checkin | ( hypnos ) f▒▒k you!

He walks away from you.

( what the fuck is ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ and who's ▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒? )

Your teeth fucking chatter with the rumble of the approaching train, and if you weren't so busy straining at the ropes around your wrists and ankles, you think you just might shit yourself.

i don't know who the fuck that is! cut the ropes pleaseno, please.

Who would have thought you'd ever be this scared of a fucking watch?

i won't say nothing, i swear.
if there's one thing i can do it's keep my mouth shut.

Yet you are because the man pointing his wrist at you just went from being a right stuffy old prick to being one of the coolest people you've ever met; you're not entirely sure if you're terrified or giddy, but it's the first time in a long, long time that someone else's stuck up for you — let alone wiped the floor with the dogpack — and you'd kind of like to remember it. ( you won't tell a soul? )

ask the feds, i've never grassed anyone up.

( is that a promise? )

on my life!

Not that your life means much the second Harry Hart walks away from you. Again. All it gets you is your back against the ice box and a pretty familiar ache in the gut; all your word gets you is two punches in quick succession; the taste of bile in your throat, a meaty hand on your throat and a slap in the face. ( i wanna know the name of the geezer you was with! ) Your stepdads breath is a mixture of sour beer and intent; he's blotchy red in the face and sprays hot saliva liberally when he shouts in your face. Your mum is crying behind him, hovering with one hand to her face and the other on his shoulder, but that's doing about as much to haul him off as your vice grip 'round his wrist.

i wasn't with no one!

He hits you again. ( who was it? )

i don't know what you're on about!

And again.

i don't know what you're fucking on about!

And again, and again, and once again in your life you're cornered and staring down the flashing lights of police cars. Whiplash is real, and your neck smarts, but you feel like absolute shit because your mates weren't wearing their seatbelts either and are now groaning their complaints ( shoulda driven it over ) like they're more concerned with the joyride being done than they are the cops shouting at you over their speakers.

shoulda done a lot of things. i'll sort this, get out the car.

They don't move. ( eggsy, there is no such thing as honor amoung thieves. ) So you shout at your friends —

i said get out of the fucking carroxy, just stop fucking about!

Wind whips at your body, and you feel it — but beneath several thick layers of insulant and HALO suit, you don't actually feel it. You shake her gently, just to reaffirm that you're both solid presences; that you're here for her, even 30,000 feet above the ground, with London spread out beneath you like a patchwork quilt of greens and browns, and a tiny target painted on the lawn somewhere below that you're supposed to hit. If anything goes wrong, you're probably fucked; but if you both don't jump, you're still fucked, and then you don't get to say you've sky dived.

just follow me, yeah?

So you hold up your hands and fall backwards out of the open mouth of the cargo monoplane.

come on! COME ON, BRUV, HE HIT MY FUCKING MUM.

( oh eggsy i've just killed two of your friends who've given me the same bullshit answer ) The train is getting closer, the lighters are getting brighter. Under you, the rails vibrate with force enough to turn your bones to jelly and knock your teeth out of your head; around your wrists, the ropes just get tighter and tighter the more you struggle, and the rat faced old man with the knife isn't making any moves to cut you free no matter how much you beg him and swear. There's sweat under your arms. Past shitting yourself, you might cry. What a completely bollocks way to go out. ( hey eggsy! is ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ really worth dying for? )

And yeah, it is.

fuck you!

JB stares at you with those wide, dumb eyes — and you can't do it.

should have done a lot of things.

( i'll sort this mess out when i get back )

i'll sort this, get out of the car.

( to ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ) He'd held a gun on you before, and now he holds a pen towards your face and you know which is more deadly. i thought that brandy tasted a bit shit, and ▒▒▒▒▒▒ preaches about a culling ( the virus dies ); kill the many so the chosen ones can survive ( the virus dies ). And when he offers you a place ( that he doesn't really want you to have, the virus dies ) amoung the rich, well bred animals on Noah's Ark, you cannot think of anythink you've ever wanted less.

i'd rather be with harry. thanksharry i'm so sorry...

( you should be. )

He walks away from you again.

( hypnos ) f▒▒k you!

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