persecution

come across, you're lost and broken. you're coming to, you're slow and waking. you start to shake; you still haven't spoken, what happened? coming back and you just don't know when. you want to cry, but there's nothing coming. they're gonna push until you give in, say when.

[agentmartyr]

agentiron​:

In this place, with the lockdown they were all lions in a cage. Or one would imagine. However, the male himself could understand to an extent. They all knew what they signed up for and having freedom was a reward, in these times there was an uncertainty that plagued the air with the prior events. Something rash had to be done. “No need to apologize. I can understand when someone zones out when they’re lost in their thoughts. In these times that seems to be the most common.” The male replied back, musing that he wasn’t stressed about it. Not that Noah was stressed about whatever was going on here either, being on lock down. Maybe it was because four walls were four walls no matter where he went. Though, he would miss his bed. Damn, these things they had here were like sleeping on a road of gravel. “Do you think they will actually serve us up a Christmas meal? I suppose we should all stock up on the vending machines just in case. You definitely don’t want to me the last one or you will get stuck with crackers that taste like cardboard.” Let the hoarding commence or so Noah guessed.

zoning out came with the kind of embarrassment one could find in the sticky, uncoordinated depths of childhood, or in our case, between the ears of a very tired, fearsome abraham. agent light’s short legacy was hanging in the air like smoke, and agent iron seemed put together to some extent, empathetic towards the eventual doom of abe’s attention span. he offers the agent a warm smile, his sheepishness be damned. “thank you, mate. you holding up alright, then?”

a light laugh, he pictures the agency sporting santa hats and full bellies. it’s like the twilight zone. “i’m sure the lot of us aren’t strangers to a dorito and sprite christmas. it’s a real sign of the times, isn’t it?” a pause, “god. i can’t remember the last time i had a christmas meal. can anyone around here cook?”

[agentmartyr]

ofbardots​:

              “  i  said,  ”   cassandra  begins  with  the  giggling  cadence  of  a  troublesome  creature  who  harbors  little  desire  to  offer  the  truth,  “  that  you’re  the  man  of  my  dreams,  and  i  think  the  two  of  us  should  say  fuck  it,  run  off  together  —  right  here,  right  now.  ”   theatrical  sigh  expels  from  full  lips  as  her  hands  fall  down  to  her  slides,  scoff  echoing  through  the  darkened  corridors  that  keep  the  best  and  the  brightest  suddenly  sealed  in  place.  “  aw,  shucks,  guess  not,  ”  she  hums  gamely,  allowing  a  little  more  sincerity  to  melt  across  her  features  —  if  anything,  she’s  plagued  by  a  rotten  sense  of  recognition  that  makes  note  of  that  slight  dissociation  reflected  in  abraham’s  countenance,  completely  quelling  her  compulsive  penchant  for  mischief.  “  hey,  are  you,  uh,  good  ?  ”   head  cants  aside  thoughtfully,  eyebrows  arched  and  trying  to  gauge  if  ol’  martyr  is  still  in  the  room  with  them.  “  i  was  just  fuckin’  with  you,  of  course  –   can’t  trap  you  in  some  hellish  union  until  you’ve  got  your  millions  or  some  real  estate  locked  in.  no  need  to  make  a  little  abraham  -  shaped  hole  in  the  wall  just  yet.  ”

the moment he comes to, he regrets it. cassandra was the face of casual deceit, honing its slinky absurdity. she wore it well, however, all be damned. and abraham took it like a glum cashier in the wake of retail mayhem. he looks off with a nod, accepting his conversational fate. “right, right. always a class act, cassandra. wouldn’t expect anything less.” it’s harmless, really. she could run circles around someone like himself -- it’s one of the reasons he took a liking to her. she was unashamed of her wit, seemed to wear it like armor but not to be hidden, to be beheld. 

in the face of her actual light concern, crossing her face like a vague wave of some semblance of friendship, he softens along with her. “i’m -- well. yeah. i’m good. i’m great. i’m-  are you good? you’re being kind to me. that’s bad. pigs are flying. the economy is well. the agency is becoming ethical as we speak.”

[agentmartyr]

agenthoffa​:

There was no challenge in discerning when someone had zoned out mid conversation. It was the exact look she was sure she had during most meetings or having to sit in on zoom calls, where she’d be bored to near death and on the verge of passing right out due to too much stillness. An idle brain was of no benefit to someone like her. This day, however, Andrea found herself forgiving and deciding that this wasn’t personal for they seemed to be in the midst of an unprecedented event.

“I,” her mouth opened and shut, a lightening fast debate going on in her head over if she should bother continuing, “I was just asking if you had any information to share.” Should she continue working? Training? Then the weight of the lockdown began to sink in on her. If she wasn’t to continue on with work and training, it wasn’t as though this was some all inclusive vacation. “Did you know her?” It blurted out before she could control her tongue and Andrea internally winced, maybe even outwardly, and pursed her lips in what she hoped looked like a smile.

abraham was paying attention to the one before him now, donning a vague look of guilt. it wasn’t often he find himself in casual conversation with other agents, and the times he did, well, they usually went about as well as whatever was happening right now. the woman before him stood shorter than he, with a pointed look about her face, the sort of features you’d find on classically beautiful illustrations. despite the unfamiliar nature of the situation saturating the air around them, his following words are comfortable to him in a way; settling into the unison of group confusion was easier than he had thought.

“my apologies. uhh.. jeez. if i knew anything i’d probably put out a newsletter and hand them out to everyone. i’m in the dark too.” halfway to a fucking category 5, he should have more to offer everyone. damn this fucking vacancy. “i’m sure the donahue’s will issue another sort of emergency message soon. they never miss a chance to add to the chaos.” he rakes through his memory for a moment, though narrowing his features as he tried to find agent light. he comes up dry. “eh.. knew of her. but i know of everyone. it’s hard not to. this line of work can be really confining.” a breath, and for some reason it feels really weird to ask-- “uh, did you?”

[agentmartyr]

sullivns​:

                    sully   is   quiet   as   he   tries   to   understand   what’s   going   on   behind   his   friend’s   glassy   eyes   —   clearly   having   checked   out   from   their   conversation   long   ago.   “   nothing.   ”   he   answers   with   a   simple   shake   of   his   head.   “   just   asking   if   you   happen   to   had   any   plans   for   the   holidays.   ”   it’s   a   question   of   courtesy   ;   one   they   both   know   the   answer   to,   but   he   thought   he’d   ask   anyways.   “   where’d   you   go   just   now   ?   are   you   worried   ?   ”   his   tone   lifts   with   a   slight   air   of   surprise,   a   neutral   expression   on   his   face.

the niceties often exchanged between the two men contained a rare sort of understanding. sully was well aware of the vacant space occupying where there probably should be some sort of festive arrangement, four walls decoratively containing those who he loved and cherished. come to think of it, this agency lockdown might be the closest he’d ever get to that. the other man honed a similar emptiness. now there’s a guilty look on abraham’s face, usually reserved for sully.

“sorry, mate. uhh  — .. yeah. big plans. you know me, the holiday party animal.” a sympathetic hand is clasped on sully’s shoulder, a light squeeze, then release, back to dangle aimlessly at his side. he doesn’t want to think anymore about the fucking holidays. “fuck off,” the words are entirely harmless, if not passionate. ‘i have every faith that whatever's happening is completely necessary.” lower lip sucked inward as he nodded, convincing himself. he had to believe it or he’d start drinking. “it’s just  —  new. is all. have you heard anything?” 

[agentmartyr]

agentbloom​:

open to.   anyone. location.   the numbers agency headquarters in london. time.   early evening, around 7pm on december 23rd.

End of December weather comes the promise of cracked knuckles and tired eyes. And Grey exhibits both but only tries to aid to one. He runs his hands under warm water, carefully rubbing at the dead skin inhabiting his knuckles. At the sight of his reddened hands, he thinks back to a memory come and gone, one where his first big love made him some miracle concoction that helped his dry hands. The image makes him waver, his eyes closing for a brief moment before he reaches out to shut the tap. Keep it together, Bloom, the words ring in his mind, a mantra like a lighthouse calling him home. And his home is with the agency and that’s how it’ll stay.

Grey then ventures out, passing agents confused, weathered, and having a good time alike. Ever since the sudden and curious meltdown from Agent Light, everyone has been internally reeling. Now they were all forced to endure something brand new: a lockdown within the agency. Everyone is trapped together, pressured to mumble vacant hello and goodbye’s as they weave in and out of lackluster conversation, avoiding the growing elephant in the room. 

Bloom circles into one of the rec rooms on the second floor, taking a seat at the brightly-lit bar. “Quite the evening, huh?” Grey muses aloud to the nearest person, parading behind the bar to pour himself a drink. Obviously this wasn’t a time where Numbers higher-ups would hire bartenders, certainly not. So, Grey takes it upon himself to pour himself a finger of whiskey. “You want anything? I guess I’m playin’ bartender.” Hilariously enough, he was one.

✎

with a lockdown in place, it was easy to spot the similarities between such striking figures of violence and questionable service to the so-called greater good. he’d never say that to anyone else, though. each person had the same muscles perhaps working overtime, similar ways of huffing out exhausted confusion, gawking around the room like goldfish. they would all sit near each other in some sort of awkward unison, but with a sense of guard like an AA meeting. all this unity, and still so much anonymity. it was a convention of ghosts. 

grey seemed to be busying himself, and abraham watched his hands do something that looked a little too well practiced. he began clumsily confiding in the man, “i don’t drink  — i do,  just not. on the.. job. are we working? is this office hours? do you know?” eyes flicker to the drink in the other man’s hand. his question is not exactly marveling at the skill, more like dissecting it. “why are you so good at that?”

[agentmartyr]

open to: anyone ! location: agency hq amid lockdown

panic manifested peculiarly in someone like abraham -- perhaps like anyone with work ethic in the forefront of that thing between your ears that likes to refer you to panic mode before anything else. but it’s just self preservation, abraham! no, it was pathetic. useless. all of this showed on his face like an animal spotting headlights from a few weary miles off, staring at that twinkling, moving light like an incoming lost star. isolation was the answer, attempts at calm, cold hands, body betraying him. watching the agency crumble underneath its scaly skin was a fate worse than death for someone who had married it. merry christmas. 

all of this thoughtful rambling just to forget he was having a conversation with someone, abandoning the exchange of words like a harmless but incarcerated animal. eyes shut twice with intention, hard like he could blink away his own inconsideration. his face furrowed at the person standing before him-- was he meant to be comforting them? shit. “i’m sorry, shit, sorry. sorry. what was that?”

[agentmartyr]

DO I KNOW YOU?

under the cut are some wanted connections for mr. anahera!

a difference in opinion: someone who has a very different outward opinion on the morals and honesty of the agency than abraham; a sort of moral enemy of his!

lower rank agents: this would be agents he trains, as he’s a category 4 and has been in the agency for over two decades

exes: past lovers and situationships! abraham is a very. stiff individual so when he’s involved with someone he likes to keep it lowkey -- cue angst and distance drama

frenemies

mission partners: this can be a close relationship OR a hard one bc a mission went wrong !

someone he knew outside/before the agency 

[fernytickle]

[agentmartyr]

LET’S PAINT A PICTURE OF AGENT MARTYR. LOADING . . .

gods don’t care if you’re a painter or a dancer or a decent person. they just give you the tools to do those things. the rest is the agency.

> AGENT LOG: RECRUIT ‘95

NAME: abraham anahera NICKNAME(S): anything but abe. it makes him feel like a penny (except its what everyone calls him LMAOGKFJHFG so go for it ) AGE: forty eight PRONOUNS: he/him/his CATEGORY: four YEAR JOINED: 1995 OUT OF AGENCY OCCUPATION: motel manager / owner  SECRET: skepticism of the agency as a whole / the agency’s ranking system 

read his full stats (which im still finishing wahh) HERE and biography HERE!

one failed marriage, two dead parents, and an individualistic complex later, abraham anahera feels very at home within the agency. you’ll often find him around the dormitories provided by the agency, deadpan about collecting useful information and left wondering if the thing in his chest really beats for anything else or if it’s a stubborn hunk of metal and soot!

his record had been clean when he was approached for recruitment, and what made him notable as an agent was the death of his parents, a lack of immediate family and impressive grades.

he’s very split in two; aware of his own destruction. you’ll never find the civilian abraham within agency walls. or at least that’s what he hopes. he resides in mayfair, london in a one bedroom flat. it’s about an interesting looking as an applebees