, maybe? I'm sorry I'm not smart enough to get all the questions right. Ten I wished to be a doctor one day. Dad told me my birthday wish was stupid. He was just teasing me. I told him he was stupid. I was just teasing him. My bum hurts where he spanked it. I should hide his special sodas to get back at him. I'm sorry I teased him. Nine I tracked a lot of mud into the house after a dirt war with Elizabeth today. Mom rolled her eyes and chuckled. Dad sent me to bed without supper. I'm sorry I got dirty. Eight I got to ride a pony today but I fell off. Dad laughed. Mom picked me up and dusted me off. Elizabeth hugged me all better. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough to stay in the saddle. Seven I gave mom and dad a picture. Mom put it on the fridge. Dad was too tired from working to look at it when he got home. I'm sorry I wasn't a good enough artist to make him feel better. Six I got into a fight with Sean at school today. He took my crayons. I'm sorry I wasn't able to stand up for myself. Five Mom got me a backpack for my birthday with a dragon on it. She says I get to start school in September. I asked if Elizabeth can come with me. Mom said she's not old enough yet. I tried to see if Elizabeth could go in my bag. I'm sorry I wasn't able to make her fit. Four Dad got me a cake with a princess on it. I cried. I hate princesses. I want to be a ninja when I grow up. I smashed the cake. I'm sorry I'm not a girly girl. Three I am Charlotte Aberdeen , part of a wonderful family that loves me. The world is painted black and white and we are the grey that cuts through both. The kind voices tell me I am wanted and needed and that my mistakes are not the end of me. I giggle. I'm sorry I can't understand how much money I cost. Two My mum and dad give me kisses. I'm sorry I'm not old enough to appreciate them. One Cake is yummy. I'm sorry I made a mess. Birth Dad wanted a boy. I'm sorry I was born a girl. (OOC This was HEAVILY inspired by the amazing poem "21" by Patrick Roche. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LnMhy8kDiQ PLEASE give it a listen.))

Just A Dream It had to have been the weirdest dream she'd ever had. It started with stereotypical profiling and ended in the back of a cop car. There had been gunshots over something at the construction site. As the way dreams go, she could not remember why...It was something about being followed and being profiled and having guns going off. But she had a knife and Messiah had a gun and the officer had nothing. His backup was ordered away and he was pushed into the trunk of his own cruiser. The trunk was a void, and the cop lay dying inside it. He yelled and screamed from the void and they drove the cruiser, light ablaze, back into the city to find him. It was like chasing a memory, or a ghost. They pulled up to Pillbox and the officer, a little obedient friend, climbed back into the void of the trunk. And there he remained, a prisoner of the trunk that ate souls. Driving around in their skull masks, several people shouted "What the fuck!?" as they were pulled over. A cruel trick, but one Charlie remembered laughing at. They took the cop car round to the farms, to go pick, because that was a funny idea. As the LSPD car trundled over the bridge, she was positive she saw people scatter from their places at the weed plants. And then another officer pulled up, curious about his friend. The gun turned on him and she held her knife to the man's throat. His belongings thrown, he was forced into the back of the car with the knife at his throat. Charlie liked how the colour rushed from his cheeks and felt she'd never had so much fun in the back of a cop car. Ten cars were on them now. They barreled down the highway, and she watched Messiah let go of the wheel, open the door, and bounce across the highway behind them. She could have run. She could have continued the chase. But her loyalty outweighed her adrenaline and she ran to his side with her hands up. As the ambulance wheeled up for her friend, the gods themselves appeared and slowly with a handwave, the dream slipped from her conscious. She woke up behind the wheel of a car about to be chopped in a dingy alley, blinking rapidly. She really needed to stop smoking so much.

Neutral They had pulled up six or seven deep, 6-7 had. Guns pointed at her friend and her own temple, Charlie couldn't help but feel it was a little pathetic, against two unarmed women. She stupidly stated this, and it seemed to fan the fires of their temper. She slid to her knees next to the pretty southern belle already in such a position, while taunts and jeers filled her ears from all sides. Pathetic. She felt pathetic and thought they were too. A hand gripped her short hair and yanked it back, a blade sharp and clean sawing through her tresses at the roots, leaving a shower of white to fall from her skull. That didn't seem necessary, but she had called them pathetic and she supposed that was what pathetic people did. She couldn't stop herself from telling them again how pathetic she thought they were. The first bullet in her leg made her yelp, and the exit wound began to stain her pants with red blotches. She steeled herself. She'd been through worse pain. She couldn't think of it right now but she was sure she'd been through worse. "Say one more word and I will put three bullets in your head." Came through her ears from far away as her senses swam. She took a breath and refocused. Deal with the pain later. The words they said were so disrespectful and she couldn't help herself. She opened her mouth again and again a bullet pegged her in the leg. This one did not come out the other side though. "You. Take this bike and get out. If you come back for Charlie, we'll kill you." She saw Mary protest. "Get out of here, Mary." "I will not-" "This is a direct order. Leave." Mary's back headlights turned into red smears as the people around her chortled. "There's a convoy heading to Braddock. Let's go check it out." The cars pulled away. The guns pulled away with them. She waited a long time, blood gushing off her leg, and put a hand to her now smooth head, looking at the shambles of her pride around her. She'd gotten Mary in danger. She'd come out looking humiliated. Her pants were tie-dye red. It was pathetic. Hobbling down the road, adrenaline still covering pain like a beany she forced onto her bald head, she felt her senses leaving her slowly. A passing carhad two people laughing at her and she stumbled. She put a cellphone to her ear. She had to tell someone. Jackie was the only person in her mind at that moment and thank god she had the number on speed dial as she'd never manage to punch the numbers with her shaking hands. She explained what happened as the world turned blurry. "Lab...fair play...Neutral. Don't let...Can you smile for me?" Her words were so far away. She was in the back of a car and there was blood everywhere. Where had that come from? Where was Mary? May had a gun to her head and it was all Charlie's fault. Where was Mary? Where did this blood come from? Why was there so much... Mary was beside her. She was hugging her. Something about a blown up motorcycle. 6-7 had hurt her. They did this to Mary's bike. Her bike. She'd bought the bike. She had to save Mary. Mary was here. When did Damien get here? Where was 6-7? Why was she on the highway? She had to get plants for Chase. Why was her head so cold? She had to...Hands pushed a gauze pad to the bullet that didn't leave her leg. Blackness swam. Mary faded out of view. She was in the back seat of the car again and they were pulling into Pillbox. They had to save Mary. How could she be neutral with people who had hurt Mary?

Chop Shop Promotion "We're going to hold down North. You guys can pick here and we'll be up there. You don't step on our toes, we don't step on yours." That had been the agreement. Charlie liked it when the gangs agreed on things. It made it much more peaceful. The ride to North was uneventful but the car was full. Too full! Some members were with other cars and bikes. As they cased North, they saw a peculiar site! Two cars and three men down in the valley under the train tracks. Dressed in bright red, Charlie only needed to guess that it was a thorn in the side known as The Folks. A girl drove up beside them on the tracks. A girl with a pretty motorcycle and face. "Those your boys?" "No. I don't know who they are." The conversation might have continued, when Ghost was seen on the back of a Royal's bike. Chase gave chase and the girl was forgotten. Then there was some worry of loyalty in the guise of a misunderstanding. Charlie did not doubt the accused but knew it looked bad. But it was resolved quickly. The car turned back to North, to see what was going on. The weed was all picked and the girl on the bike was dying. An ambulance with its lights flashing hovered nearby as an emergency worker was doing chest compressions. She had been fine not ten minutes before. Charlie guessed she'd driven the cliff into the lion's den and been blown away. But she hadn't seen her go. "She's with us now. We'll sort this out for her." Charlie thought it was pretty petty that a whole gang of thugs picked on one innocent girl like that. She didn't see the bike anywhere and visions of the girl trying to fight off a bunch of thugs swam in her mind, making her ill. The car drove after the ambulance with its full capacity, eagerly sputtering smoke as it lead a full charge in hopes of providing comfort and justice. The girl, however, was comatose as they arrived at the hospital. Charlie hoped she'd make it. But then a curious sight beheld her eyes. The members of the gang who had been picking at Braddack were waiting on the sidewalk, looking distant. They had no recollection of how they got there. That meant the gang who had attacked the girl might be out for more blood. The car floored it all the way to Braddack farm, calling in for backup as best it could. The green fields were a mess of abandoned cars, dead bodies and dropped plants. A pretty red car sat snugly in the barn, a bike huddled close by and at the gate was a blue-black smart car. Charlie picked up the radio from a woman in red and pressed it to her ear. She listened intently. "We'll come back in a few minutes and get them." She hurriedly told the others, and then began to pick her fill, all the while nervously watching the road. After all the weed was pulled up, it was time for the magic touch. Charlie had a way with lockpicks and had picked up three by chance not a few hours earlier. First came the little blue-black car. It opened in one try. The red car was next and it took two. The praise from her superiors made Charlie beam. An assembly of six cars filed out of the farm. They were going to meet someone named Drain at a place that scrapped cars. Charlie was almost sad that the one she drove, the sharp looking red and white car, was going there. It was a nice little ride even if it did fishtail a lot. But she'd rather have the money than a pack of angry gang members chasing her forever. They pulled into the creepy back alley and met with the man in a red mask. He seemed friendly, and not at all what she pictured when she heard about the Irish. As the car disassembled, Messiah and Gojira called to her. "Charlie. Unmask and stand right in front of me and Messiah." She undid the mask, worried that she was in trouble. What had she done wrong? She'd opened the locks in just a few tries, she'd picked the weed, she'd even arranged a meeting earlier in the night. But she felt this was a serious matter, as she'd never been called up like that before. "Look. Messiah and I had a talk the other day, alright? The only thing that kinda stopped us from keeping you officially with us was making sure you had enough time in the city. You've been with us basically the entire time you've been in the fucking city, which is crazy. You've never had any fucking chance to do anything legal. The only thing you've done is illegal shit. Everybody here can vouch for you. Everybody trusts you with their fucking life, including myself, including Messiah." She felt her heart flutter in her chest, cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. "Well, uh, Donut is our fucking mascot." She felt the rat wriggle in her pocket. "And uh...Messiah, if you want to do the honours..." Her eyes turned to the other man before her. "Alright. Well, hereby, no further ado, we would like to promote Donut to the role of saviour." Charlie's soul left her body. She stared, her eyes half lidding. "But you guys are a package deal. If we put Donut as saviour, I guess we gotta put you as a saviour as well." She laughed. "I whole heartedly accept. As does Donut." "You are hereby no longer an initiate. You are actually in Salvation. And you will be able to move up the ranks a lot faster than you fucking think. So congratulations. We're starting to push people that fucking deserve it. You're one of the most deserving members that I've seen." "Thank you all so much. I really look forward to it!" Charlie rasped, humbled and exhilarated and relieved to not be in trouble. "Hell yeah. Great work." The sound of applause from family and supporters drowned out the grinding as the cars fell to pieces.

Fallen Leaves. The smell of the pot growing in unkempt little rows tickled at Charlie's nostrils as she plucked another leaf. It was one of her favourite passtimes, for certain. But tonight was special. Tonight her family was with her! Often she left the city, taking her trusty knife and bike, to go to farms she could not remember the names of. She called them the hole in the wall, the one with the boats, and the one owned by their friends. She went alone when her family was busy, or absent. To her, she felt it was the most useful thing she could provide. She was a crooked shot, a little bit nervous and a terrible driver. None of these things mattered when she was alone because none of them would get her family killed. And the nerves came hand in hand in the form of sharp ears and eyes. But she had no nervousness about her tonight. Her family was with her! Not the whole family, but Gojira and T, a close friend and her lover respectively. The sun was bright, the air was warm and the pot smelled good. The only downside was Gojira had decided to wear his santa mask again, and it sort of creeped her out. "Alright. I think that's all of it!" Charlie called out as she plucked the last stalk by the low picket fence. "Good. Let's head to Sealabs." Charlie was excited because she remembered which one Sealabs was without prompting. It had a pretty lighthouse she liked to admire, big boats and a small bridge leading into it she affectionately named "The Fever Pass." Crossing it lead to animalistic behaviour, bloodshed and theft, as though infected by a disease. Cross the bridge, cross into madness. If you were anyone besides Salvation, of course. The party clambered into the car and comfortably set off out of the farm, briefcases stuffed with green that turned into white which turned back into green. Leafs of plants into leafs of money seemed like a fair trade. A little rat head poked out of Charlie's pocket and scrambled up onto her lap. Donut liked the smell of the weed too as he rubbed his pointed face into Charlie's hand, rolling to and fro eagerly on her lap with sashays of his long tail. "Hello, my sweet." Her voice whispered from softly painted lips. She began to invent new stories to tell about Donut. Maybe he'd sail the Atlantic in a rowboat, or maybe he'd shot up fifty pigs while escaping prison, or maybe- "What the fuck." Gojira's voice jarred her a little from her thoughts and she looked around to see what was the matter. They had reached the mouth of The Fever Pass and the ocean glittered like a thousand stars, to highlight a corpse laying on the gravel by the side of the road. The car stopped. She jumped out with her comrades. A bike, just like her own, puttered on the shoulder next to a purple dune-buggy sort of machine. Charlie didn't bother learning the names of cars, and unlike the names of farms, she probably never would. Two bodies lay splayed, tattered through with bullet holes and exit wounds. "I don't like this." Gojira's voice came from far away as Charlie stared at the girl with purple hair and a green mask, an arm laid over her face, as though to shield her eyes from her fate. "Its Kat." She thought she heard, but the white noise in her head was loud then, almost fuzzy, drowning out reality for a moment. She watched as Gojira went into the bushes, cursing under his breath. "Its LNF." Charlie had heard this name before. She did not know who was in LNF, or their standing with Salvation, but Gojira sounded very upset. A cellphone was to his ear before Charlie even had time to ask these things. "Yeah. We found your cars and a bunch of your guys up at Sealabs. Yeah. No, we're not going to chop them. We will meet you in Paleto." He hung up. "And that is how you have good gang relations." He said, smiling as he began to expertly pick the locks to the cars. Once they were opened, and Charlie noticed it was in one try which impressed her, she chuckled as Gojira popped the trunk and began to rummage around inside. "Well, some briefcases full of weed. How interesting. Well, waste not, right? We're not gunna chop their cars but that doesn't mean we're leaving empty handed. 'Yeah sorry, we found them empty.'" Charlie wondered if they would believe that, but had no time to think more on the matter. "Charlie, you take that Bifta. T, you follow." Gojira called as he got on the bike, kickstarting it. "Okay but...go slow. You know I'm a terrible driver." It was never a boring night in Salvation.

Rat Life is hard when you're a rat. First, there's the whole size thing. You're no bigger than a banana, and there's often the trouble of being trodden upon, being too small to climb annoying ledges yet too big to squeeze into tight hiding holes. The knotholes and chinks that the smaller mice of the world can squeeze into are useless when you're looking for cover with a cat in pursuit. And the lofty roost of the table, where another type of fat cat dines on more food than they should ever have, is no use to a starving belly when it's out of grasp. Second is the whole being disposable thing. Humans are heartless about rats because we are a surplus item. Our mothers breed twelve littermates at once, six times a year, and we're ready to breed at ten weeks. One breeding pair of rats could create over seventy two babies and taking into account the breeding rates for those babies, we are not exactly a rare commodity. And when there is an infinite resource that's alive, weak, insignificant and easy to kill, humans tent to exploit it. Just look at the going rate of green turtle eggs, beef patties and circus animals. My kin are stuffed into medical labs, dog and cock fighting circles, minefields, cosmetic research facilities, pet food and even the butcher's in foreign lands. It's a very lucky rat that ends up in a pet shop window without a predator in the tank. What's the life of one measly little rat when there are thousands more, right? The third and worst thing, in my opinion, is the whole stigma against us. Humans exploit us at every angle for our meat, our use in progressing the medical field and so on, but they don't treat us with respect or even dignity. Most hear the word Rat and wrinkle their nose, like we are something dirty or plagued, eager to bite their babies and drop our waste in their meals. They don't take the time to consider how rats were driven to the sewers or why we wander around their homes like it used to be a field. They blame us for the black plague and don't thank us for advancing science to a point where many diseases are no longer a threat. They see us as a scourge in the war, stealing rations and spreading filth but don't see us as heroes for seeking land mines so they don't have to be obliterated. They see us as hideous but think of themselves as beautiful when it is our bodies that brought them that lipstick. But not all people are like that. Charlie isn't. In fact, I think when Charlie entered the pet store and bypassed the dogs and cats and set her eyes upon me, she saw something in me. She saw a creature that society might not know they needed, one that only wanted to help and be loved. She saw a creature that was very meek, but still wanted to be acknowledged for its contributions. She saw a creature that could be exploited, frowned upon, have its nose wrinkled at, but it still tried its best for the good of all humanity. In me, she saw herself. In me, she saw Salvation. She carried me out in her pocket and called me Donut.