Some days Shaun wished he'd never heard of Abstergos. Wished that he'd never been arrogant enough to think all the problems in the world could be solved if he just looked at everything logically. That he'd never found that one thread of info that, to his eyes, so clearly lead to one group behind the scenes controlling everything. That he'd never been naive enough to think that by sharing it with the world all the problems would be fixed. If he'd just kept his head down and followed along like an obedient little sheep his life would be simpler to say the least.
Those are the bad days.
When he's been up twenty-four hours, alert only by the power of his own will and the fumes of the coffee pot that temporarily takes up permanent residence in his hand. When the missions go wrong and Shaun swears he can feel every gasp and scream through his audio link with whatever team he's supposed to be helping. When it takes everything he has to cut that link when the echoing silence after the last scream is replaced by mocking voices. Prodding and pressing for any little scrap of info they can drag out of him. Those days are few and far between, thankfully, despite the increasing number of risky missions they've been running lately.
Most days, Shaun is content with his lot in life.
Smugly satisfied with the fact that he was good enough to see something that's been hidden for hundreds of years. Proud of the fact that he is good at the jobs he does. Not that it stops him from complaining about the conditions he's found himself having to put up with, but that's completely normal. Shaun firmly believes that no human on the planet is ever truly happy unless they can bitch and moan about something.
Then there are the other days.
The days when he really wishes the Assassins had never found him in time. That Rebecca had been delayed just five more minutes. That he'd died quickly and peacefully of a bullet to the back of his head. Those are the really bad days. The ones where he finds himself giving serious contemplation to putting a bullet through his own brain to finish what Abstergos started.
Days like today.
Finding himself pinned to the wall --with bloody tentacles-- by Alex Mercer was the perfect start to a spectacularly bad day. In fact, if what little information Shaun had been able to gather was right, it was a fantastic start to getting himself killed.
Or raped. Which had become a possibility disturbingly fast and only increased the longer he stayed pinned. The hysterical part of his mind --firmly locked away in the interest of self-preservation-- pointed out that he had no one to blame for that but himself as he technically seemed to have started it.
"Bastard!" Shaun hissed out ignoring the pain as Alex bit him again, and tried harder to get out of the man's grip. Pain radiated through his neck and he could feel the warm slide of blood as it rolled down his neck.
What he knew about Alex wouldn't be enough to fit into a metaphorical thimble. Even after he'd wasted time hacking into the ridiculously complex communication system the military had set up. What he found only confirmed what anyone could learn within five seconds of seeing the man. Fast, strong, dangerous-
Alex grinned at him, teeth looking startlingly white with Shaun's blood on them. An unnaturally long looking tongue flicked out to catch a drop escaping the corner of his mouth.
-and completely insane.
"Shut up," Alex said, no ordered, and then enforced it. A tendril rose out of his chest to wind tight around Shaun's neck. It was an alien sensation. Slightly cool and dry it slid against his skin with a slight burn that he forgot when he realized the intent.
Shaun gasped a protest that was unintelligible as his airway was abruptly closed. Blind panic gripped him then and he stupidly struggled. Head whipping side to side and hands clawing against what bit of Alex was in reach. Even as adrenaline kicked in, Shaun could feel himself calming down. The burn of his lungs and the way his vision blurred were far too familiar to him.
Between a Floor and a Dangerous Place [1/?]
Those are the bad days.
When he's been up twenty-four hours, alert only by the power of his own will and the fumes of the coffee pot that temporarily takes up permanent residence in his hand. When the missions go wrong and Shaun swears he can feel every gasp and scream through his audio link with whatever team he's supposed to be helping. When it takes everything he has to cut that link when the echoing silence after the last scream is replaced by mocking voices. Prodding and pressing for any little scrap of info they can drag out of him. Those days are few and far between, thankfully, despite the increasing number of risky missions they've been running lately.
Most days, Shaun is content with his lot in life.
Smugly satisfied with the fact that he was good enough to see something that's been hidden for hundreds of years. Proud of the fact that he is good at the jobs he does. Not that it stops him from complaining about the conditions he's found himself having to put up with, but that's completely normal. Shaun firmly believes that no human on the planet is ever truly happy unless they can bitch and moan about something.
Then there are the other days.
The days when he really wishes the Assassins had never found him in time. That Rebecca had been delayed just five more minutes. That he'd died quickly and peacefully of a bullet to the back of his head. Those are the really bad days. The ones where he finds himself giving serious contemplation to putting a bullet through his own brain to finish what Abstergos started.
Days like today.
Finding himself pinned to the wall --with bloody tentacles-- by Alex Mercer was the perfect start to a spectacularly bad day. In fact, if what little information Shaun had been able to gather was right, it was a fantastic start to getting himself killed.
Or raped. Which had become a possibility disturbingly fast and only increased the longer he stayed pinned. The hysterical part of his mind --firmly locked away in the interest of self-preservation-- pointed out that he had no one to blame for that but himself as he technically seemed to have started it.
"Bastard!" Shaun hissed out ignoring the pain as Alex bit him again, and tried harder to get out of the man's grip. Pain radiated through his neck and he could feel the warm slide of blood as it rolled down his neck.
What he knew about Alex wouldn't be enough to fit into a metaphorical thimble. Even after he'd wasted time hacking into the ridiculously complex communication system the military had set up. What he found only confirmed what anyone could learn within five seconds of seeing the man. Fast, strong, dangerous-
Alex grinned at him, teeth looking startlingly white with Shaun's blood on them. An unnaturally long looking tongue flicked out to catch a drop escaping the corner of his mouth.
-and completely insane.
"Shut up," Alex said, no ordered, and then enforced it. A tendril rose out of his chest to wind tight around Shaun's neck. It was an alien sensation. Slightly cool and dry it slid against his skin with a slight burn that he forgot when he realized the intent.
Shaun gasped a protest that was unintelligible as his airway was abruptly closed. Blind panic gripped him then and he stupidly struggled. Head whipping side to side and hands clawing against what bit of Alex was in reach. Even as adrenaline kicked in, Shaun could feel himself calming down. The burn of his lungs and the way his vision blurred were far too familiar to him.