#voidroute

[inperish]

‘you have nothing, vengeance is all you have left.’ (jesse to frank)

    he’s like an onion— pry one layer back, there’s a million left hidden behind it.  throughout all the wars he’s fought in and through all the collective bloodshed he’s witnessed, he’s told himself his actions in fighting are to help people; to protect his country, to protect the people he cares about & the land he loves.  he’s starting to lose the momentum, though; the waves are starting to crash over his head and drown him in the abyss of reality.  & reality sucks. 

    jesse had given a chance to fix the things he so desperately desired to fix, even if he’d never admit it in a million years.  he took back the things he never said, he told galina the things he wished the walls could’ve spoken months ago to her.  it was a game of chess, though; neither of them could be winners in this situation.  how could either of them be winners with a line dividing the two of them?  what happened between them was an inevitable manifestation of his general failure throughout his life; he always failed in the situations that needed him most.   he scared her; he told her everything he wanted to say and hear, but nothing she wanted to hear.  she set the west berlin team in an ambush inside the soviet held territory of the ukraine, telling adler that perseus was holding his nuclear bombs there and was threatening to hit the big red button to nuke the entirety of europe.  instead, her finger was hovering above the red button & she made sure to hit it. 

    one moment, he’s aiming down the sights of his rifle as he fires into the crowd of soviet soldiers; the next moment, he’s back inside the oceanview motel as jesse paces.  her nerves radiate her off like sunshine, piercing through his flesh & making him nervous.  something’s wrong.  his gaze never strays from her as she walks up & down the narrow hallway, her lips pressed together like she’s scanning through a library for the precise words to break the silence. 

    instead, he chooses to.    “ it went wrong. galina flipped, she, uh—  she was going to fucking kill us. ”    he states the obvious like jesse hadn’t seen it through whatever glass wall she was watching from. he knew she was watching, she was always watching.  catching the tiniest of details that he didn’t even always catch. 

“ you have nothing. ”    she finally speaks, her eyes meeting his.  the panic is clear & yet, so is her choler directed towards him. she’s the parasite of the devil claiming his host, making frank his own personal victim.  this is his own personal hell.    “ vengeance is all you have left. ”

    will what he’s invoked destroy him?  will it destroy the rest of the world, just for his own personal moment of gratification?  was it worth it?  it’s the questions he ponders in his mind, his eyes shutting momentarily.    “ that’s it, huh?  history changed for good? ”    he knows the answer and when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t dare to look in jesse’s direction, but rather focuses on the coffee mug on the table across from him.  thank you for your service, written across the front in a cursive font with an american flag resting underneath it.  his service is what will get millions killed around the globe.

    “ if vengeance is all i have left, we’re in deep shit then. ”

john wick sentence starters.

[inperish]

‘oh, and remember, you owe me.’ (rk900 to connor)

    he wears a face that is no longer his.  the android created by cyberlife to dismantle the very thing he’d become under the control.  (a hidden objective of their own, nonetheless— adjacent from his primary directive, but still unsuccessful in its attempt to regain back the control they’re heavily desired.)  when he looks in the mirror, he sees a stranger; eyes staring back into his, unknowing who he peering back into them.  he never remembers who he was back when he lived in detroit; those memories have been locked away, never to be reopened for as long as he roamed the earth.  all he recognizes is who he is today, standing in front of nines as he pleads his case to be allowed back into the city he despises with his whole being.  he fucking hates this city.  everything he’d fought so desperately for only to be demolished in front of his face— a piece of land for both humans & androids to enjoy, only for androids to catch the humans off-guard when they weren’t looking over their shoulder for the first time in decades.  (androids were superior, connor knew this; it would be a lie to admit anything otherwise.  but they would perish if not for humans— this was another fact, one that couldn’t be swept under the rug.)

“ oh, & remember, you owe me. ”    a bargaining chip for connor’s entrance into detroit; nine dangles it over connor’s head synonymous with a cat toying with its dinner prior to consumption. 

    connor’s gaze never falters from the other, chuckles bubbling up his throat.    “ like you’d let me forget? ”   a brow is cocked, his sarcastic retort holding a variable of truth behind it. there was never forgetting a favor in this world; everything had a hidden meaning behind it, no matter the ease of the objective.    “ why even let me back here? could’ve had me shot on sight. i know you were thinking about it. ”    his arrival had gone differently than he originally anticipated, not like connor was expecting a firm handshake or anything.  twenty assault rifles had been aimed at his head the moment he stepped foot out of his taxi, demanding his presence in front of nines & north immediately. upon some deliberating between the two of them, they’d made up their decision on connor’s entry into the city. 

    in a way, he was almost regretting coming back in the first place.  this was a shape he was never meant to fit into— yet, here he is, allowing the noose to be tied tighter around his neck.

john wick sentence starters.

[inperish]

‘an eye for an eye, you know how it goes.’ (johnny to clarke)

   Her right eye opens first when she hears the sound of glass breaking against the concrete floor downstairs. It’s not the first time the clinic has been ransacked in the middle of the night, and she’s guaranteed it won’t be the last — this time, she’s prepared. She’d saved up every last eddie for the past two months to buy an Astra Style-6; not the most reliable gun but for the cause, it’s enough to at least scare off someone. (And if not scare them off, enough to maybe buy her enough time to run out through the backdoor.)

   Rising from the bed, she makes her way swiftly downstairs. Her pistol is indolently raised as she walks into the clinic, eyes scattering everywhere for any sign of an intruder. A quick survey reveals the broken glass on the floor was her jar containing cotton balls, the majority of them spilled across the ground with specks of blood trailing over to her operating chair, falling eventually on the culprit.    “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”   It’s mumbled under her breath as she rushes over to the chair, getting a clear glance at his appearance. Johnny — covered in blood, eyes practically rolling into the back of his head, mumbling some jumbo about fucking losers in the parking lot at the Afterlife because of course, it’s a Friday night. (What the fuck else is there to do on a Friday night in Night City?) 

  No time is wasted before she starts checking him out, coming to the conclusion of a few minor injuries, a definite broken nose with perhaps a mouth injury, what was a usual weekday thing; the morning after rather than the night of. It’s not until he smacks the gun out of her grasp that she realizes she’d still been holding it the entire time she’d been looking at him. Throughout the process, he goes on his typical tangents — complaining, bitching, boasting, and repeat. 

“An eye for an eye, you know how it goes.”   He finalizes his recollection of the night’s events and flashes his signature smug grin, the blood from inside his mouth spread across his teeth like a layer of paint, the smell of tequila breezing past her nostrils. Clarke winces and rolls her eyes, preserving as she leans herself further closer to her. 

“Sure, whatever — shut up and stop talking, dumbass.”   She moves one of her overhead lights to hover near his mouth, eyes looking as she inspects to find the source of the bleeding from inside there. A cracked molar in the back of his mouth; an easy fix for a dentist — not her area of expertise, but she can at least stop the bleeding and toss an oxy in his mouth to help soothe the pain. It’ll be enough to suffice until the morning.

   “Looks like a broken tooth way back here where your wisdom teeth are. You’ll have to get it checked out in the morning; you don’t want it getting infected. No major broken bones, no major Cyberware malfunctions — I tweaked a few minor things, made sure everything was running smooth. The only thing broken is your nose, so I’ll realign it real quick; doesn’t seem bad enough for surgery but we’ll keep an eye on it over the next few days. Otherwise, I’ll do one last quick scan and get you upstairs.” 

JOHN WICK SENTENCE STARTERS.

[inperish]

❝ look at those eyes. you still have that temper, huh? ❞ (jesse to woods)

A conversation starts on the right note, somehow it manages it turn back to all of Frank’s past mistakes. As if he should expect anything different from the Director by this point. This isn’t the first time they’ve stood in these positions— standing in front of one another, eyes staring at the others as they wait for who’ll crack first. More often than not, it’s Frank. Jesse crawls under his skin like a leech, just one itch he can’t quite shake. No matter how hard he tries, he always finds himself back in the Oceanview Motel, staring at her in a complete rage. 

She must see it too because she chuckles.   “Look at those eyes. You still have that temper, huh?”

That temper— the thing that’s kept him alive all these years. The reason he’s not lying in a casket, resting six feet beneath them. He scoffs, turning his back on Jesse. He walks away from her, retreating down the left hallway. Synonymous to a child throwing a temper tantrum, he makes sure to kick the trashcan in true fashion (another ritual during their meetings— one he’s taken note of, but has been yet to break) before continuing his pace. 

“You don’t know a fucking thing about goddamn anything!”   His voice booms throughout the Oceanview Motel, his hands throwing themselves up in the air, his already clear exasperation managing to become even more transparent.   “I’m fucking tired of all this psychological bullshit! That’s what this is: fucking bullshit! Get me the fuck out of here!”

Something tells him this meeting has yet to be concluded; something tells him Jesse will continue prying and prodding, just like she always does. 

[inperish]

@voidroute​ asked:     “ history is filled with liars. ”    [nines  &  north]

WHICH SIDE OF HISTORY ARE YOU ON? Is it the winning side or the losing side? 

It’s a question North asks herself often, unable to find the answer that satisfies the growing pit inside her stomach. 

When she looks at Nines, there’s an inevitable sense of betrayal. Whether he’s the betrayer or she, it’s unknown yet to both. An unspoken telepathy communication  —  I don’t trust you, you don’t trust me. Just the expressions across their faces often to the speaking; there’s one thing they’re in agreement on: their hatred towards humans. 

On one end of the coin, North peers down the horizon and sees the faces of all those in Jericho. Markus, Simon, Josh... Markus. When she closes her eyes, she relives the event of his death; a horrifying gruesome sight leaving her with little hope for the future. But then she looks at Nines and sees the future; androids claiming their freedom and humanity, whilst demolishing the hierarchy that established them as otherwise. It’s a sight that would often times bring a slight smile to her face, but instead, her face remains stone-like. It’s better to not get her hopes up before their plan is complete. 

As long as he doesn’t betray her, she has no reason to betray him  —  their plan of taking over is good; not great, but buildable upon. She’s willing to work if he is, and that’s not an answer she requires. She knows he’s ready. Because if she is, so is he. He’s always one step ahead of her. 

❝ Then let’s make sure they don’t lie about this. ❞

[inperish]

❝ you’re the really annoying type. know that? ❞ (v to jotaro)

What do you do when you don’t recognize yourself in a mirror anymore? YOU LAUGH. He laughs at her words because it’s the only way he knows to respond; the annoying type. Not the first time he’s heard that  —  certainly won’t be the last. He marinates in a certain breed of misery every day; a kaleidoscope of pain, painted in carmine and all its shimmer. For a second, he stands there as he gazes over Night City; the skyscrapers, the neon lights, even the sirens from the NCPD’s police issued cruisers don’t disturb him. In his head, he recognizes this is where he belongs  —  the only place. 

Japan wasn’t an option anymore, not after Dio. But then he ponders about a grave inside Japan. Sounds like a better option. 

The picture of his weeping mother standing above his grave, reading over the name     ᴶᴼᵀᴬᴿᴼ ᴷᵁᴶᴼ    engraved in the stone tombstone, is enough to snap him back to reality.  (It’s been awhile since he’s visited Kakyoin’s grave; maybe he’ll visit next time he’s in Japan  —  whenever that’ll be.)

He’s greeted back with the present moment, eyes shifting their view of Night City onto V. He chooses to roll them, his demeanor remaining in his signature stolid fashion. 

❝ Annoying, or tired of bullshit? ❞    He shrugs, moving to pull a cigarette from his pocket. He places it between his teeth, lighting the end before taking a drag. The smoke colors the air around them, his head clearing for just a moment from the usual thoughts: Dio, Egypt, Dio, Dio, Mom...

                  ❝ You stick with me for some reason, V. Figure out why if I annoy you so much. ❞

[inperish]

@voidroute​

the more she speaks,  the more he tunes her out.   (in one ear,  completely out the other.)   his back is leaned against the back of the chair he’s currently perched in,  eyes watching as she speaks her plan into action,  the movement of her arms following with every word slipping from her tongue.    on one hand,  kyle knows she’s right:  if they don’t make the move on the seed family,  they might not ever get the chance to strike again.    but,  then he realizes the logistical aspect of the approach:  no backup,  a plain suicide mission,  &  too much risk to take the chance.    when she finishes,  he clears his throat,  hands moving to rest in his lap as he leans forward.

❛  look,  lamb,  i’ll keep it real with you...  i like you,  i really do.    you’re the smartest female i know.  ❜    it’s a truthful statement,  a rare occurance for him.    it’s antithesis to his normal demeanor:  get some!    but instead,  he chooses to play it safe;  before he even has the chance,  the words slip from his mouth.

❛  but this is the stupidest fucking idea you’ve ever came up with.   &  that’s saying something,  because you come up with a lot of dumb fucking ideas.  ❜

[canspider]

“ Where were you, photographing squirrels? “ (from bucky barnes)

❝    NO!   i was stuck on the subway ‘cause i thought   ...   forget that part,  but i had to wait until the next stop               then,  i got stopped by cops ‘cause i was in my suit!     wanted to arrest me,  you know             THE USUAL SHEBANG!    ❞      

he can see the headline already for tomorrow’s edition of the daily bugle:   MASKED MENACE CAUSES CHAOS FOR POLICE!     (hero  versus  menace:   𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗.    he already knows what the majority of new york city would pick.)    when he steps through the front door of bucky’s apartment,  a sense of relief washes over him for a split second.    for a moment,  sirens don’t echo throughout his ears  &  neither do the aspersions the city throws at him.    murderer,  mentally ill,  menace.    he exhales a deep breath,  curiosity spreading over enervated features.

❝    so,  what’s the dealio?    didn’t call me over for movie night,  i expect.    you know,  ROCKY IV  has a russian in it...  might be right down your alley,  barnes!   well... maybe not yours,  might recommend that to natasha instead...  representation,  you know?    ❞