Realistic or Modern Fallen Angels M.C. | In the Zombie Apocalypse

[Namazu]

M.C.

Lila Adkins

Sgt.-at-Arm’s Old Lady

THE CLUBHOUSE

Before the dead happened, Lila never wanted kids. They’d only get in the way of her plans, hamper her ability to travel and party. She never wanted to settle down either - she liked going out, meeting people, having flings and no-strings-attached acquaintances and lots of friends. Serious relationships had seemed threatening.

Now, nearly two years later after the world ended… Lila was content. She was almost, but didn’t dare admit it, happy. She had a steady man with no desire to find another. She was as safe as she could get. She was making peace with her demons and her losses. The people she didn’t like were kept away by her man and her friends, and they cared about her. She had a purpose, a role to play, and it was fulfilling.

And right now, as she sat cross-legged on the floor of Auguste’s trailer and acted out a nonsensical story with sock puppets and funny voices for Santina’s benefit, she was starting to think that maybe someday she’d like to have a kid of her own too. Maybe she’d mention that to Auguste some time, after he was back from his run to Wisconsin.

Maybe.

The knock on the door stole Santina’s attention away from Mr. Pinky, which was previously one of her pink socks that had worn too many holes to be wearable or stitched back together. Sitting up straighter, Lila caught sight of Ally at the front door of the trailer through the window. Grinning to herself, she wrapped an arm around Santina, scooped her up to rest her against her hip, and went to answer the door - with Mr. Pinky still on her left hand.

Glued-on wiggly-eyes rolled haphazardly at Ally as she stuck her sock-covered hand out first, moving her thumb and fingers at Ally as she made a silly voice.

“Work? But Princess Santina says it’s playtime! Nooo!” She shook her hand, then pushed the door open a little further against the cold to give Ally a big grin.

“Hey, Ally.” She greeted the other woman in a normal voice now. “Santina’s all fed, cleaned up, and dressed. Come on in if you want, tell me what the plan is for today."


NanLia

 

[Good_Morels]

M.C.

Beau Montaire

Tail Gunner

Beau noticed Auguste following him and for a moment considered telling him that he had it handled and this was a situation best approached gently, but the words didn’t come. Auguste had a point by following, Fish had just told them to stick together, but he wouldn’t be gone long. He laughed awkwardly as April commented on getting two for the price of one, taking comfort in the fact Auguste was settled down and would be on the same page as him.

If only they could tell her directly.

He lost that comfort when a whistle tore Auguste away, allowing April to drag him into the dorm and shut the door. The room’s personal touches caught his attention, but only for a moment as he subtly unlocked the door, just in case.

He couldn’t help but compare her to his late wife. Her room was much girlier than Em had decorated, with tons of jewelry and make up. Her figure was more feminine too, he guessed. With all soft voluptuous curves. Em had never been the most feminine woman, admittedly, which had gotten him a lot of accusations of queerness back in the day. He hadn’t cared then, not like he did now that she was gone. He missed her so, so badly, the hidden strength in her lithe frame, the confident glint in her eye when she knew something he didn’t. God what he’d give for one more night with her-

Frank Sinatra interrupted his thoughts and brought his attention back to the woman in front of him, who asked if he wanted a drink and didn’t wait for an answer. He only held the glass a moment before putting it down on her desk.

“Miss April, I know ah’m not anybody’s first choice-” he looked awkwardly away long enough to be caught off guard when she turned around with her chest exposed. The words died in his throat as she moved closer, his face growing red. This was moving too fast, he needed to cut her off now, but he couldn’t make a sound. He stammered a quiet “hey” as she made her way to his belt before pushing him back onto the bed with his legs open.

He fumbled with the condom before taking a deep breath and setting it down on the bed, stilling the woman by holding her hips at a comfortable distance.

“Ah might’ve misunderstood.” he admitted, unable to quite make eye contact with her. “I’m not- I can’t-” he paused. “We had to put down my wife not long ago… At least, it doesn’t feel like it. I’m here to see if you need help, not to lay with you.”

He finally looked back up at her, moving a hand to squeeze her hand. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, looking down at it while gathering his thoughts.

“You don’t gotta give me anything for me to help you. Not yer body, not yer stuff, none of it.”

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[NanLia]

CLUBHOUSE
​

Alejandra stared at the pink ruined sock as it was shoved out the door to speak to her in lieu of Lila. She was thankful the sock person relented her entry and gave her back the only other female human being in the encampment she could have an adult conversation with. Ally smiled through the pain of it; she liked Santina very much but she had her limitations and make-believe and mothering were outside of those limits.

Could she take care of a child? Certainly. Would that include dirty laundry make-believe people? Absolutely not. She stepped up into the small trailer, holding the spring-loaded door open long enough to let Bullet in before letting it close behind her. “Morning,” She greeted, realizing she probably should have made herself coffee prior to coming to find Lila.

“Busy day, everyone is out of office.” She leaned a hip against an inset dresser, noting the fill of very feminine items that now filled Auguste’s trailer. It had been sparse before, in the limited amount of times Ally had seen the interior. The man hadn’t been much for collectables, but now it had soft blankets, throw pillows, books and magazines, evidently collected to appease his new wife.

He’s like a penguin decorating his nest… The stray thought crossed her mind, a memory from her childhood, recalling that male penguins found colourful rocks for their nest to attract their mates. She shook her head and went on. “We got inventory from Han to sort out and get locked away and one Wess to keep off his feet.” She glanced pointedly at the toddler. “I think he should be in charge of the kids of small animals today.”

BeyondDandy Namazu ​

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Tenants

April, Noah & Steven

CDC

The common area is dispersed. Tenants retreated to their posts to begin their tasks. Some individuals relocated to their dorms to prepare for the night shift or simply unwind. School began. At their desks, children listened to their daily lessons. The teacher's voice rang out across the empty space. The kitchen staff finished their cleaning routine. Their carts were carried through the double doors that took them back to the kitchen. The remaining tenants and the table of Angels were left behind.

Lucas was captivated by the bikers’ tales of the undead. He could imagine the crowd of the accursed. His eyes were filled with envy. He had never witnessed one in person and desired nothing more than an opportunity.

“I hope to see one before I die,” he said morbidly.

The young man was a person who was on the spectrum. As a child, he was diagnosed with ASD. Lucas didn't present any physical traits that might raise questions. However, he lacked social understanding. Thus, his persistent desire to learn about the deceased from a group of men who did not want to talk about them.

With a firm grip on Lucas' forearm, Steven said, 'Enough, Lucas!'

Lucas clenched his teeth and turned his gaze away from the bikers. He rubbed his hands together while playing with his fingers under the table. He avoided speaking anymore, biting his lips to prevent himself from saying anything that would be perceived as foolish.

"I'm sorry, he doesn't understand sometimes," Steven explained to Fish and Kit.

As the old soldier looked over his shoulder, he noticed a greater number of guards roaming from the higher level. They marched around the perimeter of the room like a game of snakes. These guards were responsible for taking the weapons away from the Angels earlier that morning. Steven scratched his face, itching at his scars. He glanced at one end of the table before turning to the next one. Their section was surrounded by no one. He placed his elbows down and held his hands together over his mouth. He inspected the corners of the ceiling. Cameras were mounted on opposite corners and swiveled left and right on a timed mechanism. He stared back at Fish before muttering something in his palms.

"There is something big going on here." He said.

With fear in his eyes, Lucas looked up. His eyebrows raised and drew together, making him gulp again. He observed the bikers as though he was aware of what was happening.

"We think Doctor Klein has been-"

Suddenly, three guards burst through the double doors behind the table. Steven was surprised and quickly turned around, as if he had heard a gunshot. Two armed men and Chris entered the room, their eyes wandering around the common area. He was the focus of everyone's attention. The teacher ceased her teaching, and the remaining tenants got up from their seats. Bethany, the librarian who frequently checked books back onto their shelves, slowed down.

After locking eyes with one of the level three guards, Chris hurried towards him around the lunchtables. They gathered in a tight circle and engaged in a close-mouthed conversation. The tenants returned to their programming, the teacher carried on with her lesson, and Bethany rearranged books on the shelves. Steven's gaze remained fixed on Chris and the four men who surrounded him. He tried to read into the conversation, but Chris had given his back to him.

Steven was directly targeted by one of the three guards as the circle opened up. The eyes of the old man widened. His breathing became erratic due to pressure in his chest. His skin became wet with sweat as he began to exhale loudly. Chris and all the guards turned their attention to him, causing him to become red with anguish. Chris and his two toy soldiers shook hands with the other guards and started walking towards them. Steven pressed his hand against Lucas' forearm and nodded. As he reached the end of their table, the boy blinked and gazed up at Chris. Chris glanced at the seated men and adjusted the dial on his walkie to mute.

“I need your help, gentlemen,” he started, looking at Steven and then at the angels.

“I’ve lost most communication with my men. They’re stuck out in this blizzard somewhere. They were trying to close the bridge when we last heard from them, but there has been no communication since. It’s been two hours; I can’t wait any longer. They should have checked in every thirty minutes. We could use your help out there to find them. Level three guards can’t leave the premises, and none of these people have seen what’s out there in a very long time. We’ll need you too, Steven. We could use your tracking expertise. We would owe you guys. But we need to go now, like right now. What do you say?” Chris bargained.

- - -​

April stopped dead in her tracks and backed away. She stood in front of Beau as if she had been frozen in time. She held her hands by her sides, and her head tilted to the side, gazing at him. No movement. Beau seemed to be the subject of her sharp eyes. Then she broke.

April expressed her relief and turned away from him, saying, “Oh, thank God!”

“I thought I was going to have to f*ck you,” she added, her hands going up in a tasteless prayer.

Unexpectedly, she became unwavering in her honesty. April sank to pull her leggings up, glancing through her thigh gap to see if Beau was staring. Despite his lack of attention, she smirked and began pulling her pants up her legs. The waistband reached her wide hips, creasing under her thick glutes and causing a jam. While tugging on the leggings, she wiggled her hips in both directions. Through a series of twists and pulls, they managed to raise over her flat stomach, resulting in an even thinner physique. She took a new shirt out of her clothes cabinet and put it on the desk. Her hands moved around her waist and up her back as she clawed at her bra strap.

“Give me a hand, would you?' She asked Beau.

The sweetness and seductiveness of her voice had faded away to a more neutral tone. She moved her dark hair over her shoulder and played with her split ends as Beau undid her garment. She cupped her breasts as the strap became loose. Tossing the bra aside, she pulled a black V-neck sweater over her shoulders. She fixed the bottom hem to stop over her belly button, still showing a bit of flesh.

“Thank you.”

April, now dressed, walked towards Beau. She extended her hand for him to return the condom that had not been opened.

“I may need that for another day. They don’t come easy,” she giggled.

After returning the packet to the drawer, she crossed her legs and leaned against the desk. Sinatra continued to play softly in the background. Playing 'Fly Me to the Moon' after ‘My Way.’

April attempted to ease the awkwardness between them by saying, "I'm sorry about your wife."

Rejection was something she had not experienced before, and her reaction was unexpectedly different than what she would have ever imagined. The relief she felt came as a surprise to her. She had a habit of imagining herself feeling sad or annoyed. As though she was not good enough. In contrast, she experienced a feeling of liberation. She could get what she wanted without having to bargain or give herself up.

April did not find it difficult to have sex with strangers, like a job she was obliged to do. In actuality, it was a decision however. April had sex with both tenants and guards to obtain the things she desired. Survival tactics perhaps? Not really. She opted for it and didn't have to. It's probable that most men would have given her everything she wanted and needed without expecting anything in return. Beau's made her feel that way, at least.

Crossing her arms over her chest, April let out a sigh. She endeavored to comprehend what Beau was all about, but was having a hard time. The biker vest and the whole look didn’t speak Angel. In spite of the wings on his back, it actually said the opposite. Perhaps the loss of his wife caused him to soften or made him realize that there was more to life than the usual activities of men like himself.

“Look,” she started.

“I know you and your crew don’t want to be here. Your tired-eagle-looking friend's way of speaking to us makes it clear. But we need your help.”

April got up from the desk and opened the drawer again. She shifted things around. She dug deep into the back, causing little knick knacks to rattle. She pulled out a small ring box with a slight grunt. She opened it and extracted the padding that was inside. After that, she took out a silver key. It wasn't a typical key, however. It appeared to have a similar appearance to a Harley key. Newer model. Two thousand eight and onwards. April tossed it to Beau after turning around.

“That’s the key to the elevator. Listen. We think our doctor friend upstairs is up to some shady sh*t. I don’t have a damn clue what it is, but…” She paused, pondering how to explain the severity of the situation to Beau when she was equally clueless as he was.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on, but I haven’t seen my friends. They won the lottery and have been upstairs ever since. It’s been months. They don’t let us go up there; they don’t let us see them. They say it’s for everyone’s safety, which is bullsh*t. They don’t come down, either! Why does Klein get to come down but not them? It doesn’t make sense, and no one asks these fucking things. Nobody cares, or they're so concerned with surviving that they don’t do anything. We were in the dark here. Something fishy is going on; I can’t explain it, but I know, Beau. You have to trust me. I need you to help me get up there. Steven and Lucas also know something is up, but Steven is far too old and Lucas too young to do anything about it. They’re scared, too. This place has made everyone so damn weak. It’s like trying to work with Pinky and the Brain out there.”

April huffed with disappointment and shook her head. She moved closer to Beau and grasped his hands with hers. She looked into his eyes, not with the intention of seducing him, but rather with genuine begging for his aid.

“Please. I need you. Nobody else will help me. I know you and your friends aren’t weak.”

- - -​

Noah, who was silent, dropped his pencil, clasped his hands together in front of his chest, and requested aid from Auguste. He stooped to his knees in the hope that his theatrics would persuade the man, as he tugged on his pants. He shook his head vigorously when Augutue inquired about his mother. At that moment, he yearns to speak. To let Auguste know, my mother won the lottery and was taken away. His mother had, in fact, won the lottery. Regrettably for him, not many individuals bothered to question her advancement to level three. All of them were convinced that it was a privilege, not a curse.

Noah's attention was suddenly distracted. He seemed to have seen something ghostly as his eyes popped. He glanced at the doorframe and scurried backwards towards the desk behind him. He grabbed his pencil as he would a sword and rushed to his feet. With his free hand, he pointed towards the two guards that appeared behind the biker. Despite his attempts to shout for help, he only groaned.

Auguste was pushed into the room by the tactical assault rifle's butt. The small room was packed by the two guards as they walked inside. The guards were of similar height, bordering six feet. Their level three guard status was indicated by the insignias on their shoulders and blacked-out attire. A man with blonde hair and blue eyes was one of the guards. His eyes were dark and his goatee was trimmed. Jared was his name. A brunette with a shaven head and thick eyebrows was the second individual. His complexion was darker and his eyes were almost black. While Jared closed the door behind them, he raised his gun at Auguste.

“We are tired of you running your mouth, kid.” Jared said quietly.

Eric, the other guard, confirmed that he is incapable of speaking.

Eric turned off his safety switch. His finger was positioned over the trigger of the weapon and was focused on Auguste. Jared pressed down on the top of the handguard with his hand. He nodded.

“Klein said alive. Anyway, we need those notes. The ones the little I'm uncultured here wrote for you. And we need you to come with us. Dr. Klein would like to speak with you personally.” Jared said.

The other guard stood with his arms extended and slung the rifle over his shoulders. His hand slipped down to his side over the taser strapped to his thigh while Jared spoke. Jared glared at his partner and then rolled his eyes to meet Auguste's.

“I guess we could do this the easy way or Eric’s way,” Jared said with a devious grin.

Namazu
Good_Morels
NanLia

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[NanLia]

WISCONSIN
​

Auguste frowned at the boy and his silent prayer, he shook his head. “You chose wrong, kid.” The part of Auguste that would have broken at the sight of the kid on his knees, felt any kind of compassion had died decades ago. Maybe if his life had been different? Maybe if he hadn’t grown up with Hank as the father figure in his life?

His frown deepened as the kid suddenly looked away from him, behind. Auguste didn’t have enough time to turn to see what he was suddenly afraid of. He staggered forward, his ears ringing as a shockwave of pain rippled from the back of his head. He somehow managed to catch himself on the kids' bed and stop himself from falling to the floor.

Auguste heard speaking behind him but the voices warbled, too distorted for him to understand and it took longer than he would have liked for him to regain his senses. Just another sign that he was getting too old for this shit. He wasn’t overly concerned as he stood back up. The guards, he could now see, hadn’t bothered to press their attack and continue their beating after they’d caught him off guard. His mistake. It wouldn’t happen again.

He could feel blood trickle down from his hairline, soaking into his shirt beneath his jacket. Annoyed, he turned to face the pair. “I don’t have any fucking notes.” He answered the first, the one with the rifle and the one who had struck him. “And I’d like to talk to Klein, personally. I’ll go.” He stepped towards the two guards, raising his hands amicably.

The Rifleman seemed content with this action and turned to lead the way out of the room to the hall. Auguste’s stride brought him behind the guard in a single step and he reached out grasping the unsuspecting man by the collar at the back of his protective gear and shoulder. He pivoted on his heel, dragging the Rifleman towards his counterpart, shoving the man in his hands hard against his partner.

He pushed with all his weight and strength, shoving the two guards hard against the wall, and leaned in, using his body to hold them back momentarily. “The next time you come at me with a fucking weapon, you best be prepared to use it.” He hissed.

The second guard’s free arm reached for him and swung in an attempt to grasp at him but his gloved hands slipped off his leather coat, feebily striking his partner. Both guards grunted under the pressure, trying to push back against him. Auguste knew he couldn’t hold them long; he had no intent on doing more than proving a point.

He growled, stepped back and dragged the Rifleman back with him, holding him out between him and the pistol bearer as a shield. “Are you fucking done?”

When the two agreed he released the rifleman to stagger toward his partner. Auguste turned to storm out of the room, he pulled a handkerchief, his father's, from his pocket and brought it to the back of his head, pressing against the shallow wound as he marched back toward the elevators where he’d seen Klein and other comes from earlier.

Namazu smookie Good_Morels BeyondDandy @Fluffy-Kat @punwithinfinty ​

​

 

[smookie]

M.C.

Bruno Jenkins

enforcer

His heart rate rushed, throbbing in his chest and drumming in his ears. Something about her tone meshed just right with her body language, speaking to his subconsciousness. Igniting the fire that burned down his abdomen straight to his groin. The ultimate consent in the way she touched him. Smirk tugged at his mouth, wiped off with a brush of her lips. Bruno gently caught her lower lip in his teeth before deepening the kiss. The wet heat they shared stripped him of reason, leaving nothing but raw passion.

He reached back, tugged on a handful of his t-shirt and pulled it off. Shirtless and hungry he pulled her back in and crashed their lips together. His hands demanded more skin, touching where she normally wouldn’t let him. Her fingers raking his hair tore a guttural sound off of his throat. More than ready to have her right there and then, he was left panting after Birdie recoiled.

Oh for christ sake… “Fuck you, Wess!” His chuckle laced with something bitter. Flicking thumb against the corner of his mouth, Elvis watched her go. He glanced down at himself and shook his head, groaning. “Perfect…” How long did he have again?

***

The cold was enough to put out the flame. Elvis left some of his stuff in the motorcycle pouch so the garage was his last stop before they’d hit the road. He pushed open the heavy door, the cold steel frame scraping against the frozen floor. The scent of gasoline smacked him in the face as it lingered in the stale air. He loved that smell, his brain associating it with all the good things.

The sound of his boots echoed in the silence, bouncing off the beaten-up walls. He approached his lean machine, feeling something stir in his gut. She always had that effect on him. The blood-colored vixen. Her tank gleamed like a wet cherry, begging to be touched. Jenkins' fingers traced the edges of the frame before gliding along sleek curves of the tank, a little drunk on the heavy smell of motor oil and leather.

“I’m gonna miss you, girl.”

He pulled his hand back and opened the pouch, snatching a few things before leaving and closing the heavy door behind him, drowning the garage in the shadows.

***

The van quietly rumbled in the frigid air as they navigated through the desolate town, the last one they would pass on their way to the destination. Tires crunched over heaps of snow that blanketed the abandoned streets. The wind howled outside, whipping up flurries that danced in the air like tiny ballerinas. Or something equally out of place in that dead world.

Jenkins gripped the wheel tighter than he realized, his knuckles white as he dragged them through the icy roads.

“We should have put goddamn chains on this motherfucker.” His sharp exhale misted in the cold air of the van.

Buildings loomed on either side of the street, their windows shattered and doors swinging in the draft. A chill ran down Jenkins' spine as he scanned the empty storefronts, something tightening in his chest at the memory of the horde from months earlier. Imagining undead pouring out of the buildings now, drowning their vehicle. Rot and death.

He still had nightmares that kept him up at night, even if he downplayed them. Nightmares of the horde down South. Nightmares of a one-eyed woman coming back from the dead and ripping his throat open in the middle of the night. Something he had to cover up a few times when he woke up next to one of his lovers with a mute scream and in cold sweat.

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Mason C. Weston

Road Captain

CLUBHOUSE

The prospects successfully followed the instructions. The prisoner was taken out of the container and transported into the clubhouse. He was locked in the same room as Madison had been a lifetime ago. Wes’ memory of that day were still vivid. He wished she had survived the events that occurred at the school that one night. She was a source of hope for him. A desire for a change in the club. Despite their talk, there was no change. Casey failed to live up to his promise. Hank had total control over everyone. Wes was bothered by the thought of it. He resumed working on the task at hand, assigning physical tasks that were beyond him to the patchless individual in front of him.

“Don’t let those mirrors touch, okay?” Wes delegated.

Martin, also known as Junior, was transferring bikes into the shipping container. The garage's limited space meant they had no choice but to use it, regardless of the unpleasant odor of urine and vomit. Wes observed the roaring skies in the meantime. There was no sign of the sun as clouds formed overhead and dropped hints of snow, creating a thin white sheet around the clubhouse grounds.

“Hey, I’m going to go check on the girls. Finish up here and complete security checks with Hucks. This storm will be over us shortly, so don’t take too long and get inside when you can.”

Taking another look at the sky, Wes adjusted the crutch under his armpit and hobbled away. As he made his way towards the front steps of the clubhouse, he looked at the trail he had left behind. He couldn't keep from smiling. As a southern boy from Texas, snow was not something he had ever experienced before. He had faith that his sister was seeing the same thing out there. A distant roar came to him suddenly. Initially, he reflected on the sky, but the sound was too familiar. It was not thunder. It was low to the ground. Aggressive in nature. He paused and concentrated, attentively listening.

The roar recurred. This time it was more abrasive. Louder and more pronounced. He looked over his shoulder at Junior, who was hearing the same thing, and focused his attention on the front gates. The speed of snowfall increased. A white mist started surrounding their compound, making it harder to see. Wes observed Hucks standing at the front gates and shouted from afar.

“What do you see?!”

Hucks held a semi-automatic rifle with a tight grip. He did not turn, but yelled back from his elevated position.

“We’ve got company!” He stood on the roof of one of the trailer homes.

“See the lights?!” He pointed.
Wes examined with squinting eyes. He cupped his hand over his brow, and fixed his sight through the fence pockets. He saw the headlights and pointed to get Junior to see them too. The noise intensified. It wasn’t thunder. The sound was obvious and too familiar to miss at this point. Harleys. Twin cams with a displacement of at least one hundred cubic inches. The incoming storm was lit up by a growing number of lights. The snow fell with greater force. Soon after, the gates were lit with lights.

“Are they ours?” Junior asked, approaching Wes.

Wes would have addressed any doubts, but was confident that it wasn't one of his men. The bikes were all in the container; no one left with them. Whoever these people were, they were not Angels - or so he thought.

Hucks raised his gun and aimed it at the vehicles in front of him. He faced off against three Harley Davidsons, a large wrecker, and two pickup trucks.

“Don't try me!” He shouted over the rumbling engines.

Hucks cocked his rifle, only to find himself catching a bullet in the process. The giant's head popped back and his body slipped backwards off the trailer into the snow. The sound of the gunshot caused Wes and Junior to flinch. With a pistol in his waistband, Junior hurried towards the gates and shouted “Hucks!” Wes jerked forward, attempted to grab the prospect, but fell face first to the ground.

“Junior wait!” He begged.

Bullets shot through the gate. Junior was knocked down by three or four strikes. The prospect took his final breath in service of the club, just like Hucks. As bullets flew in his direction, Weston shielded his head with his hands. He quickly returned to his feet, leaving his crutch behind. He struggled through the pain that shot through his leg, limping unsteadily towards the clubhouse steps.

He heard an engine growling behind him, tires skidding on uneven ground as the driver loaded the rear wheel drive. The driver let go of the brakes, and the wrecking truck proceeded through the gated fence as if it were a bull through a red drape. The gate doors flung sideways before collapsing open. The truck moved to the right while the Harleys circled around to the left. The riders unleashed shots. Wes grabbed the railings and jumped on his strong leg to climb the steps.

A bullet found itself slicing his right arm. He suffered a flesh wound, but the impact was sufficient to cause him to turn and fall. He landed on the hardwood floor right in front of the clubhouse doors. He slid on his side and grabbed the door handle, pulling it down and flinging the door open. The shattering v-twin engines reverberated with the sound of bullets that flew around him. He slipped inside, rolled over onto his back, and kicked the door shut.

The walls of the building were hit by bullets as he shouted to the girls to get down. Few rounds penetrated, while others were trapped by the hardwood. The clubhouse's floors were filled with glass as the windows shattered. Wes rolled over and hit the nearest wall. He rummaged through his vest and grabbed a six-chamber revolver. On this day, he opted to be cool and pick up his revolver rather than his Barretta. Amateur. He inspected the chamber. Full rounds. Without warning, the gunfire from outside ceased and the engine noise stopped. Wes gazed upon the girls near the bar. He held up his finger and signaled them to quiet down. Pressing the back of his head against the wall behind him, he listened.

“Casey?! Is that you?” A voice called out.

“We didn’t want to do this, but you left us no choice. We have to eat too!”

Wes struggled to identify the voice. His mind was filled with every possible scenario. He attempted to tally all of their club's enemies and determine who had the most incentive to attack them. What wes their objective, killing Casey? What specific actions did he take to cause this? Or was this simply retaliation?

“Of all days, you take all the guns with you today, Casey?!” Wes thought to himself.

The sound of feet shuffled in the snow. One-two-one-two. One person approached. The steps of the clubhouse creaked against the heaviness of the incoming individual. Weston slowly pivoted on his hips. He moved to face the front doors and pointed his revolver. A loud bang then went off, blasting a huge hole in the front door. Another one came immediately after breaking the doorknob off the double doors. A heavy leg stepped forward.

Wes aimed, squinting one eye and looked through the other to align his sights. He pressed the trigger, releasing a large caliber round through their adversary's left leg. The large man fell forward into the clubhouse and dropped his shotgun. He cried out in pain as he reached for the blood-stained hole in his leg. Wes shifted his aim and fired another round into the man's head, killing him.

Wes looked over the dead man. He raged with shock upon seeing an Angel’s vest on the man. This was another charter. He tried to make sense of the situation. Why were they attacking their own? Who was outside the clubhouse? Tulsa? He tried to read the monikers from where he sat, but the large man had fallen chest first. He looked up at Ally. Someone needed to make sure the rest of the club knew. Maybe they were being hunted too.

“My guns in the guest room, get it and get out of here,” he whispered at her.

He shifted his position, kneeling through the pain and reaching for the broken window. He slowly climbed up, peering through the frame to see armed men surrounding the clubhouse through thick white dust and heavy winds. As a blizzard approached, the clouds appeared to be falling on them.

“Is that you, Duke?” Wes asked.

“Yup!” Duke responded.

Duke served as the leader of the Fallen Angels Tulsa Charter. He'd been president there since the charter's inception. Duke was a ruthless and determined son-of-a-bitch. He had been known to beat men with brass knuckles until their eyes popped out of their sockets and their brain leaked from their skull. He found joy in violence and was feared due to his lack of tolerance for disobedience. Hank, who had a higher sense of fear than Duke, was the only one who kept him in check.

“What are you doing here Duke? Those were my men you killed!”

“Casualties of war. I’m here to make things right. To get back what is owed to us.” Duke said.

Weston moved down to his knees. He shifted forward, inching for the shotgun, when a sudden spray of bullets shot through the open door. He retreated and went back under the wall cover. He grumbled as he looked at the four remaining bullets in his revolver.

“Why are you doing this?! We’re all Angels!” Wes said, trying to plead with Duke.

“Because we’re done hiding.”

Duke signaled his men who restarted their engines. “Shit,” Weston cursed. Their footsteps, whispers, or movements were not audible to him anymore. Without hearing them, he couldn't predict their movements. He glanced back at the girls. The fear in Santana's eyes was evident to him.

“Go now! Go out the back and get the heck out of here!” he said, pointing at the back door.

“I’ve got this.”

NanLia
Namazu

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[Namazu]

M.C.

Lila Adkins

Sgt.-at-Arm’s Old Lady

THE CLUBHOUSE

“Morning!” Lila responded, with no shortage of cheer to her voice as she helped Santina onto the nearby bench seat. Sliding the sock-puppet off her hand, she tucked it away in a cupboard full of random odds and ends so that it was out of the toddler’s reach. Multicolored blocks were scattered on the table in front of Santina, and she busied herself with those immediately while watching Bullet.

Lila nodded at the overview of what was in store for today. Inventory, and babysitting Wess. She was no stranger to babysitting adults, either, though usually it was drunkards she had to watch, not the injured.

“Think Wess can handle a kid? Or is Bullet going to be the one really in charge? We could always get Wess a matching collar.” She grinned as she grabbed her jacket from the bed, sliding it on and patting the pockets to make sure her hat and gloves were still inside.

It took a minute or two to get Santina’s coat on, now that the girl was wiggly and wanting to play, and wanting to touch Bullet. Lilly kept shooing her away from the working dog, telling her “the doggie is busy right now”. Not that the child seemed to care much.

“C’mon, we’ll park the kiddo in the Clubhouse, so Wess can watch her there. Then he doesn’t have to feel weird and bashful about being in our trailer.” Lila took Santina by the hand, steering her towards the door.

“Auguste invited him in for cards once and he got all awkward about it - like he was going to walk in on us or something.” She rolled her eyes, leading Ally outside. The cold air made her shiver and immediately miss the warmth of what was quickly starting to feel like her home. Closing the trailer up tight so the heat would stay inside, she led Santina by one hand across the snow and into the Clubhouse, giving a glance to the prospects outside working on moving the bikes inside. None of them paid her any attention, which was just fine with her.

“Did you have breakfast already, Ally? If not, I can make you something.” Lila offered, stomping snow off her shoes onto the rubbery mat just inside the door, making sure Santina copied her movements. Picking Santina up, she carried the girl towards the back of the clubhouse, sitting her down near the kitchen area. A little pile of coloring books and crayons was still tucked away in a small box in the corner where Santina could reach them herself, and that’s exactly what the child beelined to.

“Or coffee, if you’re not h- FUCK!” Lila yelped as gunshots rang out outside. Three or four at least, maybe more, she was in no position to stand there and count. Grabbing Santina, she ducked behind the counters for cover. The child immediately began to whine from fear, but Lila put her hand over the child’s mouth and shushed her.

Peering around the corner of the cabinet carefully, she watched as Wess staggered inside, wounded, and took cover. She made brief eye contact with him, just enough to let him know she was there and knew he was too, before ducking behind the cabinets again. Gently rocking Santina, Lilly held her breath and tried not to make noise as more shots rang out.

When someone started yelling back at Wess - who the fuck was Duke, anyway? - Lila peered out again. They were being targeted by other Angels? Somehow, she wasn’t surprised - of course this bunch had more nasty assholes in other places, and had no loyalty to each other.

For a horrible few moments, Lila felt like she was back home again, at the start of everything, when her own family, her own club and their bar, were attacked. She swore she could hear it, smell it, feel it again… hiding in the cellar with a few others… hearing the gunshots… the explosion… seeing all those dead bodies… not being able to do anything in the very end but run for the treeline.

And now she wasn’t alone, but someone was going to take it all away from her again and she’d just end up running one more Goddamn time. Her heart ached - Auguste was so far away, there was no way he could come help. By the time he got back, chances are the place would be ransacked and destroyed. He’d think the worst. Chris would see his baby was gone too, and Ally would be nowhere to be found for Casey.

Taking a deep breath, Lila tried to shake herself out of it. Nothing would be gained by sitting here like a deer in the headlights. She ran once, she’d run again - but this time, unlike last, she had options.

“Wess!” Lila hissed as she pulled on her hat and pulled up Santina’s hood. “If we can’t stick nearby, I’m going to the Samaritans! At Lincoln! And don’t you fucking die - tell Auguste what happened!”

Grabbing Santina and making sure Ally was following, Lila bolted out the back of the Clubhouse and out the door.


NanLia
BeyondDandy

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Casey Guidry

Vice President

On The Road

He opened his eyes. The blurs took shape, becoming silhouettes of homes. Casey rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It was dark outside. The night sky clear above him. No stars. No clouds. He gazed to his right at a never-ending row of houses. Their appearance was uniform. To his left was nothing different. He stood on the sidewalk. He smelled the scent of freshly cut grass. The residue of a gas powered lawnmower tickled his nose. He heard the sound of metal rattling. He looked forward. A Texas flag was drifting with the wind. The flagpole was shaking in its socket and bolted to the column of the house in front of him.

The front door was open. Light escaped from inside the house into the dark outdoors. Casey noticed a trail of red blood leading up the porch and into the house. He followed it back with his eyes until it reached his own two feet. ! He jerked back a step, noticing that he had been standing over a large puddle of dark blood. He looked up again. He breathed heavily, struggling to comprehend his surroundings. Following the trail, he entered the house.

Casey climbed the porch steps. He approached the front door, stopping on the coarse welcome mat in front of him. It made a scratchy sound against his boots. He had to squint as the light shone into his eyes. The ceiling was covered with large light fixtures. Halogen light bulbs effortlessly illuminated the entire home. The outdoors created a striking contrast.

“Hello?” Casey called out.

There was no response. He grabbed the doorframe and stepped inside. He moved to discover a staircase leading to the second floor. The polished wooden steps were untouched. The white side rail dust free. The wall was empty of pictures. To the side of the staircase was a long hallway. Casey snuck a look at it, attempting to discern its path. In the distance, he could see the edge of what appeared to be a table. He was led in that direction by the blood trail.

He continued. He moved across a room to his left. Then a bathroom. Still no pictures of angthing or anyone. No signs of life. The place was far too clean. He slid across the wall, trying to steer clear of the blood. The blood appeared to be fresh, suggesting that whoever would be found on the other side could still be breathing. He became aware of red handprints while walking towards what he thought was the living room. The hands were staggered on either side of the blood trail. It appeared that the victim was dragging themselves down the hallway.

Casey arrived at the end of the hall, which led to a spacious room. His assumption was correct, it was indeed a living room. It was linked to the kitchen. To his right lay the remainder of the table he noticed earlier. A handmade piece made from dark wood. Casey was drawn to it. He sensed a connection to it. As if he had made it himself. He didn't understand his feelings, but he ignored them as he continued to scan the rest of the space.

A large television was located closer to the end of the room. It was situated on a black stand that had multiple cabinets and room for knickknacks. That space was filled with a DVR, a surround sound system, Blu-ray disks, and vinyl. The front wall had an L-shaped couch resting near it, while the opposite side had a smaller sectional. The pillows were neatly arranged and adorned with polka dots. There was a small coffee table between them filled with sports magazines. Casey glanced at his feet and realized that the blood trail was going in the opposite direction to the kitchen. It snaked several feet down and around the large island in the center of the kitchen.

The kitchen was in pristine condition. Cleaner than any other room in the house. It sparkled. The cabinet doors reflected light, almost like a mirror. The sink the same. The countertops were constructed of expensive granite. Casey also felt a deep connection to it. It was unsettling. He had a feeling that he knew it from some place, but couldn't figure it out.

“Hello?” He called again.

Same response, none. He glanced at himself. He was wearing his favorite pair of boots, dark blue jeans, and a dark flannel. He was missing his vest, which in turn, his gun. The fist was his sole means of defense when the lights suddenly went out. Casey's attention shifted to the blown out light rafters. All dark. He examined the wall. Perhaps he struck a light switch. None there. The front door down the hall then closed. Casey quickly reacted to the bang. He began to breathe heavily. He scrutinized the surroundings, attempting to comprehend everything. Then he heard a whisper in his ear.

“You’re not welcome here.”

Casey jerked and slipped on his own feet. He crashed hard against the wooden pecan floor. He looked up, his eyes wide and red with fright. There was nobody there. He extended his arms, pressed his body against the floor, and sat himself up. He searched to the right and left, trying to locate something. Someone.

“What the fuck…” he said to himself.

As he spoke, he caught a glimpse of a face forming in his peripheral vision. He saw the tip of a nose over his shoulder, then the chin and eyebrow, and finally a pair of eyes staring directly at him. He freaked out, hurried to his feet, and ran into the living room. He turned around. There was a person lying on the floor with a body that resembled a serpent. In the darkness Casey could only see its eyes. A deep blue color with black elliptic pupils. It left a trail of blood that was fresh and bright. Casey stared at it with disbelief. He had no idea if it was human until it spoke.

“You don’t belong here. You don’t belong here! You don’t belong here!!”

Each sentence became louder and louder. The windows behind Casey were shaken by its voice. The house was filled with wind as all its doors burst open. The draft pushed Casey sideways. It was so harsh that he couldn't control himself. He fell to his knees. He held onto his fours by strengthening his core and clawing at the floor beneath him. He observed the figure approaching him as he looked up. It stepped forward with its hands, slid its legs, and slipped towards him. It paused in front of him, gazing deep into his soul. Casey froze. He couldn’t move. Then couldn’t hear. Just see. The thing's eyes changed color as it blinked. They went red. Then sound returned as quickly as it faded. The wind blew against the walls. Thunder rumbled outside. The windows shattered. The glass flew everywhere and crawled through the floor, snapping against the tile. He could see and hear the thing’s breath. It exhaled smoke. He stared back at it, still engulfed by fear.

“What do you want?” Casey asked it.

It didn’t respond but flung forward with its red eyes. Casey raised his arm to deflect the impact. Then he woke.

~~~​

He jumped forward in his seat, but was repelled by a tense seatbelt. He raised his arms in defense and his eyes widened. Sweat bubbled around his hairline and his heart rate thumped quickly against his chest. A nightmare. A night terror. It felt real. His knees were hurting and his neck was tense.

Jenkins was driving and Birdie was sitting next to him in the passenger seat when he looked up. It brought him back to the real world. He looked through the front window at the harsh winter air that their van was driving through. He could feel the snow slamming against them. He gazed left through the tinted window at the ruins of a once prosperous city. He found it to be a lot like Philadelphia. The city of brotherly love. A city that is both treasured and destroyed by its inhabitants. The city that became his home after prison.

He inhaled deeply and scratched the side of his head. With an exhale, he brought his heart rate back down and shook off the feelings his imagination brought him. He glanced at his comrades in the front seats.

“Are we almost out of the city?” He asked.

He shook his head and looked over his backrest at all the weapons the crew had brought with them. Their arsenal was prepared for a war. Their most perilous mission would be to face a militia. Perhaps they were even outside their league when they thought of it. Not adequately prepared and understaffed for such a mission. Casey was optimistic that they wouldn't have to use force. The primary focus was on recon. He wanted to find out where this group was and bring the information back to the clubhouse. Wait for Fish and the others to return and devise a strategy. All of this is in favor of Madame Marinov.

Casey looked out the window again. He recalled the days when survival was uncomplicated. Where they did not respond to these powerful players. He could see Hank now making deals with Edgar Clay for the betterment of the club. It felt wrong. However, their bed was set. They were bound by this reality and had no other option. The choice was either to follow through or face the consequences.

They proceeded down the road for some time. As he neared the city limits, he felt like a light flashed from a nearby shop window. It happened instantly and they were driving too fast for him to catch it again at full capacity. Casey sunk his nose into the window, his eyes drifting for another sight of the light. Was it just his imagination? Then he saw it flicker again from a different angle. It was faint. Almost invisible. Again, it flickered in the distance. A signal? Then the sound of splitting air. A sudden whirlwind hindered Casey's ability to fully react.

“Oh shi-“

A large explosion propelled the back of the van into the air. Casey shut his eyes and grabbed his seatbelt, squeezing himself into his own seat. He sensed his body flipping with the vehicle. The back doors burst open and he felt the warm flames through the cold winds. As they began to flip, he pressed his knees against the driver's backrest. There was a moment of weightlessness as the van's nose slid across the road, rattling the engine. His seatbelt was digging into his chest and neck as it held him back from flying off. He let out a loud groan as the vehicle crashed onto its roof and completely capsized.

Casey hung upside down. Blood rushed to his head, feeling a buildup of pressure behind his eyeballs. He had zoned out briefly and regained consciousness when fluid dripped from his cheek. He touched the side of his face with his hand to reveal blood. He had been cut. He grunted again as discomfort spread throughout his entire body. His hands and feet started to feel numb.

He tried to unbuckle his seatbelt. Clawed at it until he managed to click the safety button and unlock himself. He fell headfirst and raised his arms over his head to lessen the impact. He slammed into the roof of the car, which had become the floor. His body fell on the seat and was laying on the fragments of glass that had burst from the windows. He swiftly adjusted by rolling over on his hands and knees. Through his seat headboard, he gazed at the opened and demolished back end of the vehicle. Flames died down as the outdoor winds increased. He noticed headlights coming toward him over the flailing snow patches.

Quickly, he turned around, grasped his colleagues' shoulders, and gave them a rousing shake.

“Y’all okay?!” He asked Jenkins and Birdie.

“We have to move! Get up, c’mon!”

He turned back and shifted his weight to his chest. He grabbed the weapons he could and slid them towards the front seats. The initial crash caused the majority of them to fall out of the van. A missile or grenade launcher of some kind must have struck them. Casey was unsure of what else could have caused such damage. What led them to believe the Angels were coming? This was an ambush.

AnneThraxx
@Bullyboy Squad

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[AnneThraxx]

]

M.C.

Birdie Morris

Prospect

The snow beating off the windshield had become almost hypnotizing, as the caravan continued down the greasy roadway. With Casey asleep in the back and Jenkins focusing on the worsening roads, Birdie quietly hummed to herself. The radio offered nothing but static, and Jenkins didn't seem to mind. He'd tell her off in some way if it did. In her lap, she braided together colorful strands of string. One of the few arts and crafts items she managed to score on her supply runs. While Santina would color and glue various paper shapes together, Birdie would weave together small bracelets for the little girl. She even made a few for Lila and Chris, and anyone else who Santina would convince to wear one. If not anything else, it was at least something to keep her hands busy, offering a little distraction from the everyday chaos.

Hearing Casey jolt awake behind her, she adjusted in her seat, turning back to face him. Seeing his defensive stance, fear washing across his face, her own expression saddened. Some sort of nightmare, she speculated. She gave him a gentle, reassuring pat on the knee before turning back around, glancing over at Jenkins. His eyes were glued to the road, white-knuckled as he navigated through the blizzard. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she squeezed it softly, gently rubbing his arm. She offered him a warm, soothing smile before returning to her bracelet.

She nodded slowly at his question. "Almost." She replied, glancing down at the map folded neatly on the console between her and Elvis. "A few more miles yet though." Exhaling a long sigh, she tucked the finished bracelet into her vest pocket before resting her head against the cool window. Watching the snow fly by, her eyes became heavy. The sound of the tires on snow covered pavement acting as white noise, she fought to keep herself awake.

Without having time to react to the explosion from behind, Birdie felt her body being tossed around, her head colliding with glass where she had just been resting. Her vision blurred before quickly fading to black. Her ears rang, as the metal crashing around her became hushed. Enveloped by darkness, time seemed still, the only sound being her pounding heart. Was this the end? She always figured she'd go out in some blaze of glory, not like this.

The feeling of a hand roughly shaking her shoulder brought her out of the darkness, a sharp gasp escaping her lungs as they struggled for air. What felt like hours, had only been a few minutes. Smoke billowed from the back of the van as she quickly took in her surroundings. Her already pounding head only throbbed more as she dangled from her seat, blood dripping from somewhere onto the roof. With the beam of headlights fast approaching, she'd have to access her injuries later.

Not bothering to fight with the lock, she fumbled for the knife on her hip. Slicing at the belt, struggling to catch herself, she let out a pain-filled cry as she landed atop the shards of glass. Tears welled in her eyes as she pushed herself to her knees, grabbing her bag, the map, and as many weapons she could that Casey pushed towards them.

"What the fuck. What the FUCK." She whimpered as she pushed the guns out the shattered windshield. The cold wind and snow felt like a slap to the face as she pulled herself out, barely able to get traction against the snow-covered pavement. With an armful of weapons, the world around her spun as she attempted to stand, grabbing onto the upside-down fender of the van for balance. Every bit of her body screamed as she attempted a dash to the back of the van, the majority of their munitions strewn throughout the snow. Smoke still plumed from what was left of the hatch as she slid across the ground, scrambling to collect as much as she could. Shoving soaked ammo into her bag and any open pockets, her fingers burned as she watched for her comrades to exit.

The sound of distant voices made her heart stop. She stood, holding her breath. The howling winds made it impossible to decipher where they were coming from. Or how many there were. This was no accident. Someone knew. Her trap question to Jenkins earlier didn't seem so foolish anymore.

"We have to GO!" Birdie cried out, trying to shove a few more pieces into her bag. Raising a rifle she'd slung across her back, her hands shook from a combination of cold, fear and pain. The headlights drew closer, as did the voices.The storm grew worse with every passing second.

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[Namazu]

M.C.

Matt “Fish” Fischer

Secretary

CDC BUILDING

Fish narrowed his eyes at the skeezy woman leading Beau away, further irritated by the fact she stuck her tongue out at him like a child. Stupid bitch. Even the way she popped her gum at people irritated the absolute shit out of him. His fucking ex did the same thing. He felt his blood pressure rising.

This was how it started - disarming them, pulling them apart, picking them off one by one. He didn’t care if this woman needed help, and he was quickly not caring if anyone else in this place needed help either. His people were in danger, and that was his priority.

He met eyes with Auguste across the table and immediately understood the unspoken message: stick together. He nodded at the man, pressing his lips into a thin line as Auguste got up and left their table.

Underneath the table, Fish found Kit’s hand and gave it a subtle squeeze, leaning over to whisper something to him, barely audible: “Stick close, don’t let them separate us.” Thankfully the common room was emptying out, the locals going back to whatever it was they did in their time. He just really wished the people at their table would go the fuck away.

Fish didn’t have long to dwell on it though, quickly spotting how the guards were filling into the room, taking up positions along the perimeter of the room. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up seeing this, and he held on to Kit’s hand tightly. He flinched when the double-doors burst open, spilling out three more guards.

The story about losing communication with their men was just plausible enough to not be a lie, but Fish didn’t trust it. Lost communication or not, real or not, Fish wasn’t leaving without all of his people next to him. If they stepped foot out that door now, they were as good as resigning Beau and Auguste to their deaths, for all he knew. Fish narrowed his eyes at Chris, then shook his head.

“No. If my crew goes out there to help, we all go. All of us. Not just us two. Your people dragged off two of mine already.” He pointed accusingly down the hallway that Beau and Auguste had gone.

“And we go with all of our weapons and gear and our truck. That’s it. Full crew, full gear, or your guys can handle it yourselves.”


BeyondDandy Good_Morels NanLia

 

[NanLia]

CLUBHOUSE
​

Alejandra waited as Lila dressed Santina then herself and headed out the trailer's door to the clubhouse. “Bullet, Bullet is in charge, but we’ll let him think he is.”

She held the door open as the two girls went in ahead of her, holding it for Bullet to follow the girls in, shaking off the snowflakes that had landed on her coat. She watched the door head immediately for the kitchen; a habit She wasn’t fond of. She knew that it was the warmest place in the clubhouse but also happened to be there all the scraps of food were dropped. Bullet was getting rounder in her old age, and with no vets around the corner, she needed to keep watch.

“No breakfast for me, just coffee. And please don’t feed Bullet anything either.” Ally hadn’t been a morning person in years since being with Casey. She’d use her ‘not a breakfast person’ to help save on rations. There wasn’t an endless supply of food and with the winter on them, it would be harder still to find more.

She turned as she heard motors, bikes specifically, coming from the gate - that couldn’t be right, everyone who left, left in a truck or van and the bikes were already up in storage. Shouting soon followed. Was one of the probys being a dumbfuck? She wondered if Wess needed some backup; she wasn’t in the club but she’d still put a shithead in his place.

At the first rattle of gunfire, she dropped to the ground, tipping a table near her over for some added protection as shattered glass rained down through the windows. The shitty wooden table wouldn’t stop bullets for long but it would be enough for the moment.

Wess rolled in and with the glance she got she couldn’t tell if the man was hurt. She hated this, hated that she knew she needed to leave him here and help get the girls away from the clubhouse. “Fuck.” She hissed, scrambling down the hall, past the door where Lila had fled.

A quick search of the guest room she found Wess’s pistol and a rifle. She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her pants and zipped her jacket closed over it, then shouldered the rifle. She dashed back down the hall and exited where Lila had gone. Bullet was waiting, taking the lead to follow in the traces where Lila had gone.

BeyondDandy Namazu ​

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Mason C. Weston

Road Captain

CLUBHOUSE

Harley engines thumped through the howling winds. The storm had approached the clubhouse with a vengeance. Wes watched as Bullet and the girls left out the back door. He sighed in relief and slid down the wall to his elbows. He flipped open his Pietta’s cylinder and looked at the four rounds he had left. He shut it, glancing over at the shotgun near the dead Angel at the front door. If he could get his hands on it, maybe he would stand a better chance against the men outside.

“Let’s fucking go,” Wes said to himself, rolling over and pushing himself to his feet.

A gust of wind kept the doors open. Wes could feel cold air through the crevices of his coat. He used the wall as cover, inching to peek out the shattered window. He looked, but couldn’t see anything. Then he heard a gunshot and felt the force of a bullet fly right past him. He jerked back as the round crashed against the backdrop. Wes turned back and extended his arm out of the window, looked down the barrel and scanned the area. His eyes drifted left and right like a computer glitching itself to turn on. He noticed the shape of a man running towards the shipping container. He squinted his left eye and paired his sights. His right pupil shrunk as it blurred his surroundings and made the man appear through the sheets of white snow. Wes aimed, pulled the hammer down and pressed the trigger. A 5.6mm round spun through the barrel like a missile and flew through the white sky at the speed of light. It struck its target in the back and his body fell flat against the snow covered gravel.

Wes smirked.

Another shape suddenly ran through the storm. It b-lined towards the front entrance. Its heavy footsteps made the clubhouse steps bend and shriek. It moved quickly in a sprint, trying to catch Wes off guard. Wes felt his presence before he saw him and turned towards the open front doors. He fired off two more shots through the cracked wood. The bullets burst through the door. The man entering was caught with the first bullet in the neck. The other struck his head as the man fell to his knees and eventually his face. Two dead Angels crowded the clubhouse entrance now.

The doors moved open and closed with the wind. The dead bodies acted as door stoppers, preventing them from fully closing. Wes took the opportunity to try for the shotgun once again. He pushed the door as closed as he could and leaped forward with his damaged leg. He hovered over the dead bodies on all fours, trying to unjam the weapon from under the heavy fellow. He felt the cold steel in his hand when a sudden blast hit his side. The hole in the front doors blew twice the size as wood and bullet fragments struck Wes.

The cowboy flew to his left, rolling up against the side of the bar counter. Sound dimmed into a high pitched screech. His right eye blurred first then went completely dark. He couldn’t open it. The right side of his body began to go numb from the side of his face all the way to his waist. He looked over himself with his left eye, noticing blood leaking from holes in his arm. He grunted, propping himself up with his left arm. He shifted his hips back under him and sat up as a man walked through the front door.

Wes felt himself fading as voices filled the room. He realized the sound of Harley engines were dismissed. He tilted his head back and glanced up as three men entered the clubhouse. One of the checked the dead bodies at the door. The other was ordered to check the rest of the building and vanished to the back hallway. The last one was Duke. The man behind the attack.

He walked up to Wes and crouched down to level. They stood face to face. Wes found it difficult to swallow. He felt a pain in his stomach and a warmth boiling hot over the rest of his body. He felt sweaty and dirty. It was difficult for him to speak as the pressure in his chest forced him to focus on breathing rather than than talking.

“You don’t look very good, kid,” Duke said in his grumbling voice.

It was a thick sound that came from the back of his throat, like a frog groan. Wes let out a breath and licked his bottom lip. It tasted like copper. He ran his tongue through a divot in his lip. He was missing a piece of his face. He huffed at the realization of his situation.

Duke smiled.

“I’m sorry it had to end this way for you.”

Wes’ expression changed. He grew irritated with Duke’s fake apology. There was no real sympathy. He wasn’t sorry for anything. There was zero shame in his actions. He came for blood and he was going to get some. Wes looked at him.

“F*ck you,” he muttered.

His left hand dug for the revolve under his hips. Swiftly, he drew the gun towards Duke and prepared to take the final shot. But Duke reacted too quickly and pushed Wes’ arm back against the counter side. He unsheathed a large fixed blade from his backside and jammed the knife through Wes’ forearm. Wes let out a loud cry as his arm became pinned to the counter and his grip went loose, dropping his gun. Blood dripped from the hilt of the blade as Duke stood back up and picked up the revolver.

“You almost had me there! You sneaky bastard,” Duke said nervously, inspecting the gun.

Wes grunted in pain. He started to shiver as a sudden cold overcame him. His arm throbbed. He looked over to see it impaled. It felt like the end of the road. He began to think of his sister. He thought of Casey and the girls. His friends. His brothers. He was flooded with flashes of memories. It was nice. But he didn’t want to lose. He wasn’t ready to give in. Not to a man like Duke. So he laughed. He laughed at him. He watched as the man became visibly irritated. He wouldn’t feed his ego but instead mock it.

“You messed up, Duke.” Wes said, shaking his head.

Duke appeared confused and asked,
“How so?”

Wes nodded.

“When Hank finds out what you’ve done…he’s going to kill you.”

Silence. Wes watched as Duke tossed the gun to his minion. He paced in a circle, a smile growing between his cheeks. Wes grew worried. Duke then whistled and called the man from the back rooms. He came out assisting Casey’s prisoner. Wes was confused. He watched as the Angel helped the prisoner to a chair. The prisoner sighed in relief. He had been beaten and tortured but looked relatively in better condition than Wes.

“Took you motherf*ckers long enough,” he said.

“Sorry, Chewie. We didn’t know there would be a f*cking blizzard.” Said the member that helped him.

Duke turned back to Wes. He looked down at him. Wes had a blank look. He didn’t understand what was happening. How there had been such an oversight under his nose. Who was this man? And how did he know Duke?

“Oh, you haven’t met Chewie?” Duke asked Wes, rhetorically.

“You see, he’s one of us. VP of Tulsa! I patched him in myself. Y’all did a number on him, huh?”

Duke lifted his hands and signaled the bullets all over the clubhouse.

“You see Wes, we’re cleaning house. And we’re not alone. You said Hank would come after us? Well, it’s too late for that. We went after him. He’s dead. Deadwood took him out.”

Wes’ eye widened. He felt as though his soul had left his body and he was watching a bad episode of his favorite show. It was difficult to think, his mind was clouded with questions. Thoughts of his sister suddenly flushed his brain. His eye turned red. He didn’t know what to say. His sister. What had they done to her? He didn’t mention her, just Hank. Maybe. Maybe she was okay? He didn’t want to ask, but he wanted to know. What if she escaped? What if he was lying? If he mentioned Kallie would they search for her? But if he didn’t mention her, he would never know.

“And the girl? The one Hank was with?” Wes muttered reluctantly.

Duke raised a brow and looked back at Chewie. He nodded.

“They didn’t say anything about a girl. They just said they put twenty bullets into the old man. You got a girl out there?”

Wes didn’t respond. Duke turned to Chewie again and asked if there were others in the clubhouse. Chewie mentioned Ally and Lila. Duke ordered his men to go find them. Wes couldn't react as two men started towards the back doors. They followed the snow tracks through the fenced emergency exit the club had built for events like these - not that they’ve ever used it. Duke looked back at Wes, he waved his hand over his face.

“Hey buddy, you still alive?” He joked.

Wes looked at him. He was over it. He hoped he’d done enough for the girls and the club. Hoped Casey would forgive him for not being enough to protect the clubhouse. Hoped his sister was out there safe. He was glad she didn’t have to see this. He could hear her bitching at him for being too nice sometimes. She had always loved him.

“Okay. Well. It was nice to see you again, but duty calls.”

The wind outside howled louder. Duke dug in his pockets and took out a pair of gold brass knuckles. He slid them over his fists and rolled his shoulders. He drew his right arm back, loaded his hips and twisted with a wide cross. The metal knuckles clashed against right side of We’s face. His entire body rocked with the impact, but the knife in his arm kept him from titling over. He felt his jaw crack and his teeth break off. The knife ripped his arm wound wider and more blood gushed to the floor. Blood dripped from mouth as he spit out a few of his teeth. Wes looked at Duke with his good eye.

What would Kallie say?

“That all you got, b*tch,” Wes said with a smile.

Duke rolled his eyes and smiled. He came back with a cannon of a left hook and hit Wes where he couldn’t see it coming. Wes’ body bounced left. His arm moved with him and opened the gap even wider. He looked at his arm and the large hole his movement was making. His arm was dark red. Wes spit out more teeth as his face grew swollen and head to heavy to lift up. He felt his cheeks like rocks and his vision started to go in and out as he tucked his chin to his chest. He couldn’t hear from his right side any longer and the numbness didn’t hide the pain. He felt as though he had spoiled himself but it was blood from the gunshot wounds. He had apparently been hit in the stomach as well, just simply hadn’t noticed until he looked down.

Duke sniffed and let out a laugh. Chewie chuckled alongside him. Wes himself let out a smile. Duke looked down at the man.

“What’s funny?” He asked Wes.

“You asked something earlier.”

“What did I ask?” Duke inquired.

“You called out to see if I was Casey or not.”

“How is that funny?”

“Because that means you didn’t get to him.”

Duke went quiet. He looked over at Chewie who stood from his chair and approached Wes.

“You got some balls talking that nonsense, kid.” Duke said.

“Am I wrong?” Wes asked.

“Kill this motherfucker already would you,” Chewie chimed in.

“Wait!” Wes said as he mustered up the strength to look up at the two men.

“I can…” Wes started, stopping to cough a spray of blood from his throat. He grunted in pain as streaks of red drooled from the ends of his lips.

“Spit it out!” Chewie barked back.

“I can tell you where he is,” Wes said quietly through a flurry of wheezes. He displayed difficulty breathing. It was labored and rugged. Each breath was shallow and short. His chest didn’t rise at the speed it had been earlier and his head fell back down.

“Shit! Hey! Hey! Tell us where he is!” Chewie yelled.

“Goddamnmit,” he cursed, kneeling down by Wes and shaking his shoulder to try and get him to wake up. He noticed Wes’ eyes were both shut.

“F*ck! You killed the bastard before he could-“

“LOOK OUT!” Duke called as rushed forward.

Wes opened his eye like the undertaker and pulled his arm through the knife, ripping the muscles in his forearm into shreds. He found the strength in his right side to turn, grab the knife handle with his right hand, pull it out of the counter and run it through Chewie’s throat. It was as though he had been possessed by an outwardly being for that second, just to enact justice on his enemies.

Chewie fell back with his hands on his throat as Duke kicked Wes in the face and took the knife from his hand. Wes fell to his side with a crooked smiled as he watched Chewie rattle on the floor searching for his breath. Wes lay on his shoulder, cradled on his side as his head rested against the ground. He heard the wind blow through the clubhouse doors again and felt the cool air covering him like a blanket. It felt nice against his warm skin. Duke’s voice vanished as wind whistled through the floorboards and thunder boomed in the sky. Wes’ vision weakened and his body numbed. He noticed a pair of boots walk into the clubhouse. They moved towards him as his vision darkened and blurred. They stopped before him and a female crouched into his view. Her brunette hair tickled his face. He couldn’t see her face but knew who it was. Kallie. She placed a hand on his cheek and caressed him. Wes closed his eye and enjoyed her touch. He felt her lay next to him and put her arms around him like they’d done as children during a storm. He opened it again to see her one last time, but she had faded away. With a smile he closed his eye again, still feeling her touch. His heart then stopped under her embrace.

NanLia
Namazu

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[Namazu]

M.C.

Lila Adkins

Sgt.-at-Arm’s Old Lady

THE WOODS BEHIND THE CLUBHOUSE

Deja vu. Sprinting blindly into the trees with nothing but the clothes on her back. Not daring to look back even once. Gunshots in the distance. Leaving behind her family. The certainty that many, if not most, were probably dead. The uncertainty of the fate of the ones that weren’t home.

The fact that she had to do this a second time made the fear and bile raise up into her throat, but the fact that now this time she was carrying a young child and running into the unknown with no idea how she’d get into contact with Auguste again made her positively livid. If anger could translate into super powers she would have incinerated these attackers on the spot.

Keeping Santina’s face buried against her shoulder so the wind didn’t bite her skin, and to keep the child quiet, she held onto her with both hands as she sprinted until she could no longer see the clubhouse. Finally she had to pause and catch her breath, ducking behind a wide tree and taking a moment to shush Santina as she started to make noise again. The realization the attackers could easily follow both her footprints in the snow and the sound of the crying child made panic join the circus of emotions in her chest.

The sound of gunshots made her flinch, pressing closer to the tree. “Fuck,” she hissed under her breath, daring to peek around the tree. She tensed just a moment at the sight of a figure in the distance, relaxing only once she saw it was Ally. At least she made it out too. The absence of Wes behind her made her cling onto Santina tighter, trying not to think of what might be happening.

She waited there behind the tree, patting Santina’s back and catching her breath while Ally and Bullet caught up.

NanLia BeyondDandy

 

[smookie]

M.C.

Bruno Jenkins

enforcer

He snapped awake. The light was brutal. Fuck. A white blanket smothered the city, brightness harshly reflecting off the snow-covered ground. Jenkins squinted, his world inverted and his sight a blur—dangling upside down in the wreckage. His nose and mouth flooded with warm liquid, dripping downward, stinging his eyes. He choked, gagging on the taste of salt and iron as he hacked it up. His arm felt like dead weight, trembling as he tried to raise it. His hand found his face, shakily wiping it, smearing blood across his vision.

We have to GO.

The voice hit his ears like a muffled thud, distant and distorted. He reached again, forcing his hand to obey. His fingers slick, groping him until he released the belt. His body smacked against the car’s roof with a crunch of glass and his groan broke through the relentless ringing in his ears.

“The hell…” he rasped, spitting out more blood. His eyes darted around, narrowing in on a shotgun. Pointless for long range but he didn’t think about it. He clawed for it, dragging it towards the shattered windshield.

On all fours, Jenkins hauled himself out of the wreck, the blinding light assaulting him again as he emerged. His gut churned and the world spun like a freaking carnival ride. But he swallowed the nausea and attempted to get up and follow, stumbling and using the weapon as a crutch at first.

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Casey Guidry

Vice President

On The Road

Casey’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to make sense of the chaos around him. The caravan had been rolling smoothly just moments before, the snow-covered landscape stretching out like a blanket of white under the thick gray clouds. Then, without warning, the missile struck. The explosion was deafening, and the force of the blast flipped their vehicle like a toy, sending it crashing onto its roof in a twisted heap of metal and broken glass.

Dazed, Casey gazed at his comrades. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, mingling with the sweat that now poured down his face despite the freezing temperature. His leather jacket, emblazoned with the Fallen Angels’ wings, felt heavy on his shoulders as he forced himself to move, to think.

The interior of the van was a mess. Weapons and supplies were scattered everywhere, the aftermath of the sudden and violent attack. Casey’s breath came in ragged gasps as he rummaged through the wreckage, grabbing hold of whatever weapons he could find. A knife here, a pistol there - anything that could give them a fighting chance. His vision blurred for a moment, but he fought through the pain, thrusting the weapons toward his comrades in the front seats.

"Take these!" he barked, his voice hoarse.

Birdie, his young prospect, was the first to react, pushing open the mangled door with a grunt of effort. She stumbled out into the snow, her breath visible in the icy air. Jenkins followed close behind, his face grim and determined, clutching a shotgun that had somehow survived the crash. Casey watched them go, relieved that they were still alive, still ready to fight. He could hear Birdie call out with worry in her voice. She wanted them to flee as quickly as possible.

But then the gunshots rang out, sharp cracks that echoed through the storm. Casey froze, his heart skipping a beat. The shots weren’t aimed at them, but they were close—too close. Warning shots, he realized, meant to keep them pinned down. The blizzard, already fierce, seemed to grow stronger, the wind howling as it whipped the snow into blinding flurries. The van shook again, the cold seeping in through every crack and crevice.

And then the lights appeared - harsh, blinding beams cutting through the darkness. Casey squinted against the glare, his eyes watering as he tried to see who or what was out there. The lights bobbed and weaved as figures moved in the snow, their shapes indistinct but undeniably human. Voices drifted through the storm, muffled by the wind, but their message was clear.

"Drop your weapons and we let you live!"

Casey’s blood ran cold. He knew what that meant. They were surrounded, outgunned, and outnumbered. His mind raced as he weighed their options, his gut churning with fear for his brothers. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Not out here, in the middle of nowhere, buried under the snow like forgotten relics.

He gritted his teeth and began to crawl out of the van, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through his battered body. He had to protect them. Had to make sure they all got out of this alive, even if it meant surrendering. But before he could make it out, a heavy boot slammed down on his hand, crushing his fingers against the frozen ground.

Casey screamed, the pain white-hot, blinding. He looked up through tears to see the figure looming over him, a man built like a tank, clad in military gear with a thick fur coat draped over his shoulders. The man’s face was hard, his eyes cold and unyielding. He wasn’t here to negotiate. He was here to capture.

“Bag them!” the man ordered, his voice deep and authoritative.

The soldiers moved in, swift and efficient. Birdie and Jenkins were forced to drop their weapons, their faces pale as they realized they had no other choice. Black bags were pulled over their heads, plunging them into darkness. Casey struggled, tried to fight back, but the man above him pressed down harder, grinding his broken fingers into the ice. Another soldier appeared, and before Casey could shout another order, he too was bagged, his world reduced to the sound of his own ragged breathing.

They were yanked to their feet, dragged away from the wreckage and tossed into the back of another vehicle. The cold steel floor bit into Casey’s knees as he was shoved inside, the door slamming shut behind him. The engine roared to life, and they were on the move again, destination unknown.

Casey’s thoughts raced as the vehicle rumbled through the storm. Who were these people? How did they know they were coming? His mind conjured up a thousand possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. But one thing was certain - they were in deep trouble, and it was going to take everything they had to survive whatever came next.

- - -​

The door creaked as the commanding officer, Victor, pushed it open, the sound slicing through the oppressive silence of the room. His boots hit the cold concrete floor with a deliberate thud, each step measured, each footfall a reminder of the authority he carried with him. The men in the room snapped to attention as he entered, their eyes briefly meeting his before they returned to their disciplined stances. These weren’t just mercenaries - they were soldiers, molded by the same military machine that had shaped Victor. Even in this life, where the lines between right and wrong had become so blurred they were almost invisible, discipline was a constant. It was the one thing that kept then all from descending into complete chaos.

Victor scanned the room quickly, taking in the sight of the two captives tied to their chairs like animals caught in a trap. The woman, Birdie, was smaller than he expected. She had a certain ferocity to her out in the field, but now, bound and blindfolded, she seemed fragile, almost breakable. Opposite her, Jenkins sat rigidly, his chest rising and falling in controlled breaths, but Victor could see the tension in his posture, the slight tremble in his hands. Fear had a way of making itself known, even in the toughest of men.

As he walked forward, the air in the room thickened, the anticipation of what was about to unfold crackling like electricity. His men didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. They knew their roles, and they knew his. This wasn’t the first time they’d been in a room like this, and it wouldn’t be the last. But each time, there was a moment - a single heartbeat where the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the hammer to fall.

Victor reached Jenkins first, grabbing the bag over his head and ripping it off with a swift motion. The sudden exposure to the dim light made him squint, and for a split second, Victor saw the raw vulnerability in his eyes before he quickly masked it with defiance. It didn’t matter. He’d seen it. He knew he was scared, and that knowledge was a weapon Victor intended to use.

Victor didn’t linger. Jenkins wasn’t the one he needed to break - not yet, at least. He turned his back on him, making his way around to Birdie. His footsteps echoed in the room, the sound bouncing off the walls, amplifying the sense of isolation that already weighed heavily on the captives. He could feel the eyes of his men on him, waiting, watching, as he positioned himself behind the woman.

Her breathing was shallow, quickening with every second he stood there, saying nothing. She was waiting for the knife. They always were. The moment before you introduce the blade is when the fear truly sets in - when they realize just how helpless they are, how easily their lives could be snuffed out with a single motion. It was a tactic Victor learned in the field, and one that never failed.

His hand found the hilt of the silver knife, and I drew it slowly, letting the soft scrape of metal against leather fill the silence. The blade caught the faint light, a cold gleam that promised pain. He pressed the flat edge against Birdie’s neck, just hard enough for her to feel the sharpness without drawing blood. Not yet. His other hand gripped her collarbone, the flesh warm under my fingers as I squeezed - not hard enough to injure, but enough to let her know he was in control.

“Where is your base of operations?” Victor asked, his voice low, steady.

There was no need to shout, no need to raise his voice. The power wasn’t in the volume; it was in the certainty, the unspoken promise that if he didn’t get what he wanted, there would be consequences.

Victor stared at Jenkins. His eyes appeared wide, pupils dilated with fear or anger. But it was the fear that Victor rallied behind. Anger was easy to deal with - it was predictable, manageable. Fear, though, fear was a powerful tool. It made people desperate, made them pliable.

Victor felt Birdie tense under his grip, her muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. He could feel her heartbeat quickening, the pulse racing under her skin where the knife rested. Fear maybe? That was good. Fear was a language everyone understood.

But this wasn’t about her. It was about Jenkins. Birdie was the leverage, the means to an end. Victor knew Jenkins would see that. He would see that the only way to keep her safe - the only way to save her from the blade at her throat - was to give him what he wanted.

So he pressed the knife a little deeper, just enough for Birdie to feel the sting, to know that he wasn’t bluffing. Jenkins resolve appeared to be crumbling, Victor could see it in the way his eyes darted between him and the knife, in the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. He was close, so close to breaking.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Victor said, his voice a whisper now, barely audible, but no less dangerous. The threat was real, and Jenkins had to know it.

The room was heavy with the weight of the decision he had to make, the air thick with tension. Victor’s men remained still, their gazes locked on Jenkins, waiting for the inevitable. They had seen this before. They knew how it would end. Jenkins would give him what he wanted because he had no other choice. It was just a matter of time, and he had all the time in the world.

- - -​

Casey sat in the suffocating silence, his mind racing as he counted the seconds in his head. The room was oppressively still, the only sounds his own ragged breathing and the occasional creak of the chair beneath him. His hand throbbed with pain, fingers broken, and the tightness of the handcuffs cut into his wrists. He had long lost track of time, the minutes bleeding into one another until they became meaningless.

The bag over his head made it difficult to breathe, the fabric clinging to his face with each inhalation, growing damp with his sweat and fear. He fought against the rising tide of panic, struggling to maintain some semblance of composure, of strength, though he felt anything but strong.

Then, suddenly, the silence was broken by the creak of the door. His body tensed, heart pounding as he heard the shuffling of feet approaching him. He straightened in his chair, forcing himself to sit taller, trying to project an image of defiance. The footsteps stopped right in front of him, and he held his breath, his senses heightened by the deprivation of sight.

In one swift motion, the bag was yanked from his head, and he was assaulted by the harsh glare of the overhead lights. He squinted, eyes watering as they adjusted to the sudden brightness. The room was stark, cold, and clinical, its bare walls echoing the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above. But it wasn’t the room that made his breath catch in his throat—it was the figure standing before him.

Casey’s eyes widened in disbelief as they focused on the woman in front of him. Jennifer. His ex-wife. It couldn’t be real. He blinked rapidly, half-expecting her to disappear, convinced that this was some cruel trick of his mind, a hallucination brought on by the stress and the pain. But she remained there, as real as the agony in his broken fingers.

She hadn’t changed a bit. Her blonde hair was still as radiant as he remembered, her figure still slim and graceful. And that smile—God, that smile—still had the power to melt him, even now, even here. But the sight of her only deepened the confusion and fear gnawing at his insides.

“Jennifer?” he croaked, his voice hoarse and disbelieving. He needed to hear her confirm it, needed to know he wasn’t losing his mind.

She nodded, and then, to his further astonishment, she crouched down in front of him, placing a hand gently on his leg. The touch was so familiar, so disarming, that it nearly broke him. Her smile was soft, almost reassuring.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice calm and soothing. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

Casey’s mind reeled. The questions tumbled out of him, his thoughts racing far too fast to keep them in check. “Jenkins. Birdie! Where are they?” he demanded, his voice laced with desperation. The image of them captured, vulnerable, filled him with dread.

Jennifer’s eyes flicked toward the door for a brief moment before she looked back at him. “They’re safe,” she assured him. “As long as you cooperate with the commanders’ orders, they’ll be okay.”

Her words struck him like a hammer blow. The realization settled in, cold and unforgiving. She was part of this. Whatever twisted game was being played here, Jennifer was involved. The woman he had once loved, the woman who had been his world, was now aligned with the very people who had captured him and his crew.

A flood of emotions surged through him - betrayal, anger, sorrow, confusion. He couldn’t reconcile the Jennifer he had known with the woman standing before him now. The Jennifer he remembered would never have been part of something like this. But time had passed, and people changed. He knew that better than anyone.

Yet, despite everything, despite the pain and the fear, a small part of him still wanted to believe her. Wanted to trust that she would protect him, that she would keep her word. But the stakes were too high, and the reality of the situation too brutal for any such hope to take root.

He searched her eyes, looking for any sign of the woman he had once known, any hint that this was all a mistake, a misunderstanding. But all he saw was a stranger wearing a familiar face.

“Jennifer,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion, “why are you doing this? Why are you with them?”

She hesitated, just for a moment, and in that hesitation, Casey saw a flicker of something - regret, maybe, or sorrow. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the steely resolve that had taken its place.

“I’m doing what I have to do,” she replied, her tone unwavering. “Just like you always did.”

Her words cut deep, a reminder of the choices he had made, the life he had led. But before he could respond, she stood up and turned toward the door. “Remember what I said, Casey,” she called back as she walked away. “Cooperate, and they’ll be fine.”

With that, she left him alone in the room, the door closing with a heavy finality behind her. The silence returned, more oppressive than before. Casey sat there, his mind spinning, trying to process what had just happened, trying to make sense of the impossible.

But there were no answers, only more questions, and the gnawing uncertainty that threatened to consume him.

AnneThraxx
@Bullyboy Squad

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Tulsa Charter

Gunner & Aaron

The Woods

Even though the cold was more excruciating than the gunfire, Gunner wasn't going to let the snow stop him. Duke gave the order to clear out the area and tie up any loose ends. They would strike hard, denying those bastards any opportunity to catch their breath. However, it wasn't finished. Duke placed Aaron and himself on the trail of the individuals he anticipated would try to elude them.

Everything seemed quiet and serene thanks to the snow, but Gunner was awake to this. The calm was merely a thin gloss covering the mayhem their crew had incited. He discovered several dog traces and two sets of footprints. It made no difference to Gunner who they were or weren't. It was just a matter of getting the job done.

He motioned to Aaron, and they both proceeded silently while maintaining a low stance. As Gunner saw flickering shadows in the distance, his heart rate increased. He had no intention of letting them escape. He took aim, drew his piece, and fired. Missed; just broke off a few pieces of bark from a tree.

The snow swirled about them, as if the wind was trying to conceal their victims. Squatting behind a tree, Gunner took a deep breath before firing off another round. As anticipated, Aaron was flanking, playing his part, but as the snowfall grew heavier, Gunner was unable to see him.

Not important. In the end, they decided to live this life - each person for himself. Those shadows were in for a surprise if they believed they could get away. The club was no longer the focus of this. Gunner wasn't going to allow anyone walk away from what his crew started because in the end; it was all about survival.

Soon the snow would mask the tracks of those they tailed, but that didn’t take away from needed to be done.

Namazu
NanLia

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[NanLia]

Alejandra Guidry & Lila Adkins


THE WOODS
Collab w/ Namazu
​

It hadn’t taken long for Alejandra to catch up with Lila and Santina as they made off outside the back of the clubhouse for the woods; Lila was weighed down by the toddler, and the growing snow getting deeper the further they went into the undisturbed woods, cranking the pace back further.

Bullet followed, pacing back and forth ahead of them, nose to the ground as though she were back overseas, searching for IEDs in the roadway. It impressed Ally that the decade-old dog, partly blind and mostly deaf, was moving like a pup again, fresh out of training.

There had been no conversation between the two, knowing that any noise could alert their attackers to where they were. Ally hadn’t been aware they were being followed until bark and wood splintered from the tree beside her. She dashed forward, dragging Lila down to the snowy ground and practically stuffing the two girls beneath the low branches of a pine.

She held a single finger to her mouth, indicating for them to be quiet and she prayed to any god that would listen that Lila could keep the toddler quiet.


Lila kept quiet as she followed after Ally, holding Santina tight to her chest with one arm, the other arm free for balance. The deepening snow felt like it was pulling her back, slowing her down and making it harder to keep pace.

The sudden bark made her flinch, and she didn't fight it when Ally shoved her beneath low tree branches. Immediately, she covered Santina's mouth, leaving her nose free to breathe through. Lila stayed silent, giving Ally a wide-eyed panicked look as she strained to hear their pursuers.


Ally watched and waited, eyes trained on where they had come from, ready to fire the moment she saw movement. She willed her heart to slow, the beat thundering in her ears. It had been too long since she’d been in the fight, too long since the last time she had to kill another human.

Movement from her right startled her, and unexpectedly a shadowy figure appeared in the small clearing, only a few feet away, from a different direction. She spun on one knee, bringing the rifle up to aim but a low growl from beside her made her pause. Bullet leapt out from behind the trees, tackling the man to the ground.

He screamed in terror but it was brutally cut short and replaced with a choking gurgle. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened, the snow around him starting to stain a deep red.

Ally sighed in relief as she turned back to Lila. Lips parted to speak, to offer what comfort she could that they were safe now, that they would be okay when a twig snapped in the direction they had come. A gunshot rang out in the and fiery pain bloomed in her shoulder. She screamed, the impact at a short distance shoving her back in the snow, the rifle landing out of reach.

“Run Lila, run!”


Lila yelped as Bullet impacted with one of the men pursuing them. She'd never doubted that Bullet could be deadly if he needed to be, but she had not ever actually seen it in action. It reminded her too much of watching the dead tear and bite at living flesh, and she had to avert her eyes.

For a horrifying heartbeat she was terrified that the child in her arms had been shot until she realized what had truly happened. She gave Ally a brief look, one that could only be read as an 'are-you-sure' expression, before she sprang into action.

Lila pushed herself off the tree and sprinted as fast as her legs could carry her and the child.

BeyondDandy Namazu ​

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Bullet

WARNING: This post was written from the perspective of Bullet. Some of the following content may be graphic and disturbing to some readers. Be advised.

The Woods

Spoiler

I had trouble seeing through the snow, but I could follow my nose to him. Through the chill, the cheap cologne's cutting sting guided me like a beacon. I charged ahead, my paws thudding through the snow, my aged bones moving with a youthful vigor. It made me feel dangerously alive. When I had her to protect, the storm failed to prevent me from seeing him. My heart, my Ally. I couldn't let her down.

His scent intensified, and finally there he was. My opponent, the man with the gun and smell. I felt a deep roar in my throat that shook the cold air, and I watched him wince, his eyes going wide with terror. I wanted him to be afraid. I wanted him to realize that he was wrong. With a fierce cry of defiance, I barked as he raised his gun. The gunshot sounded like a crack in the storm, yet it sped by me. I lunged forward true to my name - Bullet.

With my jaws locked down on his forearm, I struck him like a freight train, feeling the warm splash of blood on my tongue and the delectable crunch of bone. I pulled, thrashing with all my effort, as he dropped his gun. I had the girls and Ally on my mind. I reflected on my pledges to guard and protect. This man would not pass me; I was their shield. I pinned him down as he dropped to the ground, shaking his arm as if it were a rag doll. My gums burned as I tasted iron, but it gave me the taste of victory. It was proof that I was still the good girl I’d always been.

Then, pain. Deep and searing, and abrupt and sharp in my side. I gave a growl, but he kept stabbing me. I felt the warmth of my own blood seeping into the snow as the knife sank into my ribcage. Despite my weakening bites and blurred eyesight, I attempted to cling on. Growls grew weaker, breathing harder each time. He continued to jab, and I could feel my strength waining.

I took a final bite, my teeth barely sinking in. I staggered sideways as the man shoved me away, my legs giving out under me. The pain dulled but not the embarrassment. Cold pressed in from all sides. I had failed. He stood there, his arm torn, but still moving, and I stared. I couldn’t stop him. Everything around me became quiet, blending into a gentle, wintry blur.

However, as my eyes shut, I detected a final aroma - faint but recognizable. Her smell. Ally. The person I loved most in life. I was unable to reach her; she was still out there, still in danger. As I took my last breathe, I hoped she knew. I hoped she knew that I tried and gave it my all to defend her.

I was her Bullet, always.

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Newcomers

Adam & Dante

The Woods

With their old Chevy truck's engine moaning against the unrelenting blizzard, Adam and Dante sped down the slippery, icy road. Visibility was almost nonexistent despite the windshield wipers' desperate attempts to remove the snow that had piled up. After completing their hunt, the two men were fortunate enough to catch a deer, which is uncommon in today's world. They had to hurry against the storm in order to get to their cabin before the conditions grew worse.

Dante nodded to the deer in the truck bed, their treasure hidden by a dusting of snow. "Man, we got lucky," he remarked.

“Yeah,” Adam answered.

“The hordes have messed with the migration, but they don't usually stick around this long." He was alluding to the dead that had started to move north and were upsetting the natural order of things. Adam was a former park ranger and was familiar with the area and its wildlife, but even he was taken aback by how the apocalypse had altered the landscape.

Adam took a quick look at their catch in the rearview mirror when Dante suddenly yelled, "Look out!"

Adam jerked forward, just in time to see a figure tumble into the their road. He wrenched the wheel to the left, just missing the body. The truck fishtailed, sliding uncontrollably like a hockey puck on ice. As the vehicle skidded to a stop, Adam counter steered and applied more pressure to the brakes.

With their breath trailing after them, the two men sat in startled stillness. "Are you okay?" Adam questioned, sounding uneasy. Dante looked out his window at the snow that was whirling as he nodded.

Dante said, "That was a person," before removing a pistol from the glovebox. Without pausing, he threw open the door and ventured outside into the chilly air.

"Are you sure?" Adam yelled out as he reached into the rear seat for his rifle. With their boots crunching in the new snow, he trailed out after Dante. They hadn't seen a living person in months; the constant threat posed by the dead had made humans rare these days.

Dante walked slowly toward the direction where he had seen the apparition, shielding his eyes from the wind with his arm. “Hello?!" he yelled through the storm, almost losing his voice. His heart fell as he approached. There was a woman with a toddler pressed up against her chest. The baby was hardly shielded from the weather, she was shivering excessively, and her clothing was insufficient. “Oh shit,” Dante muttered, taking in the appalling scene.

“Hey, hey, are you okay? We need to get you out of this cold!” Dante called out, tucking his revolver into his waistband and raising his hands to show he meant no harm.

Adam, being more cautious, raised his firearm. “Wait! She might be bit!” he warned, his eyes scanning her for any signs of infection. Abruptly, a gunshot echoed menacingly through the treetops. Both men flinched, instinctively crouching low as Adam swung his rifle toward the sound. There were no answers in the woods, just the unrelenting snow and the howling wind.

"We have to leave now!" Adam demanded, a hint of urgency in his voice.

But Dante wasn't prepared to part from the woman just yet. “Please, come with us!” he begged, taking a step closer to her. “We can help you!" eager to save this frail life in the face of the merciless storm.

Adam steadied his weapon while he glanced back and forth between the woman and the forest. There was no telling who - or what - had fired that shot, but one thing was certain: they were not alone out here.

Namazu

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[Namazu]

M.C.

Lila Adkins

Sgt.-at-Arm’s Old Lady

THE WOODS BEHIND THE CLUBHOUSE

Cold air burned Lila’s lungs as she sprinted blindly through the snow and trees, half-stumbling over the occasional root and branch, skidding along smooth rocks and patches of frozen moss and once-muddy dirt. The tears in her eyes stung, threatening to freeze on her lashes and cheeks. Although she was afraid - she’d have to be a fool not to be - that wasn’t why she was crying. She cried because she was so Goddamned angry that this scenario was happening to her again. She’d lost her family the first time - her father, her mother, men and women who treated her like their little sister. This time, though she couldn’t truly call the Fallen Angels family and never would, it felt like she was losing people who at least had her back enough to not let her die, like Mason and Ally. She didn’t hear them catching up to her at all, but had heard enough gunshots to assume the worst. She was also running from the one place Auguste knew where to find her.

“Shh, baby, shhh.” She shushed Santina as the child fussed with the next time she slipped. It felt like the further she ran, the more ice clung to every surface, which made movement harder. She couldn’t sprint anymore even if her lungs allowed it - it was too dangerous - but she jogged as much as she still could.

At the same time her foot hit something hard, flat, and sheer ice, she saw the headlights. Clutching Santina in both arms, she twisted her body away from the lights, throwing herself away from the vehicle and off the road, falling and skidding along her leg and hip. Her own body cushioned Santina from the fall.

As she skidded down a mild embankment into more snow, Santina actually giggled.

“Fuck,” Lila whispered under her breath, wasting no time to scramble back up to her feet as she heard the voices - men, at least two. Nobody she recognized. Absolutely not what she needed right now, and chances were they were just more Fallen Angels from the other chapter.

Turning sideways, keeping Santina in one arm and furthest away from the figures emerging from the wind-whipped snow, Lila quickly patted her hands against her jacket. Somewhere, in one of these pockets, she knew she had something… there it was!

Lila yanked a folding knife out of her pocket, a spring-loaded one that was quick to open. She had almost forgotten about this knife - Weston had given it to her months ago, when they reunited briefly and he’d given her a duffle bag of things to help her. Right now, this was proving to be the most useful item out of all of it.

Lila pointed it at the two emerging men she didn’t know. “Stop RIGHT fucking there and not another goddamn step!” She hissed, ignoring Santina as the little child started to cry. Her arm was killing her, muscles burning for relief - nobody ever talked about how heavy a toddler was after carrying one for so long. Her eyes darted between the two men, taking stock of them - weapons, clothes, any obvious injuries. She still didn’t hear or see any sign of Ally, or of Mason, emerging from the forest. They were probably dead. Grieve later, survive now. She had to live long enough to return Santina to Chris, and to find Auguste.

When the shot rang out from the direction of the woods, she ducked - and, seeing that the men ducked as well, looking bewildered as to who or where that shot came from - it was only the smallest of comforts. They could still be Fallen Angels, and even if they weren’t, they could still be dangerous. They likely were to have survived this long.

But so was Lila.

This was dangerous and reckless and a terrible idea - but it was either these two men, or countless more and whiteout conditions while freezing to death. She’d take her chances on two against one.

Still holding Santina, Lila took a cautious step towards the truck, eyes and knife still pointed at the men.

“I need your truck, and we are getting the fuck out of here. If either of you even tries to touch me I will cut your dick off. Understood?”

BeyondDandy NanLia

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Newcomers

Adam & Dante

The Woods

As the snowstorm deepened, the wind howled like a savage beast, each gust tearing through the trees with such ferocity that it seemed to shake the ground. Dante's face was biting cold as he blinked through the blinding white, breathing in short gasps. With his hands raised and his eyes fixed on the quivering figure in front of him, he attempted to project a calmness that he did not feel. The young woman, pale, with wide eyes and a desperate expression, held a folding knife in one hand, its blade glinting in the dim light, and cradled a small kid to her chest with the other.

"Please," Dante's voice cracked, though not from the cold. "I can't give you the truck, but just come with us! Our cabin is just down the road.”

His voice was kind and beseeching. The woman's grip on the knife seemed unsteady, and her knuckles looked pale from fright or cold, but he wasn't concerned that she would stab him. No, the child was his worry. The child, barely able to show its small face against the harsh whiteness of the snow, was wrapped in a torn blanket and wasn't going to survive much longer outside. Time was running out for them.

Adam, behind Dante, could barely contain his frustration as he muttered beneath his breath. "Idiot!" His thoughts cried out. How could Dante so readily reveal where they were? In these conditions, revealing their cabin’s whereabouts was a death sentence if the woman had ill intentions. Adam's gaze, however, was fixated on her hand and the knife as it swung between them, flickering in and out of sight. Adam's body tensed, braced for the worst, his grasp tightening on the gun draped over his chest.

And then, through the trees came the sound of another gunshot, clear and sharp in spite of the howling storm. With their nerves already raw, both guys flinched. Adam swung his weapon up, heart thumping in his ears, as Dante reflexively retreated, eyes darting to the treeline. The storm seemed to grow quieter, as if even the wind held its breath after the shot.

"What the hell is happening?" With a mumbled expression, Adam looked up at the scope. He peered through the snowstorm's few openings, looking for a target, anything that would help him understand the sound. However, he only saw white. The unending, relentless white.

His pulse pounded as he took another look at the scenery. Snowdrifts, trees, and the shifting shadows created by the snow flurries. “Where did that shot come from?” His digits quirked on the trigger, prepared to pull in the event of an emergency.

Dante felt tense as well. He turned to look at the blonde again, her eyes wide as panic brewed between them. She drew the infant closer to her, her body quivering, but her hold on the knife tight. It was obvious that she hadn't pulled the trigger. She was just as lost and scared as they were. But then who had?

"Adam?" Dante yelled, sounding unsteady. "Do you see anything?"

At first, Adam remained silent, keeping his focus fixed on the horizon. For a brief period, his breath obscured his vision, so he withdrew to clean the lens while feeling a building sense of dissatisfaction in the pit of his stomach. It was tough to see properly due to the storm, but then he noticed something.

There. Movement.

- - -​

Gunner gasped for air and struggled to his feet, his body screaming in agony. Bullet's unrelenting assault left his arm ripped and disfigured. Blood collected at his fingertips and trickled onto the snow from the dog's deep bite wounds. He muttered curses to himself as the intense pain shot through him. All the same, he'd made it through. He wasn't going down without a fight, and he wasn't dead yet.

Raising his gun, he peered down at the dog. He grunted and squeezed the trigger. Amidst the howling wind, the shot boomed out. Gunner was furious at the chaos that had gotten out of hand, but he had no regrets. With his hand trembling from a combination of pain and adrenaline, he holstered the weapon and began hobbling toward the next target.

Every step was agony. Even though his arm was useless by his side and every motion caused excruciating agony waves to shoot through his body, he persisted. The snow beneath him was getting thicker, the wind was biting, and the storm was getting worse by the minute. His gaze slid to Aaron's lifeless form, sprawled out on the earth with his hands slackly covering the large gash in his throat.

In the confusion, Aaron was shot, and blood spurted from his neck, leaving dark, repulsive patterns on the pristine snow surrounding him. His body remained motionless, his eyes unfocused. It was obvious that he would not return. With his boots crunching in the snow, Gunner drew forward, his teeth clenched. A part of him didn't feel sorry for Aaron's passing. He had felt the man was weak and hadn't warmed up to him. A burden. And now, here he was, dead in the snow, just another casualty.

Gunner felt a chilly sense of satisfaction wash over him as he stood over Aaron's body. He wouldn’t waste a bullet, not on someone like Aaron. Rather, he raised his weighty boot and forcefully struck Aaron's skull with it. Gunner felt a tremor of relief with the first stomp, a crack sounding beneath him. Aaron's body remained motionless and unflinching. Gunner stomped once more, more forcefully this time, expressing his rage with his movement. With a final stomp, Aaron's head cracked open, causing blood to spew across the snow and become unrecognizable.

It wasn’t just for Aaron’s sake - no, Gunner wanted to make sure the bastard wouldn’t turn. But in actuality, there was a gloomily fulfilling quality to it. Aaron had never been someone he liked, but at least he wouldn't have to deal with him going forward. With his breath thick in the chilly air, Gunner straightened up and let out a cry into the storm.

“You fucking bitches!” His angry, harsh voice resounded over the woodland. “I’m going to fucking kill you I'm uncultured!”

As he dragged his feet through the deepening snow, the words tore from his mouth, the wind growing stronger, almost as if taunting him. He had made up his mind that he would track down and hold accountable those guilty for this catastrophe. Even though his arm was damaged, he was still moving forward because of his wrath. He was pushed around by the storm, but he managed to maintain his balance while keeping an eye on the snow-covered ground.

Then he noticed it.

A path of blood, contrasting sharply with the snow's pristine whiteness. The trail was faint at first, but became more definite as he followed it. Gunner felt his heart race inside his chest. The blood would lead him to someone - someone injured, someone vulnerable. Someone he could finish off. The anguish coursing through his body made him increase his stride, and then he spotted her.

Ally.

Her breathing seemed weak and rapid as she leaned against a tree. Despite the bloodstains on her jacket and the bullet wound in her shoulder, she remained alert and aware. As Gunner drew closer, he fixed his gaze on hers, a cunning smile across his face despite the searing pain shooting through his arm. She was hurt, really hurt. She wouldn’t be able to fight him off, not now.

Gunner’s grip tightened on the gun in his good hand. The gash from Bullet's teeth was aching and burning in his other arm, rendering it useless, but he chose to ignore it. He raised the gun's barrel and pointed it straight at Ally, who was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.

With his teeth clinched, Gunner muttered, "Found you," his smile expanding. It appeared as though nature itself was seeing this act of retaliation as the storm swirled around them. With his finger just above the trigger, he leveled the firearm. "I'll see you in hell,"

The sound of the shot echoed through the forest. Gunner braced himself, but the impact didn’t come from his gun.

It hit him. Hard.

He felt a sharp agony shooting through his chest as the bullet knocked him back. His pistol fell out of his grasp and hit the snow with a gentle thump. Gunner staggered, trying to make sense of what had just happened as his eyesight became blurry. His fingers were coming away wet from his own blood as he gripped his chest.

His knees gave out, causing him to fall to the ground with the icy snow piercing his flesh. His vision went black, and he gasped, breathing shallowly and raggedly. His body was getting colder, his blood seeping into the snow beneath him.

Before all went dark, Gunner glanced up through the storm and saw Ally one final time.

- - -​

As Adam let go of the trigger and watched the biker fall into the snow, his breath clouded the air. The shot was crisp and accurate despite the howling wind all around him. After securing the weapon on his back, he hurried to the wounded woman's side, ripping through the fierce wind. He knelt next to her and looked at her wound, the blood seeping from her shoulder and staining the already red snow.

He mumbled, more to himself than to her, "Oh shit." Her eyes were half-closed, pain etched into her face, but she was still conscious. That was something, at least. "Come on, we need to get out of here."

He pulled her up gently, careful not to jostle her wounded shoulder. He felt her pain, but with his assistance, she was able to stand up. They stumbled through the deep snow as he took her good arm and wrapped it around his shoulders to support her weight. With the storm swirling around them and nearly no visibility, every step was difficult. Adam glanced around, trying to get his bearings, the icy wind biting at his face. He pressed on, one eye fixed on the road ahead.

Running toward them, Dante's figure emerged through the storm's white swirl. Adam spotted him and a wave of relief swept over him.

Dante's eyes widened at witnessing the woman's condition, her pallid countenance, and the blood oozing from her shoulder. "Oh my god, she's hurt real bad," he exclaimed as he rushed to assist Adam. They plodded through the snow, each taking a side and supporting the woman in the middle. They were hardly able to keep themselves moving as their feet barely lifted through the snow.

"Come on!" Reaching over his shoulder, Dante shouted out to the fair-haired lady who was motionless close to the road's side, holding the infant firmly in her arms. "Now get to the truck!" The desperation in his tone came through in his voice over the howling wind.

When the three of them reached at the truck, Adam opened the passenger door and they assisted the woman gingerly into the backseat. As they sat her down, they winced at her pain. With his eyes darting back toward the treeline as if more danger was about to emerge, Dante hurriedly held the door wide for the blonde and the infant. “We're running out of time, so get in!”

With his heart racing, Adam dashed to the driver's side and hopped into the truck. Dante slid in alongside him, slamming the passenger door tight. Adam grabbed the steering wheel with trembling hands, but he pushed himself to concentrate. They were running out of time as the storm was growing stronger by the minute. They had no time to waste.

He pressed down on the brake, shifted the truck into gear, and slammed his foot onto the gas. The truck lurched forward as the tires briefly spun in the snow before gaining traction. Adam maintained a steady pace behind the wheel, his gaze darting between the white surroundings and the rearview mirror despite the flurry making it difficult to see the road ahead.

The truck radio played a sluggish, gloomy music through the static for a while, and the only sounds that could be heard were the wind outside and the faint hum of the radio. Inside, there was a dense quiet that was weighted with agony, fatigue, and astonishment over what had just happened. The infant was the only other sound, cooing softly from the backseat, oblivious to the peril they'd just escaped.

Dante continued checking on the women in the back by casting glances over his shoulder. The injured woman's respiration appeared shallow but regular, and her head lolled slightly. The blonde, with the infant held in her arms, sat rigidly next to her. It was obvious whatever had occurred left them scarred on the inside more than the outside.

Adam glanced once more in the rearview mirror. He snapped out of his stillness, saying, "We have a doctor at our cabin." His tone was calm but tense. “She can patch you up. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”

Dante twisted in his seat and leaned over the center console to get a better look at the two women. His forehead was wrinkled with concern. "What the hell happened out there?" he questioned, his voice growing softer but still demanding explanations.

With occasional tire slippage on the icy road, Adam maintained a steady speed as the truck swiftly navigated through the snow. The truck's stress increased with every mile, making it seem like an eternity.

Namazu
NanLia

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡

 

[NanLia]

THE WOODS
​

Alejandra wasn’t fool enough to waste the precious time Bullet had given her by sitting around wallowing. She pushed herself up to her feet and staggered away, stumbling every few feet as a wave of lightheadedness threatened to take her down. She knew the wound to her shoulder would need to be tended to fast, otherwise, she’d pass out in the snow and freeze to death but her first priority was to get the fuck away from whoever was chasing them down.

She’d seen the direction that Lila had taken off and went the opposite, at least if she could lead the last stalker away from the girls they’d have a fighting chance at finding somewhere safe to hole up. With any luck, the rest of the club would be on their way back, find shit had hit the fan and meet Lila where she and Auguste must have discussed going in the past.

Snow crunched behind her and she whirled to find her pursuer caught up. She scrambled to raise her own rifle with her left arm. A round went off echoing through the snowy forest and her eyes went wide, shocked as blood bloomed out the front of the man's chest, his dead eyes staring at her as he crumbled into the white powder.

Ally slid down the tree, onto her ass into the cold snow, surprised to find yet another stranger out in the woods, but this one seemingly here to help her? He came to her side and dragged her up to her feet, she was barely able to stand. Darkness crept in on the edges of her vision as they stumbled and staggered through the deepening snow drifts. Where? She didn’t know and didn’t have the strength to ask.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” She chuckled softly to herself as they came in sight of another stranger, soon followed by a truck and … Lila.

Inside the truck was warm, at least warmer than the snow had been and she sighed, resting her head back against the seat and closing her eyes.

BeyondDandy Namazu ​

 

[Namazu]

M.C.

Lila Adkins

Sgt.-at-Arm’s Old Lady

THE WOODS

Lacking any other option, Lila climbed into the back seat of the truck, careful to keep Santina close, attention darting between Ally and the two men. Rescuers, perhaps, but that didn’t mean she actually trusted them.

There was no car seat for Santina, so the best she could do was clutch her tightly. It seemed just as dangerous to buckle up with the seatbelt over both her and the toddler, so she only buckled herself in. She had weighed whether or not she should buckle in at all - what if she needed to jump out and run? But, given the snowy and icy conditions, driving itself was dangerous too. There was really no good answer.

One hand kept rubbing Santina’s back over her coat, trying to warm the both of them up, while her attention was on Ally next to her. All things considered, Ally was lucky to have been shot only in the shoulder and not someplace more immediately lethal or debilitating - but this was still bad news. If she didn’t bleed out, infection might get her. And if it didn’t? It might not heal right, and she might have a lifetime of pain and shoulder problems… however long that lifetime might be.

Maybe it was a blessing that Ally closed her eyes. Was she even conscious yet? Lila leaned over, peeling Ally’s coat back to try and see the damage to her shoulder. It was a mess of blood, and someone needed to put pressure on it.

It irritated her when one of them in the front seat kept turning around to stare at them. His attention seemed focused on Ally, understandably, but she didn’t like this stranger looking at them at all. His question about what the hell happened was expected - but it didn’t make it any easier to answer. Carefully sliding Santina to the floor of the truck between her feet and keeping her there with her knees, Lila leaned over and pressed her hand to Ally’s shoulder. She had absolutely nothing to press against the wound besides her own bare hands, cold and stiff from being outside, but it was better than letting her bleed freely.

Lila pressed her lips together in a thin scowl as she ruminated over what to tell the men. It was unclear just how helpful or kind they truly were, and she had no idea where they were going or who they were with. The less they knew, the better. She couldn’t say a damn word to them until she had some understanding of who and what she was dealing with. Until then? They could stay in the dark.

“Who are you with, and where are we going?”


BeyondDandy NanLia

 

[BeyondDandy]

M.C.

Chris Tremble

Head of Security

CDC

As Chris saw Fish and Kit, he began to lose patience. In order to protect them from the perils outside—the snowstorm, the freezing cold, and the unrelenting walking dead that prowled the streets—he had consented to house these bikers inside the CDC. Chris felt that, given everything he had done for them, it was fair that Fish and Kit would help him gather his security crew who were trapped outdoors in the blizzard. His temper flared at the motorcyclists' conceit and lack of gratitude. Nevertheless, he nodded curtly and bit his tongue. “Fine, whatever you say,” he muttered, giving in to Fish’s demands.

Chris was about to take the lead in getting the bikers' firearms back when Level 3 soldiers unexpectedly emerged from the corridors. He was frozen in place by the scene. Auguste, another Fallen Angel, and a big, commanding man himself—albeit one who was obviously hurt and being held at gunpoint—were flanked by two stern-faced soldiers wearing black tactical gear. Chris could see the gleam of anguish and worry in his eyes as he held a rag to his bleeding head. One of the Level 3 soldiers, Ed, slumped over Noah's shoulder while carrying him unconscious and pointing a weapon at Auguste with his free hand. Jared, another soldier, was nearby, ready to fire with his rifle pointed on anyone who dared approach.

Chris became even more perplexed. He turned to face Fish, who stood next to him, his face a mix of surprise and mounting rage. “Woah, woah, guys! What is happening here? Chris came forward and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture as he spoke out in an urgent voice.

Chris was stopped in his tracks when Jared's rifle swung toward him. With his hands still up and his heart racing, Chris paused, trying to make sense of what was happening. Usually there to maintain order, the guards at the elevator immediately stepped aside to join Jared and Ed, their weapons up and pointed at Chris, Fish, and anybody else around. Chris was surprised by the abrupt, aggressive change. Once a haven of peace and order, the CDC had changed into a hostile and volatile environment where safety and alliances were no longer assured.

"Dr. Klein's orders," Ed said icily as he walked past carrying Noah's lifeless body and making his way to the elevator with Auguste following. Jared pushed Auguste forward with another forceful shove. The guards, the meanwhile, positioned themselves in a tight circle, eyes searching the area, fingers resting on triggers, prepared to intensify the conflict at the first sign of opposition.

At that moment, an older man named Steven, a CDC resident who had taken a grandfatherly role among the survivors, rose from his seat. He walked a few paces in the direction of the soldiers, clearly agitated, his face contorted with worry. “Noah! Where are you taking him? What are you going to do to him? He’s just a boy!” he cried out, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

Sensing danger in Steven's approach, Chris attempted to stop him and begged him to stop. However, Steven persisted in disregarding the warnings and moving closer to the soldiers while keeping his eyes on the unconscious boy. The elder man would not listen to Chris's pleads, "Steven, don't—please, just stay back."

One of the men raised his rifle and fired with a short, fast command, the sound echoing across the tight corridor. With a cry of agony, Steven fell to the ground, clutching his chest. The round had been non-lethal, but it hit with enough force to knock the wind out of him, leaving him writhing on the ground. Children nearby, who had been in a makeshift classroom a few feet away, started to scream as his cries reverberated through the corridor. They ducked under their desks as their frightened teacher attempted to protect them.

As Chris stared up at the troops in despair, he fell on his knees next to Steven and put his hands to the man's injury. “This is out of hand! He’s just an old man!” he shouted, fury and helplessness mixing in his voice.

“Do not come any closer!” With unflinching accuracy, the guards trained their firearms on him and barked. As he attempted to evaluate the elder man's wounds, Chris froze, keeping his hands on Steven. Another CDC resident, Lucas, was standing shakily close by, his nerves frazzled as he scratched nervously at his leg, an uncontrollable nervous tic.

A chilly, clipped voice could be heard over the crackling radios of the soldiers. Though he was unable to understand the words, Chris knew the tone—that of Dr. Klein, the man who had abruptly and brutally changed the orders. After listening carefully, the soldiers jerked back to reality, focusing on Chris, Fish, Kit, and the wounded Steven.

“You, you, you, and you. One of the soldiers ordered, "You're coming with us," in a tone that left no space for disagreement. Two more soldiers moved forward, their features emotionless and rigid as they closed in with their rifles lifted.

The troops quickly took away Chris's sidearm as he stood, rendering him helpless. As his trusted security crew was compelled to watch the scenario unfold helplessly, he experienced a wave of rage and frustration. With a frantic plea in his voice, he turned back to his colleagues. He yelled, "Tell Martha!" in the hopes that someone would hear it and take action. He was aware that he might not have another opportunity to deliver this message.

Chris walked toward the elevator, each step feeling more weighty than the last, pistols pointed on him and the others. The CDC, which had once been a symbol of kindness and safety, now felt more like a jail. Chris couldn't get rid of the sensation that something sinister and perverse was brewing beneath the surface as the doors slid shut, enclosing them inside. This sense went much beyond basic commands. He came to the realization that surviving in this world required not just battling the undead but also negotiating the shifting loyalties and perilous aspirations of the living.

Namazu
Good_Morels
NanLia

♡design by beyonddandy, coded by uxie♡