The End Justifies The Means

This blog contains graphic depictions of gore and torture. You have been warned. Welcome to the Industrialized world. Programs, follow the link below:

[bloodyknucklxs-deactivated20150]

if you want a m o n s t e r, i can show you a f u c k i n g ( MONSTER )

[astrasylverton-deactivated20210]

The young woman was curled up under the downy comforter and a book in her hand. It was a familiar sight for the soldier with whom she shared her home, and some part of her wondered whether it was a comforting sight. Dyson was not an overly emotional person– he could be hard, ruthless, and cold at times. Yet, he showed to her the kind and tender person who lurked beneath. It was for that reason she enjoyed his company. To her he wasn’t just the Dyson whom many saw outside of their cozy little home,  but he was a friend and he was a part of the family. Still she tore her gaze away from the pages of her book as he entered their bedroom and offered a smile.

“Come rest, darling,” she murmured, pulling back the sheets so that he could lay down beside her. There was no indication that he loved her, but they did care about each other– that much was clear. So she enjoyed the time spent together, especially at night after the stresses of the day had been put to rest and Alek had been tucked into bed, and, of course, Dyson had checked, and re-checked the security. “Tell me, did you have a productive day at work?” Bookmarking her place, she turned on her side so that she could see him better.

@mediaadfinemjustificat

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

The strategist showed little, if any, emotional reaction as he crossed the room to join her. His steps were quiet and deliberate; he carried himself with confidence and an air of cold, calculated precision as always... However, he was peacefully compliant with her request and came to sit on the edge of the bed beside Astra.

As Dyson detached his mechanical leg and set it out of the way, he made one final glance around the room-- considering to himself, were the doors locked? Had he set the alarm? Of course he had... Such things never went unattended to under his watch.

“Hmmm... I would say that I did, yes.”

He exhaled slowly as he lay down and turned on his side so as to see her face. The soldier rarely - if ever - told her the details of what went on at Securitron Headquarters... Astra was a gentle, caring woman; the polar opposite of the militant director of operations. The less she knew about his work, the better.

“And did you have a productive day at the shop?”

[reblogkarma-blog]

Your character finds mine in the alley, beating someone to death with their bare hands in a crazed state - stop them.

[incursu]

If your muse isn't just hunting for the D and V, please reblog.

[the-darkinheritance-deactivated]

I’m sick of getting dropped or ignored by some blogs just because my muse isn’t jumping and crawling all over them. There are things called enemies/platonic or just friends or whatever… And i’m annoyed… So if you could just reblog this so that I can have a bit of reassurance about this… It’d be very appreciated.

[archiveda]

“Yews gunna argue wit’ me or is yew gunna ‘elp me?” Kveta’s brows furled. She knew she was still only a junior officer– this position only available to her because of Dyson whom had found her on the streets. Still she wasn’t upset that she had killed this man. He had fucking deserved it! And if Dyson decided to turn her in for her infraction she would fight her case.

Fortunately, Dyson seemed to be able to go against the rules himself. She did as she was told and picked up the man’s legs by the cloth of his pants. She helped carry the corpse to the manhole and dumped the body in. It fell to the bottom of the sewer with a satisfying crunch. Only then did her golden gaze lift to meet that of her superior. She offered a crooked smile. She was grateful to him for his help, especially knowing that he wouldn’t be turning her in.

“I ain’ mean ta actually kill 'im,” as offered. “I’ jus’ sorta 'appened… bu’ t'e mot'erfucker deserved i’.” She brushed her hands through her hair, pulling it back from her face. She wasn’t actually going to explain her actions unless he asked specifically. Kveta was still a bit impulsive– her street survival instincts were hard to squash. “Wanna grab lunch before we 'as ta 'ead back? We’s already ou’ t'is far, migh’ as well, righ’?”

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

“Just a minute... Then I will gladly grab some lunch with you.”

Dyson headed a few feet away to the car he’d driven out here-- an old, rusty piece of junk; not the more identifiable squad car the Corporation had given him. He put a plastic hood over his hair and pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves before grabbing a bottle of bleach and heading back to the manhole.

“Wait here,” the soldier instructed his subordinate before climbing down. He poured the bleach over the body, ensuring that it covered every square inch-- including turning the dead man over to thoroughly coat the back of his body. He needed to erase any trace of their presence... Hair, sweat, anything. Securitron forces wouldn’t look too deep into this; at least, not for two of their own... With no easy way to make a case, they’d look at recent acts of gang violence in the area, then likely leave it in the unsolved pile indefinitely.

He climbed back up and replaced the manhole cover. Once that was finished, he headed back to the car and tossed the empty bottle of bleach into the backseat, along with his gloves and hood. The senior officer opened the passenger side door for Kveta, then walked around to the driver’s side without waiting for her to get inside.

“All right... let’s go get something to eat.”

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

   “Did you kill this man, Kveta? Don’t leave your work unfinished– get back here and clean up the mess.”

@darling-of-the-dangerous

[archiveda]

Kveta wiped the blood from her face, the knife still gripped in her hand. There was a cruel grin on her face. Perhaps there was some part of which felt an incredible thrill having someone’s life in her hands. There was a rush when she watched that light disappear from their eyes. Maybe she shouldn’t feel so excited, but the young girl didn’t dwell on it. Instead she looked up at her mentor. Instead of approval she was met with disappointment. Her heart fell a little, as did her smile. She just wanted to make him proud.

“Yes sir,” she murmured. The girl Stowe’s her knife before going through the man’s pockets. Finding his wallet she pocketed the extra money before tying some rocks around the wallet. She would dispose of that later. For now she dragged the body slowly to the nearest manhole. “‘Elp me lift i’?” She asked, looking up at Dyson.

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

“You did this without prior authorization...”

The senior field officer gave a heavy sigh. Under Securitron’s laws, it was a crime... Kveta wasn’t yet ranked high enough to decide on her own whose life to take. The girl had proven herself a hard worker, though, and loyal to him-- he’d do what he could to protect the soldiers who served under his command from bureaucratic harm.

Dyson walked around to stand perpendicular to the dead man’s head and shoulders. He lifted the upper body of the corpse off the ground by gripping the collar of the jacket, careful not to stick his hands in any blood. “Get on the other side. Lift him off the ground by the pant legs-- don’t let your skin make direct contact with his, and don’t get bodily fluids on yourself if at all possible.”

The area was known for gang violence. They’d drop the body down the manhole, bleach it to erase any trace of their presence, and no one would be the wiser.

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

   “Did you kill this man, Kveta? Don’t leave your work unfinished-- get back here and clean up the mess.”

@darling-of-the-dangerous

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

👶

Send 👶 to meet my muse as a small child!

He was oddly serious for a six-year-old; sitting quietly at a picnic table as other children laughed and shouted, ran around him and put the playground equipment to good use. Dyson’s attention was focused on a toy: a metal piece just large enough for his young fists to grasp, with another piece of metal fitted through it. There was some trick he needed to figure out, some specific method to separate the two shapes from each other– and he was determined to solve it.

When the woman sat down across the table from him, he set the puzzle toy down, sat up straighter, and brushed some dirt off the front of his shirt. “Hi,” he said politely, giving her a smile.

[astrasylverton-deactivated20210]

Astra had noticed a lonely child sitting by himself on the picnic benches. He couldn’t be much older than her own son. Yet while all the other children were off running around playing and laughing, this little one was focused intently on the little metal toy. She had watched him curiously for a few minutes before deciding to go over and speak with him. Perhaps she shouldn’t since he was not her child and everyone these days were wary of strangers, but the kind woman felt that no child should sit by themselves. 

So she took the seat opposite of him, smiling warmly as she folded her hands on the table top before her. The child had immediately stopped and cleaned himself up. It was sweet almost. 

“Hello there,” she murmured softly. “What are you working on?” 

Astra almost wondered if she was speaking to a future engineer. That would have been neat. She wondered if anyone had ever thought to bring it up to him. He seemed like a bright child, though she had only observed him for a few minutes now. 

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

“It’s a logic puzzle!”

He grinned wider and held it out for the nice lady to see. “There’s a way to get these thingies to come apart, I’ve just got to find it...” Once he’d judged that she was done examining the toy, he pulled it back towards himself, and continued sliding and tilting the smaller piece of metal as precisely as his little hands would allow, searching for the angle that would allow them to come apart.

“I’m Dyson. What’s your name?” he asked without looking up.

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

👶

Send 👶 to meet my muse as a small child!

He was oddly serious for a six-year-old; sitting quietly at a picnic table as other children laughed and shouted, ran around him and put the playground equipment to good use. Dyson’s attention was focused on a toy: a metal piece just large enough for his young fists to grasp, with another piece of metal fitted through it. There was some trick he needed to figure out, some specific method to separate the two shapes from each other– and he was determined to solve it.

When the woman sat down across the table from him, he set the puzzle toy down, sat up straighter, and brushed some dirt off the front of his shirt. “Hi,” he said politely, giving her a smile.

[resourcesfortheavergaeroleplayer]

Send 👶 to meet my muse as a small child!

*age is up to the recipient*

[rpmusings-galore]

                             you don’t think I’m a THREAT?

                                              Gｏｏｄ.

                             then you won’t see me coming… 

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

⛸

⛸ – what sort of hobbies does your muse have? If they do, then do they have a preference for any particular one? 

Aside from working with weapons and studying building schematics for reconnaissance? He enjoys strategy games, such as chess.

[coalescingfragments-deactivated]

send a symbol for a headcanon!

☂ – what does your muse like to do on a rainy day?

☃ – what does your muse like to do on a snowy day?

☀ – what does your muse like to do on a sunny day?

⚭ – does you muse have any contradicting opinions/views? If so, then what are they?

⚰ – has your muse ever had a near-death experience?

⛸ – what sort of hobbies does your muse have? If they do, then do they have a preference for any particular one?

⛾ – does your muse prefer coffee or tea? Perhaps both, or neither?

☘ – how lucky is your muse? Do they believe in luck as a concept, or think it’s a bunch of hooey?

☠ – has your muse ever killed anyone? Has it been in cold blood or self-defense? Both?

♟ – has your muse ever used someone to gain something, whether it’s been power/material possessions/political control/etc?

☤ – what’s your muse’s health like? Do they keep up with it, or has it degraded over time?

☐ – does your muse feel incomplete? Do they feel whole? Why do they feel whichever way?

[archiveda]

No Loaf, No Life

[archiveda]

Golden hues had watched with interest as the two men sparred in front of them. She watched every move, trying to commit it to memory. Though she also made sure that she took note of what Dyson said. The battle doesn’t end till your dead. Her lips pulled upwards at the corners. That was the number one lesson of living on the street. Or maybe number two. Number one was not to trust anyone. But fighting to the death– that was something she understood. She had killed before out of self defense. She had been attacked. She had almost died, but here she was. Standing here beside the guards. She would learn to fight for real.

The girl followed behind Dyson quietly as she inspected her cleaning of the stalls. Her grin only grew wider when he commended her for a job well done. Maybe not as in as many words, but she could see it there in his eyes. He even praised her for her initiative– she could only hope that it showed him how much she really wanted this.

Kveta followed inside the supply building, still glowing with pride, but trying not to let it show too much. So she caught the jacket tossed to her. Holding it up, she made a face. “Does yew ‘ave any t'at are smaller? I t'ink t'is ones too big…” Her voice trailed off as she held it up. It would dwarf her tiny figure. She was hardly 90 lbs– about half the size of the men fighting outside. But she bit her lip. Maybe he would yell at her for complaining, which was not what she wanted to do. So instead she swallowed her words and pulled on the jacket, letting it hang off her frame. The sleeves she simply rolled up and she looked back at him to see what he would say.

“Shoul’ I tie my skirt as well, sir? So i’ ain’ ge’ caugh’ aroun’ my ankles when we figh’?”

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

“I don’t.”

His answer was simple and direct, devoid of any emotion-- he did not berate her for complaining, nor did he sympathize with her for having to struggle with the ill-fitting jacket. If she was ever fully inducted into the army, she would get one for her own that was tailored to her body, though Dyson doubted that would happen-- she was a little girl with a dream, and would likely give up once she realized how much work it was to get there.

“That would be a good idea,” he said, glancing at her briefly as he pulled on his own jacket. His was custom made, nicer than the one he’d given her, with the royal coat of arms on the chest and stripes on the shoulders to indicate his rank. He took one of the wooden sparring staffs from a rack along the wall and held it next to her to compare the size-- it was almost a foot taller than she. “Hmmm-- a little big, but you’ll make it work.”

The staff he picked up for himself was about three inches longer than his height. He handed the shorter one to the girl, then stepped outside onto the grass.

“The first thing you’re going to learn is a simple attack-- I’ll demonstrate it once at full speed, then again slowly.”

Dyson stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his arms at his sides, the staff held behind his right arm. He lunged forward with his left foot, and as he did, brought his other hand up to grasp the staff, pulled it back, and thrust it forward in a sharp jab as his hip rotated into the ending position of the stance. The look in his eyes was fierce, determined; as though he really did have to fight for his life.

“Pay attention to how I’m standing-- how I put force behind the attack from my core rather than relying on my shoulders.” He returned to the neutral stance and showed her how to do the jab again, this time with much slower and more deliberate movements.

“Now you try it.”

[archiveda]

No Loaf, No Life

[archiveda]

Kveta didn’t need the man to be interested in her. She didn’t care about that. All she needed was a chance. As long as he was willing to give her the opportunity to prove that she could work just as hard as anyone else, even doubly so, then she would certainly do her best not to disappoint. The man intimidated her somewhat, but he was her best chance of making something of herself. She wanted to make him proud– proud that she no longer had to thieve to survive, but could protect those who did. Maybe, when she was capable, he would even give her an audience with the Queen…. Maybe the Queen would grant her money to create programs for children like her… But that was so far ahead of herself…

Instead she nodded and followed the guard out of the building. Golden hues were wide as she watched everyone around them. There were so many people doing so many different things. She wasn’t sure she had ever really realized just how many people it took to take care of the castle in which the Queen lived. Tilting her head, Kveta glanced up at Dyson. Did he know the Queen? She supposed he did. It was his duty, after all, to keep her and the inhabitants of the castle safe. Though it was curious for her to see how many people bowed to Dyson and called him Sir.

By the time they reached the stables, Kveta straightened a bit. Rolling up her sleeves, and doing the best to tie back her hair, she grinned up at him. “T'ank yew sir!” She gave him a salute before dashing off into the stables.

Fortunately, as Dyson had mentioned, the stables weren’t nearly as filthy as they had been the evening before. That didn’t mean she didn’t work any less hard, though. How could she? She wanted her chance to fight more than anything. So she worked hard for about two hours– even going so far as to feed, fill the horses’ water, and dote on some of the more approachable beasts, which was her attempt to get more comfortable around them.

Kveta wiped her brow and headed out to the place where Dyson stood. “I’s finish wit’ t'e stalls. T'e horses shoul’ be good until tonigh’, Master Dyson. I’s even fed an’ watered t'em… I’s ‘ope t'ats okay? I’s jus’ wan’ ta take good care of t'em.” She offered a timid smile, hoping he would approve of her handiwork– hoping it would be good enough to begin her training as a soldier. She wasn’t a stable girl. She was a fighter. She wanted to fight and protect, but working her way up seems to be the only way to get what she wanted. And though she wasn’t a patient girl, she was trying.

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

Dyson had been observing with his arms folded over his chest as two of the infantrymen sparred with wooden staffs. At first he didn't react when Kveta approached him, as his attention was focused on them; shortly after, one man caught the other's foot with the end of his staff and knocked him on his back with a sharp twist. The soldier still standing then held the staff over his opponent and gave him a light tap on the chest, ending the fight.

"What did you do wrong?" the tactician coldly addressed the infantryman on the ground.

"I... uh, guarded too high, sir," the soldier answered. "Won't happen again."

Dyson nodded sternly. "That was your first mistake. The second, and more severe, was that once you hit the ground, you let your guard down entirely. Don't get caught up in mistakes-- no matter what happens, you are not finished until you are dead."

The infantryman replied with a quick "yes, sir," and Dyson held out a hand to help him up. Once that was over, he gave an acknowledging nod to Kveta, and walked to the stables for inspection.

"Your cleaning job is certainly within acceptable standards-- feeding and watering the horses is a commendable display of initiative. Well done."

He headed to the supply building, gesturing for Kveta to follow. Inside, he pulled down a padded jacket identical to the ones that the infantrymen were wearing-- it would protect their skin from nasty cuts if they were hit a little too hard with the wooden practice weapons while sparring. He tossed it to her. "Here. Put this on."

[archiveda]

No Loaf, No Life

[archiveda]

Kveta awoke with a start when the heavy knocks sounded on the other sound of the wood door, echoing around the little broom closet. She, too, was like Dyson. Used to having to be on guard all the time, she never truly relaxed. She stood quickly and brushed out her old gown and brushed back her brunette hair, hoping that none had caught in her hair. Only then did she open the door.

“Repor'ing fer duty, sir,” she said, looking up at him. Hope, nervousness, and excitement swirled in her golden hues as she met his gaze. The tactical head of the Royal Guard was taller than she, but still the girl held herself as tall as she could. If she wanted to fight she knew she wouldn’t be able to let her height get in the way. She wouldn’t back down for anyone. She was a born fighter– it was there in her eyes.

“Am I doin’ t'e same t'in’ as yes'erday? Cleanin’ t'e stalls?” She asked, her voice lilting upwards ever so slightly. She wasn’t used to eating much at all, so she ignored the fact that she might possibly need the strength so she could shovel the manure and clean the horses. She wondered, though, if he would let her have some sort of lunch? Or would she wait until dinner?

Her mind focused in on her chores though. That was her biggest task at hand. She had to prove herself willing and ready to do what needed to be done. Kveta wasn’t about to let an empty stomach stop her.

“Am I gunna star’ training today?” Certainly that was what she wanted the most. The horses were just a menial task that needed to be taken care of. Although she would soon learn to love the large beasts.

[mediaadfinemjustificat]

The soldier stood before her with his hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid. He regarded the girl with an air of indifference. Dyson didn’t find her particularly interesting, but she was a hard worker, and he didn’t need more than that in any human being.

“That you are,” he answered. “Cleaning should go quicker today-- horses haven’t had much time to make a mess between last night and now. Once you’re finished, I’ll give you a chance to learn and try some practice combat. As long as you continue to work hard at both, I will ensure that you are treated well.”

He stepped back from the door frame and walked away, down the narrow stone corridor. His pace was steady, deliberate-- not too fast for Kveta to have much difficulty keeping up with him. He led the way to the castle entrance, and out into the courtyard.

On the grounds, workers were starting on a variety of tasks. A couple of the horses were out of the stables and walking along in the grass, squires marching in stride beside them. Women scrubbed towels and clothes in large basins full of water. Infantrymen were racing each other to the fenceline and back; others polished their armor or sharpened their swords and spear heads.

People were quick to bow their heads as Dyson walked past them-- several soldiers muttered “sir” as a brief greeting and hurried out of his way. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to Kveta.

“You know what to do,” he said, gesturing to the stables. “I’ll be out here when you’ve finished.”

[lilkisara]