Poison

“Fraser, let's go.”

Fraser slid his black eyes over to the man that had spoken, and met brown eyes. Those brown eyes were surrounded by weathered wrinkles similar to crows feet, spreading out in wide rivers over his face. Lines appeared between his eyebrows as he found Fraser staring at him.

“Gonna keep staring rookie? Let's go,” he said with a gruff laugh trickling out of his throat. Shoving Fraser a bit, he moved forward with the steady lope of a man that knew where he was going. “Come on, now.”

Running his fingers through his dark hair, Fraser grinned as he followed the old man. That grin dissolved as they shifted through the new passage into their lair, as the protectors liked to call it. The rebels still had the stone, and the protectors needed to get it out of there fast. Before the stone chose one of the rebels. As soon as that happens, all hell will break loose. They would try everyone and anyone to attempt to have a protector in their group.

Fraser wondered grimly how many the stone had killed so far.

“Jack, I've got the eastern entrance,” Fraser said, slipping backwards into the shadows some. “Take the western.”

“Easy cowboy,” Jack said with a slight chuckle. “Race you to the Heart Gem.”

“You're on, old man.”

The two men faded into the dark shadows, separating from each other. Fraser remembered the last time he'd been involved in a mission it had gone horribly wrong. Shoving the images of green eyes out of his mind, he shifted and slipped into the hallways. The lack of guards startled him, and immediately he knew something was off. He slid the knife from his pocket out, flipping it through his fingers.

Sliding around in the deathly silent hallways, he moved forward. His feet were expertly silent, his fingers experienced with the sharp blade he had tucked in his hand. Moving through the damp stone halls, he tilted his head. Picking up the pace, he closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Left, left, right, left, straight, straight, left, then right, third hallway to the left, straight, right, right, right, left.

Something moved to his left.

Freezing, he flipped his knife to the handle was in the palm of his hand, the blade pressed outwards. There was no movement, before out of the shadows appeared a shape.

“I beat you, Fraser.”

"Shut up, old man."

Jack and Fraser dissolved back into the shadows, slipping down and through the hallways again. Nothing appeared, no guards, nobody. The eerie quiet infected them, and the silence grew more and more loud in their ears. They knew something wasn't right, something was terribly wrong. However, they couldn't just leave. They needed the stone, that damn stone.

The source to souls, the source to hearts.

Suddenly, Jack became still, his old body pausing in mid-step, his eyes wide. He grasped Fraser's arm, holding him there. Fraser froze himself, listening to the silence. Nothing moved, nothing shifted, nothing happened. The shadows kept absolutely still, and Fraser pulled in a slow breath before releasing it.

He couldn't count how many there were now, it was too late. They were surrounded. The knife in his hand felt heavy because he knew there was no chance they could get out of this. Jack knew too, immediately that they had no chance.

“Where is the orb?” demanded a voice from the darkness.

Fraser felt as if someone poured cold water over his head. They didn't know what the fucking orb was.

Jack nor Fraser responded, only did the two of them prepare for a fight. Information had been leaked about this mission, and they had to figure it out if they survived. At all costs they couldn't get captured, they must die if they cannot escape. Die or be tortured. Jack chuckled next to him, his own arm moving slowly and grasping his own knife.

“Stop!” cried one of the voices from the group. “Or we'll have to kill you.”

“We can't kill them, they know where the orb is.”

“Well, we can't let them kill us!”

Jack leaned over, whispered, “I'm sorry, Fraser.”

Fraser gave him a forced smile. “It was nice working with you.”

“Nice working with you too, rookie,” Jack said slowly, and shoved Fraser backwards.

Fraser let out a startled yelp as he fell through the air, realizing that there was no wall to fall against. He fell down into the hellish black abyss below him, as voices shouted loudly after him. Jack's laugh vibrated across the area, and Fraser watched in distant horror as Jack lunged at one of the first men, plunging his knife into the body of the rebel. Trying to grasp something, Fraser knew that the old man had done this all on purpose. Save the younger generation. Fraser didn't give a flying fuck.

“Hey, Fraser!” Jack shouted. “Don't forget that I've saved your ass once again!”

Fraser closed his eyes when he saw the first blade shove up through Jack's body as he fell out of sight.


Black eyes flickered in the light, his hand reaching out to touch the surface of her cheek. She merely stared at him, eyes defiant and narrowed, her chin shoved forward like a four-year-old. All he did was stare at her, just watching her for any sense of hesitation. A power glowed in his presence, an honor that the twenty year old girl in front of him couldn't compare to. She was fierce, but unchosen. A child here by will, not fate.

“You're foolish,” he said, a small smile flickering at the edges of his lips.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I'm brave.”

“There is a very fine line between the two.”

“Stop going all wise and noble on me, I know what kind of man you are.”

His eyes iced over, shimmering as he stepped forward, backing her into a wall. “Do you, Sol? Please then, do enlighten me. What kind of man am I?”

She was silent for a moment, no trace of fear in her face. Slowly, a sad smile slide across her face as she stared up at him, green eyes knowing. “A broken one.”


Sol woke up with a startled gasp, her body cold and shivering. Black eyes faded as she returned to reality. She grasped her arms with her hands, the thin white t-shirt that cladded her plastered to her skin. Her hair that was piled on her head stuck to her skin, a nervous sweat that made her body break out into goose-bumps. She cursed softly under her breath, shoving up out of the bed. The sun started to pierce the horizon, leeching the lingering cold of the evening away.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

She didn't know if she was talking to herself, or to the man in the dream.

She reached for her mind, trying reach those recesses that held those long memories that she couldn't draw out. They teased her with little flashes, dreams. Often it included the black-eyed man and a blue-eyed girl with long flowing blond hair. All Sol knew was that even after four months, she couldn't remember her own last name. She couldn't remember where she was from. She couldn't remember those two names. She only knew a stone and that man.

She glanced about the little room, the curtains flowing gently. Curtains that had been hand-made by Rose, their appointed mother of the bunch of outcasts and wanderers that had gathered at this little abandoned town-house. A little town-house in the middle of no-where, beyond the realms of cities that litter Zaire, this sparse island that encompasses miles upon miles of desert like realms. The only exception is to the far north along the coast that opens up into the bay of Windor where a forest pours up out of no where, a place of ancient trees and secrets. The rest of the island is dusty, beaten, and old. It is said that years ago, it used to be a thriving community.

Those years are long gone.

Shoving the thin blanket off of her body, she realized that the window was open. Sweat gathered at the back of her neck as she leaned out the window to pull it close. The only real window was a piece of wood shoved in place by the efforts of another one of the outcasts, Oz. It was a well-fitted piece of wood, but a piece of wood wedged in the window none-the-less. The sun would soon leech any cool breeze away from the air, leaving it sticky and hot. She heard the rattle elsewhere in the house, knowing Raven had probably just woken up, and poured herself onto the porch. Sol heard the door slam, informing her she had been correct and Raven would be back in bitching in about an hour about how hot it is. The woman was a glutton for punishment.

Plunging her hand in a bucket she had to the right of her bed, she rinsed her face off. Slicking off the sweat off of her arms, she heard footsteps pounding across the floor. She took an old towel and wiped her face as the footsteps grew louder, and she glanced at the door.

The door slammed open, a determined six-year-old boy standing in the doorway, lacking a shirt with a dirt smudged across his left cheek. Freckles powdered his nose and cheeks, blue eyes underneath shaggy blond hair, the young boy pressed his arms behind his back and leaned forward. His chin stuck out boldly and he frowned thoughtfully at her.

“Sissy, it's time to eat,” he said, peering at her.

“I'm up, Reed. Go to your mama that I'll be there in a second.”

He continued to stare her down for a second before disappearing back out of the doorway, his skinny legs a whirl as he made his way to wake up the other household residents. Reed had dubbed them all with different names, family names, since all he has of a real family is his mother. His father had been killed in the first rebel attack, an innocent bystander to the hateful war. The rest of the family left Zaire to go to the only place that still was free from the sweep of the rebels.

Rebels.

Scratching her stomach, she slid out of the room, closing the door with a soft click behind her. Letting her feet pad bare against the old, creaky flooring, she hopped down the stairs. Passing two doors on her left and one door on her right, she heard the inhabitants of each room either getting up or an empty room. Making her way to the kitchen, she passed by the beaten doors and beaten floors. Wallpaper peeled where Rose had made a helpless attempt to make the house a bit more homey by trying first fix it and second trying to peel it all off. Neither worked, leaving a falling half-peeled mess on the wall before Oz had told Rose to let it go.

The front door slammed. Raven was returning inside to complain about the daily heat that they'd never grown accustomed to. Finally stumbling through into the kitchen, Sol stretched upwards with a loud groan. Rose shifted her blue eyes away from the pan before her, where eggs sizzled and snapped. Oz had his feet propped up on another chair, where Sol edged his feet off of the chair so she could collapse into the seat. Raven moved restlessly by the door, using a folded up piece of paper as a make-shift fan. Reed darted back and forth between Oz and Jazz. The whole family was now in the kitchen, cramped, tired, and hot, but together.

Raven grasped the chair to the left of Jazz, sliding it out and dropping in next to him. Rose grasped the pan and slid the eggs onto a chipped plate. Jazz grinned widely, shifting to harass Raven in the side. She glowered at him and Jazz just shifted in his chair, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

Rose, being the mother, played the part. Her long dark hair was threaded with a deep red that glowed only in certain light. Thirty-four years old, she was the mother of Reed, the six-year-old boy that now jumped at her feet. She swept Jazz's arm off of Raven, saving him from being murdered by the twenty-two year old girl, with short natural ebony hair that curled around her chin. Her gray and blue eyes pierced Jazz's twenty-five year old dark eyes, his light brown hair cut short to avoid excessive sweating. Oz, the one they went to for almost anything, was the eldest of them all, at fifty-six, with long tangly gray hair that fell to his chin and wise sharp green orbs.

“Hey, Raven, baby, we should elope and get married, tonight,” Jazz said, stretching his arm upward to drop it over her shoulders. “I can't stand to be apart from you any longer.”

Raven grumbled at him, eyeing the plate of food dropped before her with hunger. She was not a morning person, preferring the quiet sound of night. So, she slid his arm off of her shoulder, poked him in the side with a fork. He flinched violently, causing Reed to dissolve into giggles at the sight of Jazz nearly collapsing off of his seat. Oz rolled his eyes, merely taking a bite of the eggs and potatoes Rose had slaved away to make.

“Sol,” Oz said, making her green eyes glance up to him. “You had the dream again.”

She shrugged, lifting her shoulders. “I did. Same dream, same man, same situation. Nothing remembered about me.”

“Your memories will come back, dear, don't you worry,” Rose said, giving Reed an evil eye. “Reed, use your fork.”

Reed frowned at his mother and picked up fork while Sol said, “Maybe.”

“Damn it, Jazz, get your arm off of me!” Raven yelled, twisting her body to punch him, while he avoided her punch laughing.

Sol tried to reach back into her memories but failed. Frowning gently, she picked at her food. Who the hell was he? What the hell was that stone? She paused on those thoughts and her stomach fell out beneath her.

Who the hell was she for that matter?