Poison

Raven set her gun on the table, unloaded. She ran her fingers through her hair, sighing as she arched to stretch over the back of a chair. The small kitchen where she sat had a fridge, a gas stove, and the basic elements needed to make food. The floor was tile, an ugly yellow-white that annoyed her, but she dismissed it.

“These are going to be a boring couple of months, isn’t it?” she said, mostly to herself, some to Jazz who sat across the table from her. “Sitting around and waiting for information on Sol.”

Jazz let his eyes stray to the window, where they narrowed. “I don’t know about that.”

Raven’s eye flickered to him. “What do you mean?”

The sound of knocking interrupted his next words, and just as quickly as they had relaxed, they both tensed up. Raven quickly reloaded her gun, tucking it into the waistband of her jeans, before standing up. Jazz had already stood up, not bothering with any weapon, not even with a shirt. He blocked the door from Raven, slightly pulling the door open.

“What?” he said.

Jakob glanced up at him, wondering for a brief moment if he had the right house. “Let me in.”

Jazz’s eyes narrowed on him, then on the woman on his back. “Kida?”

“She needs medical help,” Jakob said, pushing past Jazz into the house. “But no one will treat her here because of her tattoo. The rebel doctors don’t take too kindly to the Protectors.”

Raven moved soundlessly out of the way of him, his ice blue eyes barely registering her existence before he laid the heavily breathing Kida on the table. Kida’s closed eyes flickered open, and she leaned upwards as her body rattled with a deadly sounding cough. Convulsing, she tucked her arms against her stomach, writhing back and forth upon the surface. Jakob grasped her shoulders, pulling her up so it was easier for her to breath. Yet, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath, and she clutched her arms to her stomach as she heaved, rocking back and forth. Her skin was flushed a dark red, and her eyes would barely flicker open before closing again.

“What happened?” Jazz demanded as he followed them into the kitchen. “Who are you?”

Jakob dismissed the second question. “I don’t know exactly. From the cut on her arm,” he said with a gesture towards the swollen skin, “it seems as though she’s been poisoned.”

“Who did it?”

Jakob laughed coldly, harshly. “More like who didn’t. She’s a Protector in a rebel dominated city. It could have been anyone.”

“You still haven’t told us who you are, and how the hell you know Kida,” Raven said, coming up to stand on the other side of Kida. She didn’t even try to hide the gun that stuck out of the top of her jeans. “How about you answer those questions now?”

He looked at them, not even blinking. “I don’t care if you don’t like the situation, and if you don’t trust me. I will take her elsewhere and get help for her somewhere else. I just thought that maybe you’d want to help her--it doesn’t matter now. Where are Sol and Fraser?”

Raven and Jazz slid their eyes to each other, before Jazz said, “They're not here.”

“Well, when should they be back?”

“We have no idea,” Raven said. “A couple months.”

“Where?” Neither one of them answered, just staring at him. Realization dawned. “They’re searching for the orb, aren’t they?”

“Are you going to tell us who you are?” Raven demanded, shoving his question away.

Looking at them both, he snarled, “My name is Jakob. Now, are you going to help me try and save Kida’s life or not?”


The waves broke over the edge of the ship, sending a shower of salty water raining down on the crew. Sol spat out the water from her mouth, trying to clear her eyes. She gripped the rope, pitting her weight against it. It was a windy, clear day, where the sun rose over the boat and baked them half to death while the wind kept them on their toes.

“I can’t believe I agreed to do this,” Sol said to herself.

“Well, I am very convincing,” Fraser said, taking the ropes from her hands. “Be careful, you’re not used to this type of workout.”

Sol glared at him. “Yeah, I’m completely useless, right?”

“No,” he said, ignoring her tone. “You’re fragile. Once we get on shore you’ll start your training so you can defend yourself just in case something bad goes down.”

“Fraser,” she said, grabbing his arm when he would have walked away. “I didn’t join because of you, and don’t forget that.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t even blink. He just looked at her, touching the side of her face with his fingertips.

“It never is. We always have personal reasons, and don't think I don't know that,” he said before turning away from her and leaving her to her own devices.


Eliza was in trouble. At least, she thought she was. Because her conscience was tingling, and her directions were very clear, and the consequence would be horrid. However, she couldn’t justify the treatment of the woman and the child. The other boy, yes, he’d killed many rebels. But the child.

She twisted her fingers, fretting. She looked towards the tunnel that led towards the deep dungeons. The screams from the woman still echoed through her head. This wasn’t right. She joined the rebels because she wanted to help people, punish people, but not hurt harmless mothers and children. That boy was very young, and very fragile. He reminded her of her little brother back at home with her parents.

The seventeen year old girl twisted in her position, unable to make a decision. To break the rules and save a life, restore her won faith in her morality, or to the trust the people of this group that have never led her astray. She frowned delicately, her short blond hair settling on her shoulders. Her hazel eyes looked down the hallway again, but she turned away.

Stiffly she moved away from her own conscience and morals.


Endless ocean. That was all Sol saw. For the island of Zaire grew smaller and smaller in the distance, slinking away from her. She remembered, dimly, taking this trip once, except it was the other way around. She couldn’t remember any details, except for the fact that she recognized the sway of the ship. She remembered the unrelenting sun, and the cramped spaces.

“Ma’am?”

Sol turned from her position on the deck, where she leaned forward to look down at the ocean that rumbled and tried to cuddle with the ship. “Uh, yes?”

An old weathered face broke into a smile as a hand was being held out. Sol, mindlessly, took the hand in hers and shook it. She stared at his face, looking for recognition but found none. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder, where six others stood, all awaiting to be introduced.

“I’m Sol,” she said, taking in the sight of the seven people who stood before her. Only one of the seven was a woman. “And who are you all?”

“Sol, the undercover agent that disappeared?” asked one of the men, mindless of her request for names. “No wonder Fraser didn’t want anyone taking this job. It could blow up in our faces, couldn’t it?”

“Leave her alone, Quinn,” said the woman, stepping forward. “My name is Iro, the man before you is Tarryn. The rest, in order are Red, Loo, Ace, and Callaway.”

Each raised their hands in acknowledgement of their names. Quinn cringed at Iro’s slight scolding, his pale skin flushing. He was a very small man, wiry in build, with a nose much too big for the rest of his face. Iro herself was a tanned, medium height woman with turquoise eyes. Her hair was dark band that she had tightly bound in a long braid. Red was large, an intimidating man with short hair that looked like white fuzz upon his skull, yet his eyes radiated a calm demeanor. Loo and Ace were identical save for their clothes, with both tall, gangly builds and toothy smiles. Callaway was dark-eyed and glowered at Sol, his eyes narrowed as he observed her. He was older than Fraser, but younger then most of the crew. Tarryn was the eldest, with dark hair laced with gray. Lines ran rivers through his face, and Sol smiled at him.

“Well, introductions are over,” Callaway said, turning away brusquely. “Time to get back to work.”

Fraser moved across the deck fluidly, just passing Callaway. Callaway’s arm flashed out, and he gripped Fraser’s arm tightly, pulling Fraser close to him. His eyes promised hell, his fingers leaving sharp indents in Fraser's flesh.

“Sol?” Callaway demanded. “Are you freaking crazy?”

Fraser stared at him, a mocking ghost of a smile on his mouth. “What, having second thoughts?”

“About your sanity, maybe. How dare you bring a wanted woman on board my ship.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it when I told you I needed help.”

“I have no problem helping you, but I will not help a traitor,” Callaway told him, digging his fingers into Fraser’s arm, forcing him to stay. “What side is she on?”

"The right one." Peeling Callaway’s fingers from his arm, Fraser said, “Trust me, Callaway, she won’t hurt you.”

After Fraser had moved on, Callaway stared at the red-headed girl that now accompanied him on his journey. Cursing quietly, he turned away from his crew, allowing them to get started without him. By God, he hoped that she wasn’t as much trouble as she seemed.


Water dripped in the back of the cell, a slow beat. The cold stones chilled Oz’s old bones, and his patched up thigh was killing him. They’d grabbed him after all, it seemed. Or maybe this was hell, where he was doomed to rot in a cell forever. He doubted it though, because the pain in his thigh was much too real for him to dismiss it as an act of a demon’s torture. He maybe hoped for some sort of paradise in death where rebels and Protectors didn’t exist. Or maybe he wanted nothing, just a floating emptiness.

He failed. There were no other words for what he’d done. He promised them all that he would keep her safe, but for the sake of protecting his name, he let her go alone. No, not alone. He let Sol leave with Jazz and Raven, two other innocent souls that would be pulled from their peaceful lives into the thick of war.

“You look like hell.”

Oz slid his eyes up to stare at the man crouching before him. “Go to hell.”

The man’s eyebrow twitched in amusement. “Good to see you too, old friend.”

“Jack,” Oz said, reaching forward to clasp his shoulder. “What are you doing down here?”

Jack grinned widely. “Well, as of right now, trying to figure out an escape route. What’s going on, I thought you had disbanded from the Protectors, took off to live a 'normal' life.”

“One never disbands from the Protectors.”

“Damn straight, but I figured if anyone could do it, it would be you.”

Oz rubbed his chin, where on the inside of his lip was his tattoo: the solid infinity. “No. Maybe if I hadn’t gotten as far into the Protectors as I had then I would have been able to make a clean break, but that isn’t why I left.”

“Oh, I know why you left,” Jack said, and continued after Oz’s look, “well, you know, the rumors of Sol being alive after touching the orb. Even more rumors, that she’d lost her memory. Only the Guardian loses her memories after touching the orb, and you’re the main man when it comes to the Guardian, aren’t you? Wasn’t your wife the last Guardian?”

“Nearly a life-time ago.”

“You both were young when she died, one of the first victims of the rebels.”

“No. One of the first victims of the war.”

Jack stared at him. “Even after they kill the love of your life and imprison you, you still are willing to believe that there is any good in them?”

“No,” Oz said tiredly. “I’m willing to believe that there is good in us.”

Jack leaned back. “They think I’m dead, don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not in the loop.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure by now she found Fraser, and sank her teeth into him. She wants to know who she is.” Oz moved slightly, stretching his throbbing thigh out. “Probably knows who she is by now, or at least has an idea. The dreams should get more frequent and vivid as time goes on. Eventually she’ll recognize who she is.”

“So what if she does? What do you think it will help?”

Oz glared at Jack, pulling his lip up in distaste. “She’s the only chance we have for change, Jack, and don’t forget it.”

Jack turned his head away, scowling at the metal bars. "Change is the only way, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."