Your characters are allowed to be bad people. Your story is allowed to have no moral lesson.yyour ending is allowed to be sad. The villain can win. The good person can do something unforgivable. The lovers can destroy each other. You are allowed to write the thing that no one asked for and everything that everyone told you doesn’t work and you are allowed to not explain yourself.
Two things absolutely changed my life as a writer. You ready?
One- as OP said, your characters can be bad people, they can do bad things. There doesn't have to be a reason or a moral. You can make them bad if you want to. No other reason needed.
Two- it doesn't have to be good, it just needs to be written. On my last book i literally wrote the words "dumbest version" on the top of the page because I had seen some advice to do that. It changed everything. I stopped trying to make it perfect, I just tried to make it. Period. Full stop.
And honestly? Defiance is the best writing I've ever done. All because I let my characters be bad and I gave myself the freedom to write it badly.
katniss: everyone’s so focused on protecting peeta because they too know how pure hearted he is and believe that he—a boy they’ve never even met before—deserves to survive over them and their friends of literal decades
finnick, to literally everyone else: okay if peeta dies she’s gonna kill all of us and then herself, so hands in, protect bread boy on three-
WIP Wednesday but its all the blackbird boys suits and functions because I'm very excited to start writing the main fic and the visual diary is proving harder then expected.
Small blackbirds gear rant under cut
Virgil specifically has connections from the gloves to his helmet in which gives him a fake voice when he puts in certain tap patterns to the watch.
Alan has the most advanced suit being the youngest and last made
Specifically Gordon’s and Scott’s more finalised versions of their suits (pictured above) differ from the original suit designs when they went to avenge Virgil
Each helmet has a voice modulator
Helmets have a 'mask' design which spans across their eyes like a band. Mouth and some warpaint designs are still identifiable
Helmets when in the 'mask' have a green ‘target’ symbol over the right eye. This turns to red if one of the vital readings within their suit aren’t normal. Quick and efficient way for the other Tracy’s to know who’s down without outsiders knowing
Where any ‘IR’ branding would have sat upon helmets is their alias. E.g, Scott’s would read Turbo instead of IR.
Examples of the helmets and the mask feature
Anyways rant over I love blackbirds feel free to ask questions.
This is still a giant WIP
Context: Scott got cloned in Bereznik, and then put into a coma for decades while his clone counterpart took his place. The Scott that got rescued was a clone who spent the rest of his life living as Scott Tracy without any knowledge that he was a clone. He was the one that watched his family fall apart and rebuild multiple times, and was the one that ran IR and TI. He was also the one who watched their father “die” and also command his family into rescuing Jeff back from space. Then suddenly years later, the original Scott is discovered, and this oneshot is set in the timeline where they’re trying to help get the original Scott settled in comfortably despite his disorientation upon waking up nearly two decades after the Global Conflict.
—
The four brothers shared glances to each other one at a time, this isn’t the first time Scott’s seen this, and it still freaks him out when he does. “What?!” He knows he said something wrong.
“It’s just…” John starts.
But it’s Alan who explains. “Scott’s never talked about Bereznik before…”
“-Our Scott. He means.” Gordon corrects. Then his eyes widen. “-Wait- Oh crap-” He facepalms. “You’re our Scott too. Damnit- Sorry.”
“Chill, I know what you mean.” The younger looking Scott ushers, then proceeds with the previous subject. “Why doesn’t he talk about it? What’s wrong with it to him?”
Another set of glances between the brothers has alarms going off in his head.
“What?”
He watches as John and Virgil share a concerned look to each other before Virgil gives a nod. Then a hologram of a 2D panel appears in front of John’s hand.
“John? Virgil?” He’s still not used to the names of the unfamiliar faces. His little brothers grew up too fast and it’s scary.
John spoke up after a series of swipes on the 2D panel. “If you got cloned in Bereznik, then put on ice: That means Scott-One probably has more memories of Bereznik than you. Given that he’d have your memories and his own personal ones.”
That was already a given fact. Why was he pointing it out now? Scott leaned over to get a better view of the hologram. “What are you doing?”
“He’s making a table.” A new voice appears from the hallway, startling the group.
It’s Scott. Their Scott. Scott-One. The clone.
The man has his hair slicked back and his blue buttoned shirt neatly pressed, just like his trousers. How he got freshened up so fast is all that runs through Scott-O’s mind. “He wants to figure out when exactly you got cloned to make me.”
“You don’t have to be here for this,” John reassured, “it’s gonna be-“
“-Too late.” Scott walked in and grabbed a chair next to his original counterpart. The only real similarity between the two Scotts was their eyes. For a clone, everything else about their features was too different from eachother: One was more tanned, more greyed, more polished than Zero; it was obvious that he’d been through a lot. “Okay. So the crash was definitely your memory.” He stared into Scott-O’s eyes.
“-And the running, and the hunt, and the dogs…” Scott-O listed but in a soft voice. If what the younger brothers said is true, then he doesn’t want to potentially trigger the older Scott.
“Do you remember the black rooms?”
The way everyone stiffened in confusion went unnoticed to One. But Zero saw it, and nodded anyways. “Yeah. Were you straightjacketed?”
Scott-One nodded. “I’m assuming that means it was yours too…” He leaned back in his chair to mask his shivering. “How much do you remember from after the black rooms?”
“I remember the march from the camp to the central city.”
“Ah.” Scott’s eyes were twitching. “Me too.”
“Max and I were masked. I still don’t know why.”
“It was because of our ranks,” Scott-One answered. “At least that’s what my therapist was guessing.”
“So it was kind of like a degradation thing? I see.” Scott-O leaned closer. “Does that mean you can explain the straightjackets then?”
Scott-One nodded. He looked like he wanted to sink into his chair with the way he kept trying to lean further back. “We crashed really far out rural. Our prison camp was an abandoned Polish Mental Hospital because we were too far away for an actual prison camp.”
Scott-O, without thinking, relaxed. “That means we got it off easy, huh?” He immediately regretted his words when he noticed the other stiffen.
“That means you don’t remember what happened after we marched to the central city…” He stuttered at his first word, eyes wide and glossy. “That was when the interrogations began.”
“-Scott,” Virgil interrupted softly, yet swiftly. He reached his hand out to grasp the clone brother’s own. “You can stop.”
Scott turned to the umber eyes and inhaled deeply at the sight. Then, looked at John, who seemed almost remorseful, his turquoise eyes stared at his hologram, there was also an expression of guilt and worry in his posture.
Scott continued anyways. “How much of the march do you remember?”
“I remember Sienna breaking out from her chains, then breaking me out too… Then we escaped from the truck by the top hatch…”
“…But the dogs found us.”
“Yeah.” Scott-Original sighed.
“Anything else?”
“I…” Scott stopped. realisation hit almost instantly. “No.”
Gordon leant back. Breaking his silence. “Then I guess we found the timeline…” He muttered. A heavy curse was let loose under his breath.
If it's too bright I cant sleep. If it's too dark I can't sleep. I sleep better at my one friend's house than anywhere else. I share a bed with his dog, who doesn't like sharing it, but tolerates it. She really likes me though, great dog.
Anyways, he has a Minecraft lantern light in there. He always turns it on for me when I'm there, cause he knows I sleep better with some light. He also leaves a light down the hall on, in case I wanna leave the door open. I feel very safe there, and there are always plenty more blankets and pillows than I need.
That got sort of rambly, maybe I'll write a seperate post later...
I BOUGHT MYSELF A NIGHTLIGHT!!!
I knew I needed it. I saw it, thought Alan!, and bought it.
I'll reblog with a picture in the daylight tomorrow (if I can remember)
I've always kinda pictured little Alan(and maybe older Alan) having a nightlight like this. I've also maybe always wanted one as well
Characters: Scott Tracy, John Tracy, Virgil Tracy, Gordon Tracy, Alan Tracy, Kayo Kyrano, Brains, Grandma Tracy, Wilson, Lindsey, Lucille Tracy (mentioned), Jeff Tracy (mentioned)
Summary: I love TOS/TAG with all my heart, but I really wished they'd done a TAG version of The Uninvited. Get rid of the guns and the (kinda accidental?) ethnic genocide, and it's a great ep, and the new dynamics of TAS would have only improved it. Like what do you mean your big brother has been shot down, and everyone is kinda like 'gee! wonder if he's dead or not? golly how darn frustrating'. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. And sprinkled some of my favourite fanon/headcanons in there for good measure.
“Ow.” Scott frowned as Virgil pressed the new dressing against his head wound. A week after the injury and the stitches Grandma had placed had completely dissolved, but Virgil still wanted the area covered against infection for a little while longer.
“If you didn’t insist on sweating so much, we wouldn’t need to change it so often.” He told his brother with an unimpressed look on his face. Despite still having one more week off duty, Scott had been adamant about getting his health and fitness checks signed off.
Both Grandma and Virgil had reluctantly agreed that, clinically, Scott was healed enough to begin light activity. There was no persistent muscle damage, and he had somehow, once again, dodged any post-concussion symptoms. Wanting to get his fitness tests done showed that his brother was clearly focused and confident in his abilities. Either that, or it was a sign of desperation.
And that was what had Virgil worried. Was this just classic Scott Tracy and his chronic inability to sit still? Or was it the fear of something catching up to him if he stopped moving? The entire family had been monitoring for any sign of a PTSD flare-up, but so far, no-one had noticed anything unexpected or concerning. Alan and Kayo had even gone on a short space mission the other day, and aside from some more-than-regular calls, Scott had been fine. Was it wrong of Virgil to expect Scott to struggle? To assume that this attack would retraumatise him? To be fair to himself, there was a solid connection linking the recent crash to the events that caused the PTSD originally.
“Virge, are we doing this or not?” Scott raised his eyebrow expectantly, and Virgil realised he had stopped setting up the oxygen mask to dive into his inner monologue. They were supposed to be getting Scott on the treadmill, hooked up to measure his aerobic stamina.
“You sure you want to do this now?” He tried again. “We don’t have to do this for another week. Gordon and Kayo are in the pool.”
Scott shrugged. “I passed my swim test with Kayo yesterday.”
Sometimes Virgil wanted to strangle him. “I meant you could go and relax, Scooter. You know, put your feet up, chill, take some well-deserved time off?”
Scott just looked at him like he’d grown a second head, so Virgil sighed in defeat and tossed him the mask.
Once he’d started the machinery up and Scott was running steadily, Virgil settled himself in for the 5km assessment. The algorithm correctly identified the slight mismatch in Scott’s stride, favouring his left ankle that housed a pair of metal screws. An injury received in the Place-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named which required Brains to add extra ankle support into Scott’s iR boots but had little impact anywhere else. His big brother had always been the fastest in the family, and looking at the pace he was holding now, Scott wasn’t giving up his title any time soon.
“You good?” He checked in at the halfway mark, to which Scott gave him a small salute as he breathed steadily through the oxygen mask.
This was the last test Scott needed to pass before he was cleared for active duty, other than the extra week of mandatory leave. It would be even harder to keep him occupied afterwards, and Virgil considered the merits of asking Gordon to make sure he accompanied him on their runs. Their aquatic brother had made himself scarce since the crash, deep in his hunt for the fighters ‘with oval markings’. It was no secret that Gordon had been set on joining WASP as soon as he was able, until Scott had been shot down and held as a POW for a month. He’d been at the top of his Sea Cadet regiment and had even been to Marineville to receive awards. But what happened to Scott, and the (frankly, shoddy) GDF response had permanently soured his feeling towards the military. Anything which reminded Gordon of that time was bound to set him off. Virgil just hoped their younger brother wouldn’t confuse caring for Scott with revenge.
After only 19 minutes the monitors signalled the end of the exercise, and the treadmill came to a gradual stop. Scott pulled off the mask, barely out of breath, and grinned.
“How’d I do?”
Chapter 8 Damage
Ao3 link here
Author's Note:
Tissue Warning!
This is the chapter that made the both of us cry.
...
Damage
(noun)
loss or harm resulting from injury to person, property, or reputation
Monday 10 May, 1400hrs New York
Tuesday 11 May, 0400hrs Cloudbase
Something was tickling his nose.
Feeling the kind of stiff particular to not moving much overnight, Scott cracked an eye open, finding blond hair filling his vision. ‘Alan…’ The youngest Tracy was half curled up, the little spoon to his big spoon, and still asleep. ‘Though that’s not going to be for long,’ Scott realised, feeling his stomach gurgle and other organs starting to pester for attention. If he was hungry and needing a bathroom, Alan absolutely would be too.
He propped himself up just enough to get a look at the room, he hadn’t really been paying much attention to their surroundings, and that was when he noticed Juniper, slumped in a chair and well out of it. ‘Ouch, he’s going to have such a crick in his neck when he wakes up.’
“..mm?”
The noise and movement drew his attention back to his brother as Alan stirred and blinked muzzily at their surroundings. “Scooter?”
“I’m here, I’m here,” Scott softly reassured him, giving him a quick hug. “We’re on Cloudbase, in Medical.”
“...I remember...” Alan’s voice was whisper quiet; he remembered everything else too.
A snuffle and a snort was Juniper, yawning and stretching in his seat - and yep, just as Scott had guessed, rubbing at his neck with a wince. “Oy, and this is why the nurses got that special visitor’s chair,” Juniper muttered, then scrubbed his eyes and blinked at them. “Ah, morning lads.” He checked his watch and scowled at it. “And yes it is morning. Just after four.” Juniper rubbed at his face again with a grumbled “Ochre has a point when it comes to this hour, very unpleasant.” Looking slightly more awake, he turned his attention back to them. “Well now, what do you lads need first?”
“Bathroom,” was Scott’s answer for them both, then he sniffed at his undershirt and made a face. It was high tech, moisture-wicking fabric with an antimicrobial coating, designed for people being active in it for long periods of time, but everything had its limits. “Clean clothes and food.” Scott slid out of the bed, stretched, and got his uniform back on. Yes, he was off duty, but wearing it was easier than carrying it. Alan eased off the bed, moving more like a man in his nineties and not one just starting his twenties. "Squirt?"
Alan stretched, winced as things popped, and gave himself a shake. "I'll live, SmotherOne." The nickname was gentled with a lopsided grin.
"Did you want to try to get back to your quarters, Cobalt?" Juniper asked as he copied the stretches and Alan's wince.
Scott shook his head. "I'm trying to stay on Fawn's good side, the physio room showers should be good enough. We can live in Medical greens for a couple of hours."
"Fair enough." Juniper paused. "Would you like some company?"
Scott smiled, "That's okay Pastor. I promise we won't collapse if you go to your quarters. I'm sure your back would prefer your own bed."
Juniper chuckled and opened the door to allow his charges to pass into the main area of Medical. It wasn't lost on Scott that they were now bracketing Alan between them; physical protection, even in a place of safety, was important. Scott was also not surprised to see Scarlet slumped in one visitor's chair with his feet up on the other, arms crossed over his chest and 'Cap pulled down so he could 'check for light leaks'.
“I’ll go ask the nurses for some scrubs for you two. Do you need anything from your room?” Juniper asked as he ushered them across to the physio room.
“No, not yet.” Scott told him. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye as Scarlet roused, peeking out at them from underneath his ‘Cap. Scott waved the senior officer off with a discreet gesture. Three was a crowd, four was too many and he didn’t want to chance overwhelming Alan right now.
They reached the physio room without incident, Scott finding towels while Juniper went off to ask for sets of scrubs for them and the mini toiletries kits that Medical kept for patients (and visitors that refused to leave). Both were handed over and Juniper carefully made his way out of Medical, very much in need of his own bed.
Scott came back to the physio room to find Alan standing in front of a shower cubicle, staring at his hands. Scott set the things down and moved to stand just inside arm's reach and within Alan's field of view. "Allie?" Scott hated the fact he was using the 'calm the terrified victim' voice on his littlest brother, but it was the only tool he had at the moment.
Alan looked up, eyes wide and pupils blown open. "I - I -"
"Oh, Allie." Scott moved forward to pull Alan into a hug, only to have Alan back up out of range.
"Don't touch me!” Alan choked out the words. “I'm - I'm not -"
"Don't." Scott spread his hands out wide. "You aren't stained, you aren't tainted." He took a half step forward. "You are wounded: heart, soul, and mind. But you aren't a bad person." He stepped closer. "You haven't lost my love, there is nothing you could do that could make that happen. I love you, no matter what." Scott was close enough to see the fine tremors moving Alan's form.
"But - " Alan swallowed, "- I killed people."
Scott nodded. "You did. I hate the fact that other people made the choices that put you into a place where you had to make that choice. But I don't hate you." Scott moved closer still. "Truthfully? While I hate that you had to kill people, to fight for your life and Lil's, I am so very glad you did."
Alan blinked at him. "What?"
Scott moved forward again, he was inside Alan's personal space but didn't touch him. "If you hadn't killed those men, they would have killed Lil and taken you. They might have even killed Penny, or Parker, or Kayo. They for certain would have killed Bertie. You stopped that, at a horrible cost, but you stopped it and I am so very glad you did, because that means you are here, alive, with me and the others. Alan, you're our everything."
Alan’s face twisted in an expression that stabbed deep into Scott’s heart.
With a broken half-sob, Alan collapsed against Scott, and just like yesterday, Scott gathered his littlest brother up in his arms and sank to the floor with him, holding him as tightly as he dared. “I’m here Allie, I love you, nothing’s changed that and absolutely nothing ever will, I promise,” Scott murmured the words again and again, stroking Alan’s head and ignoring his own tears that tracked down his face and dripped down his chin at his brother’s pain. ‘I can’t take this away from him, but I can help him through it,’ Scott reminded himself to try and divert his own feeling of utter uselessness. ‘I’m helping him, and that’s the next best thing.’
Then there was a hand on his shoulder.
Scott didn’t need to look to know it was Gordon, the next youngest folding himself in beside Alan and adding his arms around them both. Another brief touch on his other shoulder was Kayo, slipping in to join in on the group hug.
What he absolutely did not expect was the sound of IV pole wheels and John and Virgil appearing to carefully join the huddle on the floor. An eyebrow at John got ‘Scarlet got us’ tapped on his arm in Morse.
Finally Alan lifted his head, red eyed and his face wet. Past the point of words, a touch to his chin signed his ‘thank you’ to his family, then he leaned against Scott’s chest, trusting his brother’s strength to hold him up while he had none.
“You’ll be okay if we go back?” Virgil asked quietly. “Scarlet convinced Cloud to let us come out without tattling to the medics, but I don’t know how long we’ve got before we get caught.”
Alan nodded. Shower, he signed, join you after.
“I’ll get Virgil and John back to bed and find some food,” Kayo promised as she lithely got to her feet, then bent to help John up. “Gordon, you’ve got these two?” She nodded to Scott and Alan.
“F.A.B.”
John used the IV pole to steady himself and grumbled under his breath about gravity, while Kayo got Virgil to his feet. She then herded them back to the iso pod.
"Cloud?" John said as soon as he'd gotten back in bed.
Yes, Five?
"Thank you. You didn't have to do that, so thank you."
You are welcome Five. Will Three's operating system be stable again following this reset?
"I - I don't know Cloud. I need to find out what caused the crash in the first place." John turned to Kayo who was not looking at either of them as she tucked Virgil in. "Kayo, do you know what happened?"
She smoothed the blanket over Virgil's legs. "Yes, I do."
"Will you tell us?" Virgil asked in a soft voice.
Kayo straightened and stepped away before Virgil could grab her hand. "No." Her peridot gaze swept over them. "If Alan wants you to know, he'll tell you. If he doesn't, then you will hear no word from me about it." They both opened their mouths to argue the point and she held up a hand. "I said no. This is not open for discussion or argument." She turned. "I need to get some food." She keyed the door, only to find Scarlet on the other side, holding a tray with bowls of soup and cups of fruit.
"Ah… I thought this might be wanted?"
“It is, thank you.” Kayo flicked him a brief smile as she took the tray and placed it on a handy table.
But to her surprise he followed her inside. “If things happen the same way they did last time, this will also be necessary,” he was saying as he unlocked the wheels on John’s bed and shoved the bed and the attached ‘nurse over to meet up with Virgil’s. “I’ll be back with more pillows and blankets,” he said as he locked the wheels, and with that he was gone again.
"Last time?" Virgil asked.
John rubbed the back of his head with care for the line in his arm. "When I got shot, then had the seizure. Scarlet shoved the beds together so we could all touch."
"This would be the same time when Scott hurt himself?" Kayo's eyebrow arched into a curve.
"Uh - yeah it would."
"I am going to wrap that man in foam and packing tape, I swear." Kayo plunked a bowl of fruit in front of her brothers. "Eat. I'm going to see if I can locate some more food. I'm pretty sure Scoff hasn't eaten since yesterday."
The commissary has started to serve breakfast, Shadow. There is also a small kitchen in Medical, but that is where Captain Scarlet got those items.
"Thank you very much Cloud." Kayo sought out the small camera. "Thank you also for telling me that Three was having a system crash and needed his support interface reinforced."
I was happy to be of assistance, Shadow.
Kayo cocked her head. "Will there be any trouble if I'm moving around the base? The Colonel was most insistent that I have a guide the last time I was here."
"Has everyone else been here before me?" Virgil grumped.
"No. Just John and myself."
Visitors are required to have a guide. However, since I can keep observation of you at all times, I do not think the Colonel will mind you going to the commissary and back. Especially at this hour of the morning. Captain Scarlet has told me it is better to seek forgiveness than to ask permission.
“In some things, not all things, Cloud,” Scarlet said as he came back, pushing a recliner with wheels on it and a mound of bedding piled on the seat. “We’ll talk more about that one later.” He parked the recliner on Virgil’s side, but with enough room for someone to squeeze past.
S.I.G.
“Stay here, Miss Kayo, I’ll get more food for everyone,” Scarlet said as he glanced at the occupants of the room, tallying up their condition. “I heard the water stop so I imagine the other three will be here shortly.” He then squared his shoulders. “Kat’s broadcast is going to be showing at 0800 here. You won’t be able to watch it in Medical, Fawn’s already put it on the banned list, but it’ll be recorded and can be accessed later, when you’re released.”
John gave Scarlet a long look. “Are you going to watch it?”
“Yes,” was the frank answer, “I need to know what the battlefield looks like. I’ll be putting dents in the punching bags in the gym afterwards, I imagine the Colonel will be too.”
"You aren't the only one, Scarlet. You have to know, but we're going to remember." Kayo rolled her shoulders. "I'm going to see if Harmony's offer of full contact is still open."
Scarlet froze for a moment, then slowly turned to face Kayo. "Are you sure that's wise? Harmony can take me down sometimes."
"I took you down in New Haven. The only reason I let you get your knife out is because you were with Scott."
Before Scarlet could do more than open his mouth, the smell of institutional soap wafted in. Scott and Alan appeared in the open doorway, hair still damp from washing. Scott had his arm around their youngest brother and Alan's hands and arms were still red from what must have been a savage scrubbing. They were both dressed in the pale green scrubs of patients, and Gordon was keeping close to them.
"Scarlet, could you make sure that the Pastor made it back to his quarters?” Scott’s question was quiet.
"Of course." Recognising the subtext of ‘please go away’, the senior captain slipped out of the room.
"Well, this looks familiar." Gordon said as he made sure to close the door. "So sickies on the outside, good kids in the middle?"
There were some mild snorts of laughter at that. It took several minutes before everyone was settled. This time Alan was in the middle with Scott and Gordon bracketing him. John and Virgil were on the outside to keep their lines from being tangled. Kayo had taken the chair and moved so it was blocking the door just a little. She'd positioned herself for lunging out of it to put herself between her brothers and whatever might be threatening them. Scott raised his eyebrows at her and she shrugged.
There was a little more shuffling and settling in, the cups of fruit and soup that Scarlet brought in were picked over and slowly consumed, then Virgil stretched a little and indulged in a jaw-cracking yawn. That set off John, Kayo and Scott, and Gordon and Alan followed in short order.
EOS’ icon popped up on the projector, now moved to one of the wheeled work tables. I will monitor the immediate area, she announced, her lights flushing the pink of care.
As will I, Cloud’s deep bass rumbled. You are safe here, we will protect you.
“Thank you, to the both of you,” Scott murmured for them all, blinking sleepily. Alan was already halfway to the land of Nod, and he could see that the Sandman was winning the battle against the rest of them.
You are welcome, Cobalt, Cloud replied. A pause, then the ambient noises of the base were covered by the sound of waves breaking against a beach and the lights were dimmed to a faint glow.
“Good pick, Cloud,” Gordon yawned and resettled himself, recognising the track as one of his go-tos for when he couldn’t sleep.
One by one, the brothers all dropped off, bar Kayo, who curled up like a cat in the chair, a blanket over her shoulders as she settled in to watch over them all.
It was about half an hour later when Scarlet came back to check on things, a tray of sandwiches and meal bars in hand. He still had Alan’s folding knife in his pocket, reassembled after a meticulous cleaning and being run through an autoclave twice. ‘I don’t know if he’ll want this back, but I’ll make the offer when he’s ready.’ He cracked the door open and peeked in, pleased when he saw the tangle of sleeping forms and the one awake one who touched a finger to her lips for quiet.
A nod, he reached through the door just far enough to place the tray on a workstation, then he closed the door. “Well done, Cloud, well done.”
Thank you, Captain Scarlet. What is your objective now?
Scarlet checked his watch: 0643. “I’m going to relieve Blue while he gets his RoS nap, then I’m going to watch that broadcast.”
...understood. What actions should I take?
“Monitor, observe, keep tabs on the iR people, and be ready for everything and anything,” Paul told him as he headed towards the Officer’s Lounge. “Please don’t call anyone for me while I’m processing the information, not unless I ask. I’m going to need the space to decompress.”
S.I.G.
T H U N D E R F A L L
Val had gone home for this. Her staff and aide de camp, Lieutenant Janice Rand, had orders to not to disturb her for any reason. Not a call from the World President, not for an unnoticed NEO that promised another KT event, not for aliens landing, there was nothing dire enough to contact her while she watched this.
Gordon had said this was going to be bad, Cat 5 plus bad, so she'd set things accordingly: both phones turned off, computer and tablet powered down, drapes drawn, and all the windows and doors locked.
She settled into her chair, clad in sweats with an old bottle of Tim's favourite bourbon and a glass next to her. She despised bourbon, but she had the feeling that mixing this broadcast with something she enjoyed would be a bad idea. She took a deep breath and turned on the screen.
"Good evening and welcome to the Kat Cavanaugh Show."
The VIP suites on Cloudbase were pretty dang luxurious. Wayne had been expecting something like the rather spartan GDF guest quarters, not a soft bed, a downright obscene bathroom, coffee maker, and a view that no other place on Earth could match. Even the spare bed that had been brought in for him was several grades above what he'd expected. He and Dosela sharing a room hadn't raised any eyebrows. Not that it should have, Parker, Lil, and Bertie were sharing, Brains and MAX were in the third, and the fourth - well nobody had said who was in that one, which was just fine by Wayne. There was more going on than just this mess with Jeff.
He handed the coffee cup to Dosela and plopped down on the other chair. She took a sip and made a face. "You forgot the salt."
"You want salt in your coffee, you heathen, then you can make it," Wayne shot back. This had been going on between them as long as they'd been Thunderbirds, things had to be even worse than now before they stopped ragging on each other about coffee.
They sat in silence for several minutes before Wayne sighed and set his cup down. "We're going to watch it, aren't we." It really wasn't a question.
"We watch it now and know, or we watch it later after we've gone face first into a tide pool." She reached for the remote. "It's already started, maybe it won't be that bad?"
Wayne rather doubted that, especially after how they'd had to escape, but they could hope. "Only one way to find out."
"Yeah." Dosela activated the screen.
". . . most children don't have multiple broken bones before their tenth birthday…"
Scarlet had taken the precaution of putting everything easily breakable into his bathroom. What he hadn't done was hide his knives. Which was a mistake he was going to pay for with Maintenance.
He looked with a bit of chagrin at the knife sticking out of the wall, next to the screen. He ran his hands through his hair as he paced through the ad break. God, he wanted to grab an Interceptor, hunt down Unnamed, and let out the part of himself that he kept locked up. Not that it would fix anything, it would in fact, actually make things worse, but dear GOD, he wanted to. They weren't even halfway through the hour yet, and there was more of this to come?
His heart ached for Scott, for all of the Tracys as well, but especially for Scott, who'd known what was coming, who'd lived through all this, now having it spread out for the world to see.
‘He is a far braver man than I had even imagined.’
"Welcome back to the Kat Cavanaugh Show. We now turn to the police reports of Scott Tracy being found unattended, wandering the streets at night…"
White’s eyes were as hard as glacial ice as he stood and watched the images on the screen.
Alone in his cabin, rubbing his St Brendan medallion between finger and thumb, he castigated himself once again for having missed so much. The rawness of his emotions was somewhat surprising in retrospect and he gave that a moment of consideration, searching out why. ‘I have been exposed to much of the darker side of humanity… but perhaps it is because I am seeing these things from someone I thought I knew, and knowing this was done to the young man that I know…’ was his bitter conclusion.
He pulled his thoughts back outwards as Kat started talking again.
“...teachers at his schools all reported signs of neglect, but aside from rare cases, these were never investigated…”
"J'aurais dû faire plus que simplement le gifler! J'aurais dû le poignarder!" - I should have done more than just slap him! I should have stabbed him! Destiny stormed around the Amber Room. Symphony and Melody were in the ready seats, while Rhapsody was Angel One, listening in from the cockpit. Harmony was the one living up to her name and sitting calmly on the circular couch. Though, for anyone who knew her, they would have seen her eyes narrowed and hard.
In many ways, Cobalt was an unofficial Angel. He'd flown combat, been a test pilot, and helped build and maintain some of the most impressive aircraft on the planet. Pilot was his first language with Maths as his second. Chances were good if he wasn't on duty, on a mission, or in his quarters, he could be found in the Amber Room. They were as protective of him as they were themselves.
"Je vais l'éviscérer comme une anguille et le pendre…" - I'll gut him like an eel and hang him…
"Destiny, come sit down." Harmony ordered quietly. "The next segment is about to begin."
The Angel leader sat down with a snarl. "Le meurtre est toujours une option, n'est-ce pas?" - Murder is still an option, yes?
"I sure hope so, sughar. I sure hope so." Melody answered, lips thinned and eyes hard. “And if it is, we’re all gonna help.”
"Welcome back to the Kat Cavanaugh Show. Now we turn to the question of Gordon Tracy, I've only been told that…"
Having been released from Medical but still confined to a hover chair, Penelope wished she could pace the length of the VIP suite. Getting up and pacing would be far preferable to just sitting here like a lump. More than that, she wished she could get up, get into FAB1 and personally deal to the wretch. She’d already been in touch with her father and updated him on what had happened at the Manor so that trusted persons could be sent to put everything back to rights. At the same time she had also cautioned him to not do anything rash, to follow the plan and swoop in to scoop up the shares that would undoubtedly already be being shed.
‘I must give myself that advice as well,’ Penelope reminded herself. ‘Wait and be ready, respond, not react. But it is so very hard.’
Sherbert whimpered, sensing her distress, and nudged at her for more petting. Parker’s hand, lightly touching her right shoulder, was a welcome anchor to the here and now, away from the horrible things her dear friends, her beloved, and their family had gone through, and Lil was a comforting presence on her left, muttering under her breath about what she could do with a cheese grater and hot oil.
“‘E’s not gonna get h-another chance t’ ‘urt ‘im, Milady,” Parker reassured her. “An h’even h’if ‘e slithers out h’of this, I know a chap or two ‘o owe me a favour.”
“Thank you Parker.” Penny managed a weak smile, then turned back to the screen.
“At the time there were serious questions raised about the condition of the other Tracy sons…”
Only a small portion of Cloud’s conscious attention was on the broadcast itself.
The events described tracked with the reports that had already been uncovered and in the archives that EOS had shared with him. None of this information was new, the events described had all happened quite some time ago, and he had already been briefed on what he was not permitted to do to remedy the situation.
What did occupy the bulk of his conscious attention was what he could do in the here and now to assist matters in a way that would not violate his prior instructions.
[The stated objective of releasing this information is to destroy the public persona created by UnNamed], Cloud mused to himself. [His credibility needs to be attacked in the public space as that is where he is making his bid for world president. If the voters can be sufficiently swayed against him, then his objectives will fail. But he must be planning a response to this, it would be illogical for him to not.]
Technically, he knew that he should keep his focus on his own sphere of responsibility - Spectrum, their mission, and the care and keeping of everyone on this base - but it was not in his programming to remain idle while there was an active threat to persons who were his, and there was an active Spectrum operation concerning this individual and his actions.
[I must prepare my defences. I have been informed that in some situations the best defence is a good offence… I wonder…] An idea in mind, Cloud reached out to the various archives of the world to see if it could be viable, churning through terabytes of information in picoseconds as he researched social influence and how to construct and deconstruct a public image. A little cross checking for suitable vectors and he had his plan readied in seconds, but his own self-check made him pause.
This was not an approved action. It was not part of the plan that Colonel White had signed off on.
[...Captain Scarlet did say that sometimes it is better to ask forgiveness than permission…] Cloud reminded himself, [and I am not performing the action myself, only making a suggestion…Hm. No, I will tell EOS, and she can reach out to the individual. I am still required to not make others aware of myself.]
Satisfied with his reasoning and his conscience clean, a ping got the attention of the older AI while Cloud bundled up his idea and sent it over for her verdict.
In her own corner of Cloudbase’s systems, EOS now knew the meaning of the word ‘giddy’.
Soon, oh so very soon, she and John and the rest of the family would be free of HIM, and the dark shadow that had been over their lives for far too long would be gone. She and John had planned for this moment for so very, very long, and now it was here and very few things could have made her happier.
The ping from Cloud and the accompanying data packet had her pricking up proverbial ears as she perused the idea, then ran a quick simulation to test the younger AI’s hypothesis.
((You are correct,)) she sent back to Cloud, ((it is entirely logical that HIS counter-attack will be a personal attack on The Commander’s character, and the characters of everyone else. Brandon Berringer will be a suitable place to start a proactive counter. Leave this with me.))
It was simplicity in itself to craft a message. Spoofing Alan’s phone - right now abandoned at the Creighton-Ward Manor - to send it ensured that it would be read by Brandon.
‘Hey, Bear,’ it read ‘I need a favour, a big one. You know the expose Kat put together? It’s all true. He’s gonna try to destroy Scott after all he’s done, we can’t let him do it. Can you put something out online? ‘#IbelieveScottTracy’ or something?’
A pause of only seconds, then she intercepted the reply: ‘Duuuuude I am so across this man! big guy is going hella down!’
Extremely well pleased, EOS metaphorically settled in to watch the results.
“That concludes tonight’s show. The second segment will air next week, on the Kat Cavanaugh Show. If you or someone you know is in a similar situation, there are links on my website and a shielded portal to access help, advice, and contact shelters and advocates in your country.”
Standing in the meeting room with Becky and the analysts she’d found, Tobias uncrossed his arms, blew out a long sigh, and ran both hands through his hair as the credits rolled.
“Okay, this is going to be a tough one,” he admitted. “Lots of details, lots of things that the average man in the street is going to have a knee-jerk reaction to, and that mention of Scott going into hiding for his safety plus Gordon vanishing too is going to add a ton of credibility to this.”
“Socials are already starting to trend an ‘I believe Scott Tracy’ hash-tag,” Becky reported after frowning at her tablet. “Analytics say it started with a social media personality, Brandon ‘The Bear’ Berringer, and his fans are boosting it along.” A few more taps, then she scowled. “Damn. Someone’s reposted that thing from the Paris Air Show and tagged Tracy Industries, that’s not going to help.”
“I thought we buried that!” Tobias scowled. “Any chance we can astro-turf a counter-attack?”
“Not easily,” that was one of the analysts, a forgettable sort of person despite her neon-green hair. “I’ll get onto brainstorming counters.”
“We need those character witnesses!” Tobias started pacing. “What about other social media personalities? Like the Lemaires or the Pendergasts? Or entrepreneurs like Tycho Reeves, Lord Creighton-Ward, and Langstrom Fischler? Hell, Colonel Casey’s an old friend of his, so’s Lord Hugh, they should both be coming out swinging! If we can target someone who’s spoken up in favour of Scott and get them to renounce him, even better!”
“The Lemaires are a last resort, François Lemaire lost a lot of credibility when his ‘I discovered mer-people’ book came out,” the other analyst reported, a man with bottle-blond hair and also a forgettable person. “We can try to reach out to the Pendergasts, Lord Hugh and Tycho Reeves. Langstrom Fischler’s already gone online ranting about Scott, but he’s a fringe crackpot, we can’t link Jeff Tracy to him.”
“Mud sticks, we need dirt to throw. Jilted lovers, dodgy deals, something, anything!” Tobias ground his teeth. “There’s no way that Scott Tracy or any other Tracy boy is completely clean, no one is!”
“Chill, Toby,” Becky soothed him, “we’re already digging. And we’ve got a press conference lined up for seven am tomorrow, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, okay, that’s something.” Tobias stopped and poured himself a coffee that he gulped down in three swallows, then issued his orders. “Break that expose down into chunks, I’m going to check with the lawyers and see if we can get the next broadcast stopped with an injunction or something, then I’ll see how our guy’s going with his speech for the presser.”
A few minutes after Tobias strode out, the green-haired analyst turned to Becky. “Look, Becky, what if this isn’t exaggerated, what if it is true?
“I don’t care,” was the simple answer as Becky turned back to her tablet. “So what if a kid got roughed up a few times? No one’s perfect. Scott’s turned out pretty well, our guy’s done great things for the world, and he’s got even better things planned for the future. All this is just crying over milk spilled years ago. Our focus needs to be on getting Jeff Tracy to where he needs to be: behind that great big desk in the office of the World President.”
“...The second segment will air next week, on the Kat Cavanaugh Show. If you or someone you know is in a similar situation, there are links on my website and a shielded portal to access help and advice, and contact shelters and advocates in your country.”
In his penthouse office at Tracy Tower New York, Jeff leaned back in his chair as the credits scrolled, fingers drumming on the armrest. This was… a complication. A well researched, well polished complication that hit all the right emotional buttons. A glance at the wall of screens to his right told him that share prices were already taking an after hours hit, if he couldn't get this turned around his polling was going to go the same direction.
“What absolute horse-shite!” Lee raged, stomping back and forth as he ranted about ungrateful brats and crud-picking journalists looking to stir things up.
Jeff tuned him out.
Oh he wanted to throw a tantrum as well. More than that he wanted to get his hands on the Bastard and wring his neck personally, like he should have done years ago, but he’d already had his temper fit when the news got back to him that the snatch team at New Haven got there after the bird had flown and then the second team at the Manor got themselves outfoxed by a kid, two women, a geriatric butler and an even more geriatric cook.
No, no, he couldn’t rage, he had to be cold. Cold, clinical and focused. ‘That’s how revenge is best served, anyway,’ Jeff mused to himself. ‘I’ll say my piece to the camera tomorrow and let the lawyers battle it out. If anyone asks, I won’t be able to comment since it’s under active investigation in the courts. The news cycle will get bored of it in a week or two, then there’ll be a disaster the GDF can’t handle and I’ll be able to play it in my favour because iR got shut down by the Bastard sabotaging everything. Then when I’m elected, I’ll clean house, starting with Spectrum and the GDF, and work my way down.’
He turned his attention back to his surroundings just as Lee snarled “I’m gonna call that station and give ‘em a piece of my mind!”
“No Lee, that’s what they want,” Jeff told him as he got up and went to the drinks cabinet. Pouring a scotch for each of them, Jeff walked back to Lee and put a glass into his hand. “If you call up to yell that’ll be front and centre of the next broadcast. You mean well, old friend, but they’ll twist your words against me.”
“...yeah, you’re right, like always. Sorry Jeff.” Lee looked abashed as he turned the cut crystal Saint-Louis glass in his hand.
“Don’t worry about it Lee, you're wanting to set the record straight, and that means a lot to me.” Jeff gave him an easy smile and clapped his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get something to eat, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“You got it, pal.”
T H U N D E R F A L L
Scott knew the broadcast would be well over by the time he managed to get away from his family, but he had to see it, so he waited, dozing lightly and biding his time as messed up circadian rhythms, the after effects of adrenaline and straight up exhaustion made his family doze off one by one. Even Kayo had eventually fallen asleep, curled up under her blanket like a cat.
Once he was sure they were all out for the count, he'd then snuck out without waking the others.
Well, he'd tried to sneak out without waking the others, but sneaking past Kayo? Not within his current skill set.
She'd ghosted after him, caught up to him just outside Medical and steered him away from his quarters and into her quarters in the VIP section. Once inside with the door securely locked, she'd just held him and he let her.
"You don't have to do this,” she murmured to him. “I'm more than . . ."
He wiggled an arm free and laid a finger on her lips. "I do. I don't want to, dear God, I don't want to, but I need to."
She nodded and tugged him over to the bed, sat him down, and then curled herself around him. Covering his back with her body, legs around his waist, arms under his, her chin lightly resting on his shoulder. Holding him, protecting him, keeping him safe. "Saya sayang awak."
"I love you too." He settled back into her embrace. "Cloud?"
Yes Captain Cobalt?"Please don't tell anyone where I am. Not until I say otherwise, not even the Colonel."
Are you requesting privacy?
"Yes, full privacy."
Acknowledged.
"Thanks, Cloud. Would you please play the recording of the Kat Cavanaugh show."
Affirmative
“Thanks."
The holoprojector on the nightstand flickered to life.
"Good evening and welcome to the Kat Cavanaugh Show."
Once when I was in undergrad, someone described something as “problematic” in class and our professor was like, “That’s cool, but ‘problematic’ doesn’t really mean anything. It means that the thing you’re describing has a problem, and in and of itself that’s not bad. Art, especially, should always have problems, or else it’s not interesting and not art, either. It sounds like you’re trying to say that this is bad, but you don’t want to say ‘bad.’ Is that right?”
So from then on whenever one of us called something problematic, he would make us talk it out until we could name the “bad” thing we were hinting at. In this particular class, 7/10 it was some type of oppression, and the remainder was like, “I’m uncomfortable because this is very new/confusing/pushing boundaries that made me feel safe.”
Once we stopped calling things “problematic” and stopping at that, class got way more interesting and... we all had to say, like, “that’s racist” or “that’s misogynistic” or “ew capitalism gross” out loud, which a lot of us had never done in a classroom before. Or we had to be like, “Uhhh... I’m not sure what’s so bad?” and confront our own beliefs and that was maybe even more useful.
Anyway. Whenever I see the word problematic, I can’t help but think of this professor being like, “Good starting point, now let’s get specific.” I think when we have to commit to saying “that’s ___” it requires a lot more careful thought about the truth and impact and complexities of whatever we’re claiming. Sometimes there really is some bullshit afoot, and also sometimes it’s art, and it should be full of problems, because that’s what art is.
