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Organization for Transformative Works
Summanry: "If the apocalypse doesn't kill us, raising teenagers will."
Logan was hesitant to even call this the "apocalypse." The world hadn't ended, and the six of them were very much alive. Society as they all knew it, however, had ended. This was an infection that had been the trigger for the collapse of their governments and the rise of pure anarchy. With most of humanity either dead, infected, or out of communication. This was not the end of the world, rather destruction on a catastrophic scale. For that reason, he could agree that this was an apocalypse.
"I know the boys can be frustrating, Logan, but they need us. They wouldn't kill us. I hope."
Patton knew deep down that the boys wouldn't kill them. They were too vulnerable, only being between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. He knew he was in over his head trying to take in four teenagers in these circumstances. What else was he supposed to do? He wasn't about to leave them to fight every moment of their lives. Besides, having so many people around brought familiarity to this entirely unfamiliar world. They needed him.
Patton offered a supportive smile to Logan. He needed him too.
I was watching ratatouille last weekend and it took me an EMBARRASSINGLY long time to figure out that the fanders have 3 characters named after ratatouille characters
To this day my biggest contribution to this fandom is lowkey naming the critic character but it's funny because only 1/3 of the fandom adopted the name Dice, others adopted the name Anton, and others just use Critic and you know what? That's the type of chaos I like in my life.
There were many ways a demon could go about living, and Anton had tried just about all of them.
Some demons preyed on damned human souls to survive. Others made deals for energy. Some drank blood. Others fed off of auras. A few possessed people, wearing them like puppets until they had their fill. Those desperate and unlucky, or desperate and very, very lucky, tied themselves to objects or to patches of land. Those were the most likely to be exorcised, due to the fact that they had nowhere to run if they were caught.
But it was the most reliable source of food.
Anton’s leather jacket was oddly cool in the Floridian summer heat. If someone were to brush past him, they’d notice his pale skin was almost icy to the touch. He strolled to a stop in front of a large and bumbling house. It was in a popular suburban neighborhood, with kids biking down the street every twenty minutes. The “for sale” sign glared up at him, daring him to take a flyer. He glanced up at the windows, the interior blocked by curtains. The house was empty. No one had lived there for months.
The house was ideally located, and reasonably priced. The only reason it hadn’t sold was because the basement was so full of mold and mildew and good old rot that anyone could get ten different diseases and an allergic reaction just from breathing near it. Luckily for Anton, that wouldn’t be an issue.
“This the place, huh?” Anton turned to see a young man his age. His name was Nessy, and Anton had only known him for roughly a decade or so.
“Yeah.” Anton glanced around, wincing in the brazen sunlight. “Where the hell is Percy?”
“Oh, he said he’ll be late. We can still do this just the two of us, right?”
Anton nodded. To strangers, the pair looked to be in good health, decently dressed, and even handsome, in their own ways. The average human wouldn’t be able to spot the shimmer on their skin, the glamour hiding the gauntness of their figures. If they could see through it, they would probably insist on taking the two men to the hospital. Without their magic glamours, they looked dead.
And, well, they nearly were, and would be, if they didn’t get a new food source sooner rather than later.
Easier said than done.
-
Around a century ago, Anton had been a part of a gang of young demons. They were like siblings, all of them--Leo and Brittney, Valerie and Terrence, Foti and Jamal and Dennis. As more and more demons vanished, due in part to starvation and in part to hunting, they made the decision to claim some land for themselves and play human. They would lie low together, and they would figure everything out from there. Dennis had been the one to offer to work the tie to the land. It worked like a pipeline flow: Dennis was the only one who directly absorbed the energy, diverting what he didn’t need to everyone else. It worked fantastically for twenty-four years.
Demons aren’t terribly loyal creatures. They create bonds and alliances and even friendships the same as humans do, but never as strong, never as durable. As soon as the hunters came to town they knew the only way to free themselves was to shut down the pipeline and cut themselves off from the land.
Seven versus one made it a quick mess. They were sad to do it--they were, really; Dennis had been a good friend to them all this time. But it had to be done.
They each fled in a different direction.
Anton hadn’t seen any of them since.
-
“You do realize,” Nessy paused to shift his weight in the restaurant booth, allowing Percy the space he needed to squeeze in beside him. “You do realize that if this all goes south, we’re gonna have to kill you, right?”
“I’m aware.” He was.
“Love you like a brother dude, but he’s right,” Percy picked up the dinner menu, not paying much attention to the prices. Percy had never had a job in his life, but always had a gift at counterfeit.
“I know,” Anton fought the urge to roll his eyes. Did they have to keep saying that? He knew what was at stake. Were they trying to dissuade him?
“This is the best option we have. DNA recognition and all--we’ve talked about this. The hunters are getting too good.” Anton frowned as Percy waved over a waitress and ordered, forcing the conversation to halt. When she left, Nessy let out a soft hum.
“More like they’re getting bored,” he said. “You know how dangerous humans are when they’re bored.”
Percy reached into the bag he’d brought and pulled out a manila folder, passing it across the table to Anton. “I’ve got all the forgeries we need to pseudo-legally own the house. How soon can we get this over with?”
“Don’t worry,” Anton took the folder and hid it inside his jacket. “With luck, we’ll be moving in this weekend.”
