(Before saying anything else, this is way later than I wanted to get this list out, and for that I am so sorry!)
Anyway... It's back!
Thundertober 2025 is set to begin on the 1st October and will run through the entire month! This year, as we celebrate 60 years since the original Thunderbirds and 10 years since Thunderbirds Are Go, prompts chosen have been based around episode titles and events from both shows. (Can you guess which ones...?) Alt prompts have been provided for all those who may want to break it up and are based on anniversaries.
Like with all the previous events, anyone is welcome to give these prompts a shot in any creative form. I'm talking art, I'm talking writing, I'm talking just about anything! And whether you're new to the Thunderbirds fandom or you know your way around, I'm excited to see what you all have in store!
When posting your fine works of our boys in blue, please make sure you mention this event blog ( @thunder-tober ) and tag as #thundertober and #thundertober2025 so I can get round to everyone!
Above all, have fun and make sure to ask questions if you have any!
Hannah woke up with a start ... where the heck was Clarence? He couldn't have possibly sneaked off. Hell ... his heavy, stompy footsteps, even in sneakers ... would be a dead giveaway
She found a note placed beside her
It read ...
Houseman Warehouse - if you want to see your brother
Brushing the dirt off her clothes, she muttered to herself
"Now, what did that big dumb ox do?"
It wasn't a big deal, since he tended to wander off and get himself lost, so she wasn't that bothered about him
He did, however, manage to tag everywhere so that left a trail of 'breadcrumbs' so she could easily track him
But nope
She felt a little uneasy at this point and read the note again ...
...scrawled at the bottom, a set of coordinates showing the exact point of the warehouse location
Glancing nervously around, she followed them, to reveal a set of shutters
Cursing, she turned away assuming the place was locked up tight, when all of a sudden there was a rattling sound, as the shutters were raised ....
She waited until they were fully retracted, inside was pitch dark - obviously no power was going through
Shrugging, she turned away ... and heard a groan. She froze, her back stiffened, she knew exactly who that groan belonged to. She'd heard it several times over the years ...
A spotlight suddenly beamed right down to a chair, where Clarence was bound tightly, flanked by a pair of the meanest looking thugs she'd ever encountered, they must have been about 6 foot tall and built like ... brick shit houses
"Well, well," she jumped at the smooth voice behind her, "how surprising you can actually do as you're told ... obey orders ... Hannah."
Closing her eyes and swallowing hard, she absolutely HATED her birth name.
"What do you want?"
" Oh ... absolute loyalty." He replied, walking towards Clarence and placing his hand on her brother's trembling shoulder, smirking evilly, "you don't really think that I'm giving you some freebies, do you?"
He snapped his fingers, and the chair tilted backwards, a domed headset was lowered
"This ... is a probe," he grinned, flipping a dismissive hand, "you know ... to rearrange someone's brain patterns.
It has been proven very effective before."
"NO!" Hannah rushed forward, but she felt strong hands restraining her
There was a glint in the Hoods eyes
"Oh, would you like to take his place? .... Fair enough."
I ran with the idea of a probe being an investigation of sorts and ended up here, writing out part of a fic that has been tormenting me since September 2023.
I haven't had the time to re-read through this one, so if there are any mistakes or if things don't make sense, sorry!
And if you can spot the amount of Taylor Swift lyric references from her new album that I've managed to sneak into this one then I shall be impressed. I think Iâve hidden at least three.
Words: 2,872
Rating: Gen.
Universe: TAG
Triggers: None.
AO3 link here.
Other Days: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4
He was certain that, if he were to glance at himself in the mirror, he would be looking like absolute shit.
His eyes felt square from looking at his holo screen for too long. His legs had gone numb from sitting in his office chair for too long. His head was slowly aching from thinking over all the ways this report could go wrong for too long. His stomach was complaining at him from being ignored for too long. His heart was straining because the thought of getting this wrong had been weighing on him for too long.
The heels of his palms were pushed into his eyes, rubbing roughly, as he finally peeled himself away from the screen. He needed a drink before he went any further.
Scott stood and paced over to the drinks cabinet. Thank God for his father and his foresight on such a matter. As had become a personal tradition, Scott lifted the crystal glass up in a silent toast to Jeff before he took his first swig.
Everything had got out of hand way too fast. Everything had spiralled and now⊠Well, now Scott wasnât sure he could wind it all back into some sort of order again.
The whiskey burned as it ran down his throat. He savoured it, leaning his back against the cabinet.
Where had it all gone wrong? How had such a damning list been compiled with such ease?
Aiding and abetting a terrorist; employment of a minor; faking someoneâs death; using untested, and potentially dangerous, technology; the accusations of being a money laundering operationâŠ
Some were more threatening than others. Some had Scott worrying that it wasnât just a reputation that was on the line. And the worst part of it all was every accusation Ms. Hardy had laid at his feet was backed up by some solid fact. He couldnât strike a defamation suit against her because it was true. Twisted a little, maybe, but still, nevertheless, true.
Sheâd done her homework, ensuring she had the right amount of evidence to back up her claims. At least sheâd had the decency to forewarn him of the publication.
He glanced at his watch; almost seven pm. Sheâd be here for that chat in five minutes.
Scott had specifically chosen the Tracy Industries offices in New York, one for the familiarity of the place, but also to show her the monetary might of the Tracy family. He might not have resorted to violent threats, but that didnât mean he wasnât above all kinds of threats. And it certainly didnât mean he felt good about it.
The glass was drained and returned to the cabinet. Then, steeling himself for the meeting, Scott returned to his seat behind the desk. He used the brief moments he had left to review some of the notes that Callum had written up for him. It was basic PR, along with a slightly scathing sign-off that decreed that Scott should have allowed someone from the department to sit-in on the meeting. When his office door knocked, Scott almost wished that he had.
His assistant, Emery, entered. She was followed by a woman Scott could only presume was Ms. Hardy. She was dressed in a fitted Houndstooth jacket with a matching skirt. Her white blouse crisp and tucked into the skirt, dark tights accentuated her legs, and her heels raised her by a few inches. Her ash brown hair was wrapped into a neat chignon, two strands falling to frame her face.
He flashed a quick smile. âThank you, Emery. You can finish up for the day and head home now, if you like.â
His assistant wasnât unaccustomed to working overtime, but Scott made the mental note to add a nice bonus to her next pay-check regardless.
When Emery had left, closing the door behind her with a soft clock, Scott turned his attention to his guest. He gestured to the seat opposite the desk, a maroon-coloured, velvet-upholstered armchair. With a slight nod, she slid herself into the seat, legs crossing at her ankles.
âIâm very grateful for you agreeing to meet with me, Ms. Hardy,â Scott said, his entire persona naturally exuding businessman. It was like a mask he slipped on when attending board meetings, only this time it hadnât been put on on purpose. He was looking far too rigid and sounding far too uptight for the easy-going version of himself he had originally been aiming for.
âI canât say I was surprised by your invitation,â Ms. Hardy replied. She glanced around his office, taking note of whatever she deemed important to remember, and then flashed him a polite smile. âI take it you asked me here to try and convince me not to publish?â
Scott didnât mind getting straight to business, he supposed. It suited him far better, and the sooner she was out of his door, the better.
âAre you going to offer me money?â She continued. âOr threaten me with it? Let me tell you now, Mr. Tracy, that Iâve had both offers and threats posed to me in the past with stories that were far more damning than this little investigation, and Iâve never sold out. I donât intend to start now, either.â
His lips twitched, faintly impressed by her code. âPlease, call me Scott. No, I didnât ask you here because I want to bribe or threaten you. I just wanted to talk.â
âTalking me out of printing the truth? Now that is a new one.â
Scott bristled slightly at that. âItâs not entirely the truth, though, is it, Ms. Hardy?â
âCall me Daniella, please,â she parroted back his request of informality.
âDaniella,â Scott attempted again, âI wanted to see if we could come to some sort of agreement, to avoid this whole thing turning into some sort of a storm inside a teacup.â
She scoffed. âAlright, if you want to talk, let us begin with your claims that the truth I possess isnât actually the truth, shall we?â Daniella leaned back into the plush chair, elbows perched on the arm rests, a pen twirling between her fingers.
Scott resisted the urge to sigh. He pushed his irritation as far down as he could manage, and allowed her to carry on.
âI have stacks of evidenceâeyewitness testimonies; reports from both your organisation and the GDF, as well as certain companies that were involved in your rescues; communications from various partiesâthat suggest that what I possess is the cold hard truth. The conclusions I made in that expose were not made out of malice or misjudgment, Scott, contrary to what you may think. They were drawn from the sources I had available to me, and, yes, they are damning.â
âYes, but thatâs just it,â Scott snapped. âYou had what was available; but you werenât there when those things actually happened.â
Daniella blinked, though she didnât back down. âBeing present when someone is breaking or twisting the law does not negate that law.â
âNo, it doesnât, and Iâm not saying it does. I am saying that different situations mean that you sometimes have to take the lesser of two evils.â
She arched a brow. âLet me get this right. Are you saying that breaking out a known terrorist and harbouring him on your private island is the lesser of⊠what evil, exactly?â
That frustration bubbled to the surface. God, she was worse than Kat Cavanaugh! And that, Scott realised, was a quite a feat. He leaned forward onto his desk, arms flat against the mahogany grain. âThat isnât what Iâm saying. Youâre twisting the truth again!â
Daniella was unrelenting. âDid you, or did you not, break the criminal known as the Mechanic out of the Hex, a GDF secure facilityââ
âThat wasnât how it happenedâ!â
ââAnd then did you, or did you not, harbour him on your island?â
An agitated sigh was the answer she received. Scott pushed himself away from his desk, stood himself up and walked the few steps to the wall-to-ceiling windows that overlook New York City. His back was turned to the reporter but he knew she was watching him keenly. Only then did it hit him that he hadnât once asked for the meeting to be confidential.
Cold terror sliced through him. Scott glanced over his shoulder. âThis is all off-the-record, right?â
Daniella stared at him as though that hadnât been the words sheâd expected to hear. âWas it supposed to be?â
He could have so easily lied to her. He could have said yes, it was in the letter I sent you. It was one of the agreements to the meeting. It was there in black and white, when he knew for a fact that heâd omitted that detail. It didnât matter that it was done accidentally. Daniella had every right to publish whatever he said in this meeting alongside the expose, and he wouldnât be able to do anything about it. Lying would have been the wisest move. He wouldnât have to worry about his words tonight being twisted along with everything else and going to print.
But Scott was an honourable man. He didnât lie or cheat. He owned his mistakes, no matter how big or damning, and maybeâmaybeâDaniella would notice that too. Maybe itâd urge her to have a change of heart.
He shook his head in answer. âNo, I, uh, I think I left that bit out.â
Daniella remained quiet for a moment. âIt can become an off-the-record meeting, if youâd like? From the start. We can pretend that it always had been.â
Scott gawked at her, blue eyes marvelling at the journalist. Perhaps being so open with his mistake had made her have a change of heart. She didnât have to give him that offer. She could have added far more to her expose if the meeting was on-the-record, she could have twisted the truth even further, but she gave him an out.
âThank you,â he said thickly. âIâd appreciate that.â
She nodded. âThen consider it done.â
Relief coursed through him. If she was going to be lenient on that, then maybe there was still a good chance heâd be able to talk her out of publishing her main story. A sigh slipped past parted lips and Scott glanced back out of the large windows.
The New York City skyline was bright with the lights of skyscrapers and traffic. From the fiftieth floor of the building that traffic looked like ants, multicoloured, gridlocked ants, all hurrying to get from one destination to another. There was something calming about watching the busy New York scene from so high above, from so far away. From here, he wasnât in the middle of the chaos. He wasnât unable to see the bigger picture of the city as a whole.
It was time for a change of tactic.
He turned back to Daniella again. âI donât know what I can say to you that will change your mind,â he admitted. âYou say you have the evidence and I donât doubt that. You say that difficult situations arenât an excuse to bend or twist the law and I donât disagree with you.â
One hand ran through his chestnut locks, messing up his usually neatly-styled hair. After a long day at the office, even his best hair gel was starting to fail him and escaped curls were starting to pop through. He breathed out, slow, steady and deep.
âBut if you go ahead and publish this article, youâll be a catalyst for a chain of events that will only get worse with time. Youâll give our enemies the ammunition they need to damage us. I donât want to sound dramatic but this expose could signal the beginning of the end of International Rescue, an organisation that the world needs, Ms. Hardy. Please donât be the one who sparks the ignition that starts that process.â
Daniella pursed her lips, considering his words and warnings. For a moment, Scott gave himself the hope that she was going to listen and finally back down.
But her head tilted ever so slightly, her lips curled a fraction, and her palm balled into a fist around her pen. âYouâre saying that publishing this exposeâwhich the public have a right to read, by the wayâ will cause irreparable damage to one of your companies?â
âPlease, Ms. Hardy, I am pleading with you to not publish this article. Why else would I be trying to convince you?â
âTo save face? Your reputation? Significant investments? Youâre a businessman, Mr. Tracy. How can I be sure that this isnât just you trying to save yourself money?â
âBecause I havenât taken you to court.â
Daniella scoffed again. âAnd that shows me that youâre not a corrupt businessman how exactly?â
âIf I was concerned about money, then Iâd have just taken you to court and sued you for all the millions you donât have. Your career would be in tatters, and my family would be safe.â
Threats. The one thing Scott had told himself he wouldnât stoop to.
To her credit, Daniella didnât seem too bothered by his words. She rolled her eyes. âYou wouldnât be able to sue me. Everything I have in that article is based on true events. I have the facts on my side.â
âAnd I have the money on mine. I have access to the very best lawyers in the world.â Scott sat himself back down, steepling his fingers on his desk. âTrust me when I say that I am not here to make money, or because I am worried about the business side of things should everything turn sour. I am here, Ms. Hardy, to implore you to think about the very real consequences publishing this expose will have.â
He held her gaze, uncompromising in his dire warning. She was a hard read. Her amber eyes gave nothing away and Scott suddenly felt the need to challenge her to a card game once they werenât butting heads over this article. With a poker face like that, he was certain sheâd be a decent opponent, and with John up in orbit most of the time, he needed a new rival to compete against.
Daniella raised herself from the seat. âI want the truth out there, Scott. No matter how much good you do in the world, you cannot be allowed to go unchecked. That is wrong, butâŠâ She trailed off as she rummaged around in her bag before setting a small, oblong device on his desk. âRead it. Make notes. Then meet with me again and weâll work together on it. Itâll be less expose and more of an interview, holding you to account still, but slightly less harsh.â
It was an olive branch, Scott recognised, and the deal was one that wouldnât get better. The fact that she had, once again, given him the opportunity to change things in his favour was in itself surprising. Heâd begun to think that the argument would have gone on all night, and though he was sure there would be more petitioning in the future, this was better than nothing.
His hand slid across the desk to pick up the thumb drive. âThank you.â
âIâm not doing this for you or your organisation, Mr. Tracy. Iâm doing this because I donât think youâre lying about it being catastrophic for the rest of the world. I donât want to be the cause of any disastrous chain reaction and,â Daniella trailed off again.
âAnd?â
âAnd,â she hesitated, âI donât think that youâre necessarily deserving of something so damning. You sound decent and I want to give you a chance.â
Scott couldnât help the grin that formed now, dimples on full display. âI appreciate it, more than you can imagine. Iâll be in contact in a few days.â
Daniella offered him a small smile before she headed for the door, and only once she was gone did Scott feel the sting of relieved tears threatening to run down his cheeks. Only once she was gone did he let them escape. He stood and made his way back to the drinks cabinet, pouring himself another whiskey and downing the brown liquid in one.
That had been far too close. He didnât know who had been watching down on him favourably tonight but he was thankful for the luck theyâd sent his way. He was so unbelievably thankful because, next time, he wasnât sure heâd get off the hook so easily.Â
After a full check over the Chaos Cruiser, as well as answering many rather annoying and really irritating questions
How does this work?
Can you REALLY break the speed limit?
How does it come apart?
Is this the ONLY colour it comes in?
The Hood announced that it was time to do a test drive he assured them that the district he'll be taking them to, won't be swarming with the GDF and the police.
Since he had this part of the city in his pocket so they can ride about and have as much fun as possible without getting arrested
"Oh, and don't forget ..." he remarked with a knowing sneer, "to tag everywhere, so that you leave your trademark calling card for everyone to see."
Ensure that you leave a trail
He watched as they sped off, and chortled to himself, his plan is coming together quite nicely ...
Thundertober - a very late day 1 lmao @thunder-tober
"Umm guys, the crack's getting bigger..."
"Just hang on a little longer Gordon, we'll be right there."
"Scott, the O2 levels in there are starting to drop and the water's still rising. If you don't hurry it up-"
"I know Virgil! ...I know."
(dont ask why he dont got his helmet on in this situation i didnt think that far ahead đđ)
first of all, GORDON MENTION >:0 second of all, wydm im late im totally not late mhm yep-
oh who am i kidding, im three to four (FIVE??) days late solely because i decided to bring an MS PAINT DOODLE (bc they were meant to be quick as i have exams still đđ) into my actual drawing program to try rendering for like the second time ever
LIKE:
THIS IS WHAT WE STARTED WITH HERE
(we'll find out the hard way if i do the other ones as well :'D đđ)
i kinda do like the facial expression a bit more in this one and i also think whatever shading i started to do was also pretty good so i think i did pretty alright :D
gordo does kinda look like alan there tho so oops
not too happy with gordon's hair in the final one but we'll pretend that because it's wet it looks like that lmaoo
originally was gonna do the prompt with the pookie bear virgil again but changed my mind when i couldn't get the pose right. the context for gordon's situation is uhh.. i actually dont have any lmao hes just trapped (haha im so funny) in some kinda ship that's not only flooding but also getting crushed by smth too so thats great for him :'D
(i feel like you could probably write smth cool for this as well so if anyone is willing/able/inspired to PLEASEEE let me know, send link etc etc like i feel like things can be cooked up with this and i dont got that skill to put pen to paper myself so itd be so fire if this inspires someone i will explode rahhhhh)
ahem heres a closeup of the final without the window and some shadows and stuff :P
Almost didn't get this one out on time today! It might become a slightly common thing. This was my last, fully written-before-the-day-of-posting piece, so unless I have a writing sprint, some may be coming a couple of days later!
As usual, the story ended up being far larger than Iâd originally intended and I ran out of time to expand any further. Sorry if it felt a little blunt at the end!
Kayo has until dawn to save a friend. Will she make it in time? And, more importantly, will she regret being the one to jump into the deep end?
Words: 2,140
Rating: Gen.
Universe: TAG
Triggers: Minor Character Death / Guns
AO3 link here.
Other Days: 1 / 2 / 3
Click. Click. Click.
The metal grill of the walkway echoed as Kayo took her quick steps.
It creaked and bowed below each footfall and, at one point, she was fairly certain a section was about to entirely snap from under her. A fall from five storeys to an early grave was a sobering thought.
But she didnât stall and she didnât allow her mind to linger on such a devastating distraction. She had to get to the meeting point, and she had to get there fast.
Time was ticking by perilously. From the rectangular factory windows above her, Kayo could see the sky was slowly shifting from shades of indigo to lighter shades of peach; dawn was fast approaching. Her deadline was nipping at her heels. She picked up her pace, the walkway beneath her groaning at her increased speed.
When news of his disappearance had reached her, Kayo had joined the search immediately. They had been searching for him for three days and three nights. The GDF had given her full rein of the mission from day one. She had enlisted Penelopeâs help on day two. Parker had secured her a solid lead by the morning of the third day, and Kayo had managed to get in contact with the abductor by the evening. Now, on the cusp of the dawn of the fourth day, Kayo would end this.
The end of the walkway ended with a set of double doors. Kayo pushed them open slowly, revealing another flight of concrete stairs. If the schematics had been correct, it would lead her up to the sixth and final floor; the old foreman offices. It was her last hope. It was where sheâd been led up to this point. She had to have faith that the meeting point was at the end.
Kayo took two steps at a time. The sooner this was over, the better.
The staircase led to another set of doors, this time already open, with a long corridor beyond. All the way down the hall there were various doorways. Some still had the doors attached, though the rooms were all locked up tight behind them. Where there was no longer a door, planks had been nailed into the walls, boarding up the entrances. It was a reminder that the former GDF weapons factory had been abandoned for a long time.
She tried each door that was still on their hinges. None of them opened.
Racing along, it didnât take her long to reach the end of the corridor. Or at least, that part of the corridor. It turned to the right, continuing down the for another two-hundred feet or so, identical to the last. And again Kayo tried every door she passed, all of them the same as the previous hallway. She marched faster, growing more and more frustrated with every door handle that rattled but refused to open.
Until one eventually did.
Hesitantly Kayo crossed the threshold. Her eyes darted to the left and to the right, looking for any signs of traps or triggers. If she was caught out now, wounded or potentially worse, then everything would have been in vain.
Lanterns lit the way forward from here, trailing like breadcrumbs across the room. The large windows had been partly shattered in places, causing the wind to whistle through. It was the only sound in the vicinity and it was unnerving to say the least. Still, Kayo pressed forward. She followed the lanterns and stepped over the discarded papers which littered the floor, around the broken desk and across the piles of rubble that had fallen from the caved-in ceiling. They led her to another door, closed again this time, but this one clearly connected to the room next door. When she tried the handle, it opened.
The room beyond was the same as the first. So was the next one. And the next. And the next. The lanterns kept leading her to the doors that connected like a chain to the offices down the corridor. They were taking her back the way sheâd come. Clearly the rooms had been locked from being accessed from the outside to conceal this little game.
Kayo buried the irritation that was rising up. How far back would this trail lead her? Would she run out of time before she got to the end? It fuelled her to move faster, the frustration lending itself to her desire to finally finish the job.
Continuing through the rooms with speed, she also continued to remain mindful to watch for any possible traps, until finally the last room ended, not with another door, but a gaping hole in the floor.
It only went down one level thankfully. She calculated the angle and then carefully dropped herself down.
Slow clapping pierced the gentle humming of the generator in front of her. Kayo slowly turned on her heels.
âItâs over, Corporal Dennis. Surrender now andââ
Kayo ceased talking when she saw the scene before her, her next words completely lost from the shock. Corporal Dennis, the supposed abductor, was sprawled unconscious on the floor before her. Dead.
Her heart dropped. âNo, thatâ That isnâtââ
A familiar figure emerged from behind a large piece of machinery, a wry smile taunting her as he stepped into the light. He still wore his GDF uniform, though it was clear at this point that he no longer had any allegiance to the organisation.
âRigby?â Kayo breathed out, not wanting to come to terms with the scene. âWhat are you doing? It was Dennis whoââ
He tilted his head, mockingly. âWas it Dennis? Did you even read the notes I sent, Kayo?â
âBut why?â
âYou were two minutes too late.â Rigby lifted his wrist to check his watch. âWell, one minute-fifty. But who cares about the details, right? You certainly didnât.â
Her head was spinning. This wasnât right. It had been Rigby who was supposed to have been taken hostage by Dennis. It was some sort of weird ransom situation over a GDF special weapon. Rigby wasnât supposed to be the villain here. He couldnât have been. He was a loyal soldier of the GDF and, above all else, he was her friend.
âWhy,â she repeated, more clearly this time, âare you doing any of this?â
Nonchalantly he shrugged and strolled forward. His boot tapped the shoulder of the deceased Corporal in front of him, the disrespect only being added to with a sneer. âIt was a shame Dennis didnât want to cooperate. I gave him every chance, butâŠâ Rigby sighed. âHe could have been so much more useful. So much potential gone to waste.â
Kayo eyed the door to her left. It was open, with a bright red Exit sign tantalisingly flashing intermittently over it. If she could run fast enough, sheâd be able to get out and contact the GDF with the truth of the situationâ
âDo. Not.â Rigby punctuated, raising his hand, âEven. Think. About it.â
A gun was now pointed at her. Despite his warning, his eyes were daring her, challenging her to defy him. To give him an excuse to pull the trigger.
No, this couldnât have been Rigby. This wasnât like him at all. Those piercing blue eyes of his were slightly dimmer, though they shone with the glint of a madman. No, it had to be some sort of weird dream. Perhaps she hadnât been careful enough when looking out for traps. Perhaps one had got her. Perhaps sheâd wake up soon and be in Dennisâs clutches. Kayo would have rathered that situation than this one.
This very real one.
Because no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, Rigby was pointing a gun at her. He had killed Corporal Dennis. That word friend which she had used to describe him for so long now was no longer an accurate description for him.
Yet, despite the reality, she still held onto hope that things werenât as they seemed. The Rigby sheâd known would never have betrayed his fellow soldiers. The Rigby she knew would never have murdered someone in order to get his hands on an experimental weapon. The Rigby she knew wouldnât be looking at her like she was next on his hit-list.
âWhy did you lure me here?â
âJoin me,â he answered simply.
Kayo scoffed. âIn this mad charade? No, thanks.â
Rigby appeared unperturbed by her refusal. He stepped towards her eagerly. âJoin me,â he simply said again, though his gun was still trained on her.
She instinctively took a step back. âWill you shoot me if I donât? Will my fate be like Dennisâs?â
Those blue eyes darted down to the corpse of the corporal, utterly void of any emotion. It was unnerving how much Rigby had changed. How fast. No, something didnât sit right with her.
âI needed you to stop looking for me,â he explained. âWhen Corporal Dennis here wised up to my plans, I decided to use him as a decoy. Have the GDF think that it was him who was behind all of this. I didnât expect you to be the one who came knocking, especially without a back-up team. Honestly, havenât you learned your lessons yet?â
Rigby took another step forward but, again, Kayo stepped back an equal amount.
He chuckled at her response. âI guess thatâs to be expected.â
âSo this was all because you want the secret weapon? Why?â
âItâll be worth a pretty penny when sold to the right person.â
It was all so very wrong, and when Rigby neared her again, almost backing up her into the small gated area where the generator sat, Kayo struck. She aimed for the gun first, whacking his hand and causing his grip to falter. It didnât take long for it to fall to the floor with a clatter. Then, she went for his legs, swiping them out from under him. Rigby was a tall, well-built soldier, trained for fighting, but he stumbled clumsily. He barely remained upright and he certainly wasnât balanced when Kayo slipped past him and kicked him forward, past the open gate, and into the generator.
âNice try, uncle,â Kayo spat, shutting the gate before he could run back out. âBut Rigby would never be swayed by something so pathetic as a quick cash grab.âÂ
Rigby, who she had since realised was thankfully not Rigby, cursed her. He rushed to the gate and rattled against it. The lock held firm. âYouâll regret this!â
âYou say that every single time, and yet Iâm still waiting on the chance to cash in that threat of yours.â
He rattled the cage again as Kayo crossed the room and searched through his belongings. It didnât take her long to find his favourite gadget. With a push of a button, Rigbyâs face morphed back into the ownerâs true visage; the Hood.
âAnd I rarely do any mission without back-up, uncle. Theyâll be here soon enough, but while we wait, why donât you tell me where the real Captain Rigby is?â
The Hood knew he held the last card that Kayo so desperately wanted. He knew what the friendship sheâd cultivated with Rigby meant to her. It was probably half the reason why heâd chosen his face as his disguise. He probably could sense her anxious heart beating wildly as she awaited his answer.
So when he refused to oblige her and offered up a smug grin instead, Kayo wasnât too surprised.
She lifted the gun from where it had fallen and watched as, for a split second, fear crossed her uncleâs features. It soon changed back to glee.
âAre you going to shoot me, Tanusha? Are you finally going to put an end to this game of cat and mouse?â
Kayo inspected the gun carefully. She turned it over in her hands, felt the weight of the weapon. âItâs tempting,â she admitted aloud. âI suppose I could. I could argue it was self-defence. I could say I had no other choice.â She made sure her next words were spoken with unyielding eye contact, and she stepped closer to the gate. âBut I would never stoop to your level. I would never kill as an easy route out of a difficult situation. As much as you want to mould me into your likeness, uncle, I will never be like you.â
Despite her words and their bite, the Hood was entirely unbothered by her words. If anything, he looked bored. âGive it time, dear Tanusha. One day you truly wonât have a choice.â
âThere are always choices.â
âYes, there are. But sometimes every single one of them is a bad one.â He chuckled at that, unfazed by the march of soldierâs footsteps high above them as he concluded, âI look forward to the day you finally pluck up enough courage to pull the trigger.â
"Well ...," the Hood mused whilst circling the duo, " you need a name ... to gain notoriety so that people will fear you."
He continued pacing whilst deep in thought, then stopped and stared hard at them, eyeing them up and down
Obviously he wasn't happy with the two scruffy looking kids in tattered jeans and sweats
"So ...since the two of you like to cause as much chaos as possible ... how about the Chaos Crew? Has a nice ring to it ... right?"
He pointed to their clothing with a sneer
"I think it's time to get rid of those ... rags ... and get into a uniform."
Hannah opened her mouth to protest, as she found that uniforms meant restrictions, but he just waved a dismissive hand in her general direction
"Oh, trust me ... you'll be provided with a few added 'perks'"
He pointed at Clarence.
"You look strong, how about I make you even stronger ... with a Power Punch?"
"Oh ... you like that idea huh?"
"And you, young lady, you've got a sharp mind. How do you fancy being a hacker, as well as being sneaky ... have the ability to be in two places at the same time ... you like that? ... well ... I've got the right gadget for you as well."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully
"Can the two of you drive?"
Hannah made a pfft sound and waved a dismissive hand
"You're kidding ..right?" was her answer, " we've been jacking cars and selling the parts to keep us afloat."
A smirk spread across the Hoods face as he took note of yet another of their 'indiscretions' adding to the list that would definitely implicate them in the future ... that would bind them to him
"Noted,"
Hannah shivered at the realisation that she'd openly confessed to him
Ah shit
"You'll need transportation."
He pushed a button, which opened a rolling door to a warehouse.
Many apologies for being late, brain, and creativity both need a sharp kick up the butt!.
@thunder-tober
He circled as she hastily scrawled her signature, whilst her brother hovered nearby, feeling very uneasy
Fuse wasn't quite so sure, regarding this 'arrangement' but he trusted his sister
After all, didn't she get them out of many tricky situations in the past? Often, by the skin of their teeth
"There," she said finally ... after putting the pen on the table with a triumphant smile, believing that they'd made a deal of a lifetime
The Hood, calmly pressed a button.
A hologram appeared, showing many of their petty crimes, an evil grin spread over his pallid face
"Thank you," he intoned, rubbing his hands together, " you've given me more than enough evidence to have the two of you put behind bars."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he waved his hand dismissively
"Don't bother" he interrupted, "I've got contacts from higher up. That can 'overlook' my indiscretions quite easily ... I highly doubt they'll look upon the two of you quite so favourably."
And that's when the two of them realised that they'd made a deal with the devil ... they were trapped ... forced to be at the Hood's bidding
I was gonna write a fanfic but I was lost in my assignments... Heyyyy @thunder-tober
Nevertheless...!
I made up a fancy chat group for the Tracys! I tried to give is a sci-fi-ish vibe while also making it feel like a very, VERY secure chat system designed for the brothers.
To keep with the theme, I made it so that they tend to prefer to use the software when they're on the mainland.
City
I had too much fun here...
and then I made this one! And also made my own fake life issues for Alan!
I will happily make more, I just need an excuse to make more, so if anyone's got ideas to share or they want me to make something for a personal thing, or an RP thing, PLEASE ask!!
This is set prior to the main series and prior to Penelope joining International Rescue. It's part of a whole backstory idea Iâve had running through my mind for at least a year now, but Iâve never been brave enough to write it down. This prompt felt like the perfect place to put at least some of the ideas down. It is full of headcanons. If that isnât your thing, perhaps donât read this one.
To note: Penny is around twenty-one in this. She has been doing spy-work but this is her first real big thing. She thinks her father will disapprove because heâs constantly made comments about how he wants Penelope to live a safer life than the one heâs had, and it isnât because he doesnât think sheâs capable. When he does find out sheâs in the game heâs going to be proud of her.Â
Words: 1,940
Rating: None
Universe: Any (preferably TAG)
Triggers: None
AO3 link here.
Other Days: 1 / 2
2057, October 3rd.
The city was always at its best when night fell and cast its dark shadows across the metropolis. The pavements, wet from an earlier shower, glistened under the combined efforts of the streetlights and the moon. The buildings in the area were lit up like golden beacons of various sizes. Big Ben was easily the tallest. The big face illuminated the roman numerals as the dark hands ticked away the remaining minutes of the day. Cars, buses, vans and taxis drove past, their headlights piercing through the darkness, their rear-lights adding much needed colour to the tableau.
Penelope left it all behind her as she descended into Westminsterâs Underground Station. She couldnât remember the last time sheâd used the Tube. A woman of her position and notoriety was often advised to not use public transportation where possible. But she wasnât planning on riding any trains tonight.
She wore a knee-length black duster coat over the top of a standard black top and black jeans. A dark grey scarf was wrapped around her throat to help combat the chill in the autumn air, and her boots had been chosen to match. Her outfit was designed to be unseen, designed to be forgettable, and Penelope hoped that it was enough when she passed through the ticket barriers and continued her descent.
The smell of oil and fumes filled the air. Her nose crinkled. One would have thought that, by the year 2057, even the London Tube would have thrown away the diesel stock engines. Clearly someone found money far more interesting than they did the climate, or peopleâs health for that matter. Sheâd have to look into that, see if there was something to be done.
Penelope was about to step foot onto the escalators when a gloved hand grabbed her by the upper arm and tugged her back. She was about to turn and strike when she realised who it was.
She sighed. âDidnât your mother ever tell you that it was dangerous to grab a woman like that? I was two seconds away from stomping on your instep, Sam.â
Sam, who was also dressed in clothing that matched his jet black hair, grinned. âGood to see you too, Penny.â He nodded his head backwards. âCome on, thereâs place for us to talk this way.â
His hand slipped down her arm to catch her hand. Her fingers curled around the soft leather of Samâs glove and allowed his initiated soft informalityâit wasnât like he knew better.
Penelope followed Sam through the winding hallways that made up Westminster Station. She was fairly certain that heâd double-backed a few times, no doubt to ensure that no-one would be following them, before he eventually opened a creaky, old rusted gate. He ushered her inside and closed it behind them, leading them both further down the new hallway.
This one was far different to the rest theyâd ventured down because, unlike the rest of the station that was open to the public, this one was clearly part of an abandoned part of the station. It was dark and dreary. The bare brick walls were covered in something wet that dripped from the arched ceilings. Sam lit a torch and then pressed on, Penelope following close behind.
âWhere are we going?â She asked after a few more minutes of twisting tunnels in the dark.
Samâs hand squeezed hers once, reassuringly. âYou donât trust me?â
âShould I?â
He smirked but said nothing.
After what seemed like an age of nothing but endless walking, Sam stopped in front of an old door. Penelope could tell that it had once been white from the chipped paint, but had since been covered with grey dust and soot. A poster that had faded with age warned of Danger Ahead. Penelope eyed the sign curiously.
âDonât worry about it,â Sam explained. âI put it there to make sure no-one comes snooping.â
He unlocked the door.
âWho would want to come snooping down here?â She asked. âItâs positively ghastly.â
With a hand gesturing her forward, Sam grinned. âLadies first.â
Penelope was in two minds to just bolt. There was still time for her to get out before she got too involved. At this point, her father wouldnât even have to know. It wasnât too late to leave. Crossing the doorâs threshold changed that. Once she went inside, once sheâd seen everything, there was no going back. There was no leaving. And her father would inevitably learn the truth about her midnight rendezvous and of her various trips to the city that had been increasing steadily over the last few months.
She inhaled deeplyâregretting it terribly because the stench of an abandoned Underground tunnel was unbearable, it seemedâand decided to take that first step in.
Unlike the tunnels that had led them to the room, the room itself was lit up brightly by an overhanging light. Three folding chairs surrounded a large makeshift desk had been set up in the centre of what, Penelope quickly realised, was once a relatively large supply closet. Some of the shelving units were still present and were now holding boxes and boxes of documentation. On the far side of the room (which was not more than twenty paces from the only door, and thus the only exit) was a large cork-board. It was empty, save for only a few colourful pins stuck into the cork. The desk, too, was empty.
Sam had given her one last chance to turn back. To change her mind. He understood the steps she was taking (to some degree at least) and heâd wanted to give her that one last out, should she have needed it.
But Penelopeâs mind was set.
She wanted to do this. She had to.
âI didnât come all this way to look at an empty room, Sam,â she quipped.
Sam loitered for a moment in the doorway, examining Penelope was a look she was unable to pinpoint. Curiosity? Amusement? Pride? It only lasted a moment, and then he was closing the door behind him and crossing the room to the cork-board. With a single pull, he turned the board around to reveal many things pinned in place. Photographs, letters, confidential memos, handwritten sticky-notes.
Penelope unconsciously took a step forward, her eyes scanning the details. There was far too much for her to decipher in such a short amount of time, but that didnât mean she stopped. Sam allowed her to look, busying himself with some of the boxes on the supply shelf. He took a couple down, placing them on the table, and then began pulling out various files. They were laid out across the metal of the table in a systemic order. When he was done with the boxes, he replaced them on the shelves behind him.
âTake a seat.â He offered with a wave of his hand.
It took Penelope a few seconds to tear her eyes off the board in front of her. She took the chair nearest to her. Sam pulled his closer, opening up the first file.
With no clock in the room it was hard to decipher exactly how long theyâd been there. An hour, perhaps? Time passed by differently when one was tucked away in a secret hideout, looking through a whole host of secret information with a secret friend.
All Penelope knew was that the files that were in front of her contained far more details than sheâd ever have expected.
Sam had chuckled when sheâd voiced that naive opinion out loud. âDid you think weâd have no intel? Your father is very thorough.â
Her jaw tightened. âYou know?â
He rolled his eyes. âPenny. Come on, what do you think Iâm paid for? Sitting in a damp room on the Underground with loads of papers?â
âMaybe.â She allowed herself to smile.
âMy whole thing is gathering intelligence. Iâve known who you were from the first time we met.â
âAnd my father? What does he know?â
Sam shrugged, leaning back in his chair. âHe knows what he needs to know. Compartmentalisation is very important in our work.â
So, no. He didnât. Penelope breathed a small sigh of relief. If her father knew where she was, what she was doing⊠Heâd have a fit. Lord Hugh Creighton-Ward was a very progressive man, but Penelope wouldn't have put it past him to lock her up in her room in the manor if he was to find out what she was doing before it was too late to stop her.
âDid you want him to know?â
âNo!â Penelope blurted out. She cursed herself. âI mean, itâs better for him to not know. For now, anyway. Iâm sure heâll find out soon enough.â
Sam nodded once. âSo, whatâs your opinion?â He shifted in his seat and waved towards the cork-board behind them. âNow that youâve seen everything we have, what do you think is their big plan?â
It was a test, she realised. In fact, this whole evening had been a test. How far was she willing to go? How much did she trust her new partner? How long would she last before she ran away from the truth?
She hoped sheâd passed with flying colours so far. She hoped sheâd proved that she was willing to go all the way, that she trusted her new partner as much as she was supposed to in this job, and that she wasnât about to go running out that door because the truth frightened her too much.
She was Penelope Creighton-Ward, and she was born for this job, whether her father agreed with her or not. Sheâd pass this test, too.
Once again, Penelope scrutinised the board, but only one answer seemed obvious.
âThe City,â she answered confidently. âTheyâll hit the City first. Itâs big and bold, and whilst everyone is running around, trying to douse that fire, theyâll hit the smaller places. Theyâll work their way down, until nobody is watching HQ.â
Samâs brows furrowed. âI wouldnât call HQ a small place, Pen.â
âCompared to the national tragedies theyâll be wreaking elsewhere? Theyâll make sure that it will be seen that way.â
He nodded once again, his lips curling into that familiar shape Penelope had come to recognise as one of pride. âIâll get on the phone with Wolf, let him know what our thinking is.â
As he stood, Penelope pulled one of the files towards herself, opening it up to reread the details. He barely made it to the door when she stated, âYou already knew all of this.â
Sam stopped with one foot out of the threshold.
âYou already knew but you were waiting for me to give you the answer.â Her eyes didnât leave the papers she was flicking through, but Penelope could sense his hesitation.
âI wanted to know who I was going to be working with.â
âWeâve already worked three jobsââ
âNot officially,â he answered softly.
Penelope looked up at him then, her blue eyes piercing like ice. âI donât need to be mollycoddled, you know.â
âThis isnât me mollycodââ Sam sighed. âI just wanted you to have the chance to prove you were meant to be here, Pen. This way, we can work it together.â
She bit back the urge to retort, to argue that she was able to prove her worth on her own.
âI didnât mean⊠Listen, I know youâre capable. Thatâs why Iâve pushed for you to be here, Pen. Iâve only ever wanted what was best. You know this.â
Penelope didnât answer. She glanced back at the papers in front of her, and allowed Sam to go make his call.Â
A plotless idea where the entire family visits Thunderbird Fiveâs gravity ring "to help with maintenance" but also to bond with John. hello @thunder-tober !
Ring
Space is beautiful. Just ask John.
Consentual solitude in not only the middle of nowhere, but in the middle of almost nothing. With his only friend being a machine that tried to kill him, and his main communication to his family being digital.
How John could live this way, Scott will never understand. None of them truly understands it. Not even Alan. But they all wanted to know.
It was noticeable in the way Gordon fearfully hovered closely to Johnâs tether, yet bravely looked out into the abyss anyways. The way Virgil scanned the stars, looking for the colours in his mind that could perfectly replicate the art before his eyes. Alan showed it in the way that he didnât even need a tether, the teenâs suit is practically built to prevent drifting away, Alanâs best form of control is when he is in space. Space to Alan is like the ocean to Gordon, but Alan doesnât realise it yet. Scott smiles.
It was nice to have all the brothers up here. John admitted it to Scott in private. He didnât need to though, Scott could see it in the way the astronaut coherently spoke to his family without the nuisance of his gravity induced headache.
Helping with maintenance on the gravity ring was just an excuse, and while they all know it, none of them will admit it. In an hour, they will be eating together as the earth slowly turns beneath them.
Listen, I wasn't going to do Day Two because I didn't have any ideas. Then I ended up with three. This one was the most compelling... and it ended up just not making sense. It got away from me and I'm not entirely happy with how it ended up being written. There is probably a better story to be told here, but this is just over 2,000 words so it's the best it can be.
All I can say is John is about to go on a very bumpy ride.
John Tracy gets to undertake a solo rescue mission. Destination? The new GDF space fort named the Castellum. Things quickly turn sour.
Words: 2,479
Rating: M
Universe: TAG
Triggers: Whump / Threats of Violence / Minor Violence
AO3 link here.
Other Days: 1
The relationship John Tracy had with venturing out into the field was two fold; part of him enjoyed his solitary work on Thunderbird Five and the idea of heading out into the Danger Zone would sometimes fill him with dread; but on the other hand, there were certain events that had him excited to jump head first into the action.
There were elements of his work that set him so far apart from the rest of his brothers that John often felt like the odd one outâwhen they were out there, boots on the ground, so to speak, and he was far way, thousands of miles up in orbit, alone and overseeing everything through his monitors and hologrammatic scans, it was hard not to feel singled out.
Balancing the two feelings was, for the most part, easy enough. John savoured his time on Thunderbird Five, and it often made him appreciate the few trips to the Danger Zone that he did take much more. He could come to terms with the fact that he wasnât like his brothers, in the sense that he took pleasure in watching the world from space. None of his brothers could understand what drew him to that âlife of solitudeâ, but that was okay. They didnât need to understand it. They respected it and that was enough.
It had been five weeks since John had last taken part, hands-on, in a mission. Via the space elevator he had travelled back to the island for his usual monthly visit and had subsequently been caught up in a rescue involving an oil rig in the North Sea. For his brothers it was just another Tuesday. For John it had been exhilarating. There was a thrill to being in the middle of the action, and whilst his soul might not have called for it as often as his brothersâ did, when he was in the right mood for an operation, he couldnât deny he enjoyed it⊠As far as one could enjoy a rescue, that is.
This time, at least, the situation was in his proverbial backyard.
The Castellum was a magnificent feat of engineering. It rivalled Brainsâs own work on the Estrella Hotel, though John wouldnât have openly said it. Brains had been extremely vocal about the main architect of the GDFâs new space fort, and his sour relationship with the man had been made extremely clear. When the rescue call had come through, and Brainsâs hologram had joined the rest of the team, heâd made no point of hiding how he wasnât surprised thereâd been a disaster.
âS-Shoddy workmanship that would rival even Langstrom Fis-Fischler,â he remarked under his breath, though John had caught every word and had smirked.
Why the GDF had gone with Ezra Dodd rather than Brains, no-one knew. And, at that moment in time, it didnât really matter. All that mattered was sorting out the disaster that had unfolded.
The plan was discussed: John would take the lead and head out to the Castellum first, and Alan would fly up in Three to join him. Everyone seemed happy with the plan.
John had strapped his exo-suit to his body, opened the airlock and had been whisked out into the inky blackness of space without hesitation.
A full, metal circle that was suspended in geostationary orbit was his destination. It was like an intergalactic ring, otherworldly and alien, the sun glinting silver off the bodywork whenever it caught; the sight was spectacular. John would have envied anyone who had the chance to work in the Castellum had he not been blessed with Thunderbird Five.Â
As he grew nearer, he tapped the comms unit on his wrist. âCastellum, this is John Tracy of International Rescue. Iâm approaching airlock B.â
Static. Then, a few seconds later than heâd have liked, a response came. âRoger that, John Tracy of International Rescue. Airlock B will be open to you.â
It took a few more minutes before he was safely onboard the Castellum. Red lights accompanied intermittent sirens from the very first room he found himself in. John slid his helmet off, clicked it onto his belt, and was greeted by a rather tall man with shoulder length blonde hair.
He advanced towards John with an impossibly wide grinâpleased, no doubt, that help had finally come. âMr Tracy?â A single blonde curl fell over his face, covering one eye. He tucked it behind his ear with one hand, whilst the other extended out towards John. âIâm Ezra Dodd.â
âThe architect.â
Ezra nodded, his smile growing even wider at the recognition. âI was the only one on board when, wellââ He gestured to the lights that were flashing wildly. âI didnât know who else to call.â
âYou were right to call us,â John reassured him.
Ezra gestured for him to follow as he began to lead him through the fort. Along the way, sparks flew out from various consoles dotted in some of the hallways.Â
âWhat exactly did happen?â John asked, following behind Ezra closely.
âIâm not entirely sure,â Ezra admittedly, a little meekly, âbut I think it might have something to do with the work that I was carrying out.â
The Castellum was, thankfully, empty for the time being. According to the GDF, personnel were supposed to begin transferring next month. At least that narrowed down the possible casualties.
âEverything went kaput!â The architect explained, leading John down more winding hallways.
He figured, given the ring-like shape, that every hallway was somewhat winding.
âWhat work was it you were carrying out?â
âLast minute adjustments, spot checking, essential maintenance, that sort of thing. It wasnât anything drastic.â
John wasnât sure how certain Ezra was of that statement. The man bowed his head away from him as if in shame, but as Ezra led him into a large, central control room, John decided to drop any further questions. The answers would show themselves eventually.
A massive wall of glass covered one entire section of the new room. There was nothing beyond the window save for the infinite black of space beyond. The current positioning of the Castellum meant that neither Earth nor the Moon could be seen from this particular window, and John felt a peculiar feeling of homesickness.
It must have been visible on his face, as Ezra sidled up to him and asked, âYou feeling alright?â
John hadnât even realised heâd been staring out of the window until Ezraâs voice had broken him out of it. He cleared his throat, smiled, and replied, âAbsolutely. Now, letâs take a look at these controls.â
Desks were stationed in a similar fashion to the old control centre at Houston. John had routinely trained in the space whilst gaining his space wings. Each desk controlled a different aspect of whatever mission was being handled. Here, in preparation for the GDFâs new STRIKE initiative, there were additional computers, all set up for different mission parameters.Â
His first station was the general engineerâs department. John tapped away, swiping through various system diagnostics. âSo what is the problem exactly? Life support is nominal. The gravity is clearly working. Thereâs nothing on this that is sounding any alarms.â
The next station was one of the newly constructed STRIKE computers. Again, John typed and swiped, bypassing various firewalls in his attempt to get through and see if there was any damage.
âIs the STRIKE system operational yet?â
âPartly,â Ezra clarified. Heâd taken a seat in a nearby swivel chair. His hands were up, behind his head. His legs stretched out and crossed at his ankles. He was still grinning. For a man who had called International Rescue, he seemed fairly unfazed by the situation.
It took John a few more minutes than heâd anticipated, but heâd eventually broken through the systemâs defences. âWill it cause a problem if this place goes into meltdown?â
Ezra shook his head, but John could have sworn there was a glint that flashed in the manâs eyes. âI donât think itâll go into a meltdown.â
âYou donât even know what the problem is. How can you be so sureâ?â
John had been too occupied searching the system to realise that Ezra had stood up. Heâd been too focused to hear the footsteps advancing. The icy barrel of Ezraâs gun was shocking against Johnâs pale skin. He felt its presence before he heard it click. âI had been hoping for some more time to arrange things before you asked stupid questions, John Tracy, but alas.â
âWhat are youâ?â
âAh-ah-ah.â Ezra cut him off. âYouâve asked far too many questions already. Up.â
John rose steadily. With a gun pressed into his back, he didnât have much of a choice.
âHands up, too. Wouldnât want you to make the mistake of calling your little brothers for help.â
He had to live in the hope that Ezra was unaware that one of his brothers was already on his way. Alan. Flying head-first into a trap. John contemplated warning Ezra. If he didnât want to be disturbed, maybe he could convince him to send Alan away⊠but there was always the chance he wouldnât. There was always the chance that heâd hurt him. John couldnât allow that. Not Alan.
The secret remained as such.
âDodd,â John tried to plead, âwhatever it is that you think youâre going to accomplish byââ
âI donât recall asking for your opinion,â Ezra snapped back. âOne more unprompted word from you and Iâll blast your brains out, got it?â
Carefully, John nodded. He raised his hands as instructed and said nothing more.
Ezra nodded to the far side of the control room. âOver there. Now.â
He did as he was told, though his mind was already set ablaze with a thousand different avenues he could potentially take to try and stop whatever crazed plan Ezra Dodd had. He also sifted through the thousand different ways those ideas could go wrong, most of them ending up with him as a corpse. Without knowing exactly what Ezra Dodd had planned, John was powerless to countermove him.
For now, John figured, playing along was the best course of action.
âSit.â Ezra commanded when John reached one of the chairs. He didnât allow him to get comfortable before he restrained him. âThere. Now, Iâll be taking this.â Ezra plucked the comms device off Johnâs wrist. âWeâre a little early, all thanks to you and your stupid curiosity, but the fireworks should be starting soon!â
âFireworks?â Despite the warnings, John couldnât help himself. âWhatââ
The unnaturally wide smile Ezra had been wearing since John had docked was wiped off his face in an instant. Fury replaced it and John barely registered the butt of the gun before Ezra crashed it into the side of his face.
ââââàšà§ââââ
Two minutes until launch.
Johnâs head hurt. At least his brains hadnât been blown out, he supposed. He blinked his eyes open only to find a blurry scene before him: Ezra, who had now swapped the grey jumpsuit heâd been wearing for an exo-suit of his own, was running around different controls. He was fast, faster than what Johnâs bleary eyes could keep up with, but he hadnât yet realised that John had come to.
That soon changed when John tested out the cuffs that were still keeping him locked to that chair.
Ezraâs head whipped around at the sound, that grin more sinister than before. âOur man of the hour awakens!â
Even if John had wanted to ask Ezra the millions of questions that swarmed his fuzzy head, he couldnât. Tape covered his lips, restricting his ability to speak just as much as the cuffs were restricting his ability to move.
The crazed man in front of him seemed thrilled. âBefore you ask: yes, this was all part of the plan, and no, your brothers have no idea whatâs happening. One of them tried to call in, but I let it go to voicemail.â
One minute until launch.
It felt wrong to feel relief because, whilst Alan was safe for now, he would have worked out that something was wrong the second his comms went unanswered, and heâd be no doubt working with the rest of the team to try and discover what it was that had gone wrong.Â
Ezra continued to hop between consoles, flicking buttons and typing commands into the computers. And still, John tried to break himself free. He tried to protest, tried to question the architect who was so clearly off his rocker, but it was all so useless. Never before had he felt so powerless.
Only once Ezra was finished with the consoles did he venture over to John. He crouched in front of him, that wide smile on his lips once again. âLet me break it down for you. In less than a minute, STRIKE will be active for the very first time, only it wonât be working for the GDF as intended. It wonât be tracking down rogue criminals for them. It wonât be organising data and creating profilesâincredibly Draconian too, if you ask me. You see, John Tracy, STRIKE has always been my baby, and it will always work for me.â
Johnâs eyes must have flashed the confusion he was currently feeling, for Ezra chuckled, âItâs simple, really. I was the one who sold the idea of STRIKE to the GDF. I was the one who convinced them to build this Castellum, this fortified ring, in space, all for one single purpose.â
When John mumbled something behind the tape, Ezra rolled his eyes. He reached forward and pulled the tape off, leaving John with his lips red and sore and tingling.
He pushed past the pain. âYouâre insane.â
âAll geniuses are,â Ezra countered, unaffected by his insult.Â
âYou wonât get away with it.â
âOh, I think I will, because there wonât be any trace back to me. Arenât you wondering why I called you out here?â
Ezra clicked a button on a palm-shaped device, and Johnâs likeness popped up in hologrammatic form on the large windows.
This is John Tracy of International Rescue, the hologrammatic figure said in a voice all too similar to Johnâs.
âIâve been planning this for a very long time,â Ezra explained, standing to his full height. âMonths and months have gone into this plan. Years, in fact.â
âWhy?â John barely spluttered the question out.Â
Ezra shrugged. âI needed someone to take the blame. You were an easy target.â
Launch initiated.
The ground beneath them rumbled as missiles were blasted from the Castellum. Glee filled Ezraâs entire being, it radiated off the madman, but Johnâs eyes only glared at him.
âBut Iâm afraid itâs time for me to fly.â He began to head towards the exit, a mocking salute being offered towards John as he reached the doorway. âSend Brains my regards, wonât you? Though I suppose Iâll be seeing him before you do.â
Virgil's trapped in his exosuit after a fall. Scott's on his way to rescue him but everyone else gets to suffer with the consequences. Tagging @thunder-tober because tis officially the month of October on the other side of the world now.
Trapped
If Virgil had a nickle for every time his technology has ever betrayed him, heâd have two nickels. Which isnât a lot, but itâs weird that it happened twice.
âIâm almost there, Virge.â Scott repeated.
Thatâs the eighth time Scottâs said that in the past twenty minutes. Virgil counted.
âFor the eighth time, Scott. Iâm not going anywhere.â He groaned back.
His exosuit failed him. Itâs never failed him before. He was striding along a cliff face, looking for survivors when the aftershock happened. The shake was so vigorous that his metal exosuit completely tipped right off the edge, tumbling over all the wrong spots before finally landing at the bottom, heavy boulders toppled over him, each hit causing heavy grunts that force the wind out of his diaphragm.
At least the metal served well to protect him from the impact, but now he canât reach the emergency release hatch. Heâs stiff on the ground, limbs sprawled in awkward directions, waiting for Scott to come find him.
âI think I found a route. Nearly there.â
âFor the ninth time, Scott-â
â-Virgil, Scott! Oh my god! Shut up!â John cut them off with a whine, âI canât hear Alan over you two!â
There were two grins on Johnâs end. The spaceman didnât have to see it to know it.
âHey, Virgil.â
Virgil couldnât help the growing grin on his face. âYeah, Scott?â
âIâm nearly there.â
The cackle that he let out was partially involuntary as John growled into the comms. âI will mute you both if you continue with this!â
ââŠâ
ââŠâ
âFor the tenth time Scott-â His voice wavered in amusement.
Now, there were three angry growls in the comms. Two of which belonged to the beloved youngests who were currently in the middle of securing the foundation of all nearby structures that threaten to collapse.
âThatâs it. I warned you.â John sighed.
The next thing he knew, the line was cut. So, John stuck to his word. At least it was-
â-Hey Virgil!â A familiar voice. While somewhat fainter than the version that originally called from in his ears, âGuess what!?â it called.
Relief flooded him in a flurry. âWhat is it Scott!?â He grinned, attempting to lift his head, but a stinging sensation brought it back down in an instant.
âI think Iâm there!â The elder starts up his jet pack and launches himself through the cavern, not looking down at the depths below him until he finally makes it to his injured brotherâs ledge. âHey!â He smiles, scanning the brotherâs eyes.
âScotty!â Greets Virgil in return.
âAlright, Virge, Let me get the medscan on you first and then I'll have you out of here in a second.â
