Young Writers Society

You were in a near-death situation. You were afraid. No, terrified - your heart was pounding. This was it; this was the end. Finally, after so long, after all you worked towards - or all that you ran away from - it'd gotten you. You couldn't escape what you knew would be your fate forever. You closed your eyes.

And when you opened them, you were here.

Bluebirds sang in the branches of low-hanging fruit trees, and bees danced across flowers decorating the trellis that casted shade above you. The adrenaline faded and you found you weren't alone on this summer day, in front of this homey cottage that you'd awoken in front of - there were others. Two, in fact, looking just as baffled as you.

Spot 1: @FalconerGal9086
Spot 2: @soundofmind
Spot 3: @SirenCymbaline

Der Silberfuchs rose, pale twin blades stained crimson in contrast to the eerie green tint of his silver mask. The broken form of an amber-eyed, dark-haired woman was at his feet, gazing vacantly at the ceiling of the flickering warehouse. It could've been right out of a horror movie: the lights buzzed and cast hardly enough light to navigate by, and the only sound was that of the blood dripping from his weapons and to the ground.

Kennewick, Crow, Apophis, Hitler, and now Taipan. Five down, one more to go before it was over.

"Dreizhen, I knew I would find you here," a singsong voice lilted in flawless German, echoing through the cement room. His heart skipped a beat in his chest as he spun, the masked figure scanning to identify the location of the speaker. He hadn't heard that voice in decades and he prayed he wouldn't again. Not unless they were her last, dying words.

"What does that make it now? Only two of you left, no? Just you and Sieben, Dreizhen...just you and Sieben," the woman continued as she stepped into the room. She wore a long, tight black dress and her onyx hair fell in waves down her shoulders. The dark colors brought out her emerald green, vertically-pupilled eyes, the reptilian gaze piercing him.

"Leave him out of this," he retorted in the same harsh language that was his own native tongue. "This is between you and me. That's it."

She laughed, voice ringing in glee. "Oh, Engel, Engel, how naïve of you. We've already done this once - must we do it again for you to learn from your mistakes?"

His eyes widened and he turned to see the barrel of a gun hovering mere inches from his face. A young man - no more than eighteen years old, but already hardened by war. His blue eyes and his diagonal scar mirrored Silberfuchs' own but the look in them was far, far colder.

After all these years of running, of hunting, of fighting, and this is what it came to. Being killed by his own son.

A metallic clang rang in his ears as his weapons hit the ground, drowned out by the sharp bang of gunfire...

Silence.

His eyes shot open and he nearly fell over from shock as he realized he wasn't in a warehouse. The summertime sun singed his skin in specks as it penetrated a trellis covered in some flowery vine, bumblebees buzzing all over it. His weapons were gone - he must've dropped them, which would explain the clanging - though he was still very much covered in blood and sweat and the scent of his own fear burned his nostrils.

James was on his knees, head hanging low and his arms stretched out, with wrists tied up to the trees beside him. This time he didn't have to pretend to bring tears to his eyes as he tried to look back at Rita with a pleading gaze. The rest of the gang surrounded him on all sides, their piercing gazes burrowing through him.

"Liam." Her voice floated over his head as he heard her from behind, feigning a friendly tone. "Your intel was faulty." As she ducked beneath the rope holding up one of his arms and came around to face him, she grabbed his tearful face, looking down at him with disgust.

"Some might even say outdated," she continued, lip curling in contempt. "Because of you, we lost a dozen good men out there," she spat as she pulled his head up by his neck and then dropped him. James's weight pulled against the ropes and his wrists as he stared down at the dirt, vision blurred by his tears. He could see Rita marching away, pushing Hoss up with a swift shove of her arm.

"Hoss lost his brother today because of you," she said lowly. "He gets the first blow."

James slowly lifted his head to look up at the giant of a man. He could see the grief and the ignited anger in his eyes when their eyes met. His voice cracked. "P-please, Hoss, I swear I didn't know - I-I didn't mean-"

His words only provoked Hoss, and Hoss's rock hard knuckles met his face. Again, and again, and again. Then a kick, and another kick. A knee to his gut. James took it all in tears and silence, spitting out blood when he felt like his stomach punched through his back. He could hear someone trying to talk Hoss down but Hoss persisted.

"You ******* son of a *****, Ron is dead because of you!" Hoss shouted, leaving his hoarse voice echoing through James's ears with each receiving blow. In the blur of violence and pain, he could see Hoss's hand go to his hip, and he heard the click of a gun as the familiar cold metal touched his head.

"Hoss!" someone yelled. It sounded like Bella. He could hear people rushing forward and he closed his eyes. Suddenly there was silence.

He peeked his eyes open and suddenly his arms fell to his sides. He stared at his hands through his already swelling eye, marveling at the sudden absence of rope around his wrists. Had someone taken mercy on him? Had someone set him free? But as he looked up around him, he began to rapidly blink his tears away.

He was... in a... garden of some sort? There was a... cottage? But his heart stopped when he saw the masked man.

His eyes went dry, but he knew his face was still red and bloody. Where the hell was he?

Siren liked pirates. Siren liked everyone, but pirates were special.
Pirates wore funny clothes. Pirates sang funny songs. Pirates were one of the few types of people bold enough to sail straight through Merfrog territory, and their ships were always filled with cool things. And they were always so excited to see her.

They'd sail right into Merfrog waters, and Siren would go alone to greet them, and try to trade things with them for fish. And sometimes, it would end with no harpoons being pointed around, no backup being called, no men being speared, and bit, and drowned, just Siren and human people hanging out. Those were the best times.

Sadly, today was not one of those days. Today, her people danced around the beach wearing stolen hats and jewellery, and roasted pirate meat on a bonfire.

Celebrations like this were fun. Treasure was fun. Fights were exciting, in the moment.
And pirates did taste good.
But Siren could not help but feel sad, and disappointed. It had been a while since she'd had a chance to actually hang out with the human people.

She did not feel like celebrating anymore. She felt like taking a long walk, and standing ponderously at the top of the appropriately serene cliff nearby.
So she grabbed a pirate drumstick, and climbed the rocky hill.

By the time she made it to the top of the hill, she was already bored. So she played that game where she tried to use her sharp teeth to crack the little finger bones perfectly in half.
Crunch. No good. "Khchblech.'' she spat.
Crunch. "Khchblech.'' she spat again.
Crack. The third digit was split cleanly into two perfect pieces.
Siren whooped in triumph. Which caused her to swallow, and choke on the remaining piece.

She coughed and wheezed violently, stumbling around, right by the slope of the hill, oh the hill.

She fell down the hill.

And then she hit her head on the cliff.

And then she fell off the cliff, and landed flat into the water.

After a few days of care and rest, she did recover, but the large purple bruise on her forehead was still embarrassingly vivid. Siren was very seriously miffed.
Her friends were worried and understanding and kind for the first day or two, but once they were sure she was alright, they started to make fun of her for getting injured in such a stupid way after a whole afternoon of fighting pirates with nary a scratch for it.
She showed them. She threw up, turned a ghastly yellowish colour, and passed out. They went right back to worried and understanding.

For the pirate she had eaten a few days ago was a sick pirate. He was sick. With a pirate sickness. Oh gods.

And that was how she found herself waking in a lovely meadow with two grumpy looking human people men. Well, one looked grumpy. The other one looked masked.
Siren blinked, and meekly wiped the vomity drool off of her face.

It took several moments for the shock to subside and the pain to hit him. He was used to pain - and he'd endured a lot of it - but being shot through the head still wasn't pleasant. His face contorted in agony under his mask and he fell back against the railing of the deck, hand to the hole in his head. It'd already begun to knit itself back together but he knew d*** good and well that his the regeneration wouldn't last long with a wound as significant as this. Once the bleeding stopped and it'd healed enough to not have his brains falling out it'd slow considerably.

He tried to steady his shaking breath and compose himself but it was too much: the terror, the agony, the guilt and the blood and the death. He could hear other hearts beating nearby but couldn't make out much more than their general shape through the crimson that was dripping over his eyes.

Please, Lord, have mercy, he silently prayed that these weren't yet more enemies. He couldn't fight. Not now.

The masked man was shaking, as though he could be hurt.
Siren ribbited and chirruped her sympathy. Then she frowned.

Human people spoke human people words. She had to use her human people words.

''Peeeple wordsss. People words. Hello. Are you fine? You look sore.''
Siren said sympathetically.

A voice with an unfamiliar accent rang dimly in his ears, the words indecipherable through the pain. He grimaced and didn't reply.

James watched, frozen as the man collapsed on the ground, and he saw the... fish-like lady beside him. He didn't know what she was, but didn't care enough to ask at the moment. He hesitantly drew closer to the masked man, seeing the blood leaking out from behind it. There was a hole in the mask, and when he looked over to where the man was holding his head, there was only more blood.

It took him a second, but he figured it out.

The man had been shot through the head, and somehow was still... sprawling around in pain. There was no feasible way to save him, and he wasn't even sure how to put the man out of his misery.

"Holy hell," he muttered under his breath. "He's got a hole through his head."

He let out a shaking breath, grimacing in pain as his skull began to put itself back together.

"No f***ing kidding," he choked, grabbing for his mask and yanking it off his face - the metal around the hole was sharp, and not aiding him in his regeneration. Blood covered his face from both his wounds and those of others, and more was only being added from the large hole in his forehead, flowing freely over his twisted countenance and obscuring his vision.

Siren looked at the man with the hole at his head. Then she looked up at the other man, squinting in confusion.

''I don't know what to do about this.'' she said, her face looking like she'd been asked a very difficult math question.

James pulled away as the man ripped his mask off, cringing slightly at the sight of the bullet wound combined with the man's unexplainable persistence in staying alive. It took him all of two seconds to conclude that the man wasn't normal, three to consider the possibility of magic, and four to conclude that the man wasn't human. Or at the very least, not in his current understanding of human.

James stepped back, presuming it would be worse to engage the rightfully angry, and in-pain fellow and choosing to instead address the fish-like lady.

"Hell if I know either," he muttered.

He spat out blood and his breathing began to steady as the bone visibly knits itself back together, and the muscle begins to regenerate over it. He can feel the energy being sapped out of him. He's going to need to feed again, and soon, but at least he's alive.

Welp. It looked like he was getting better. Good for him!
Siren sat down next to him, in her usual frog-like position. She gave him a moment to catch his breath.

''Hello. I am Siren. What is your name?'' she asked, but not too loudly, as he was in pain, and she was trying to be considerate.

"F*** off," he growled, his accent making the words that much harsher as he snaps at the figure.

Eee. Siren didn't take it personally. He needed some more time. Siren got up, and moved over to the other man.

''How 'bouchu?'' she asked him, every bit as sunny as she was before.