Company Policy ;; 001

[morallycomfy.livejournal.com]

[It's twenty years ago, and you find yourself on a deserted bridge. There's a car behind you, which might be how you got there, and a gun in your hand, pointed at one Noah Bennet. He doesn't beg for mercy, or plead his case, but only opens his arms out, giving you a perfect shot to his heart.]

Do it. Shoot. You and I both know it's the only way.

[You pull the trigger, but the bullet seems to be moving in slow-motion. The slug enters his chest, blood spreading out over his starched shirt as he falls to his knees.]

It's alright, [he tells you calmly, as if he's placating to a child, and maybe in some cases he is. He opens his shirt to reveal the wound, bullet pushing back out of his chest and clinking uselessly to the gravel below.]

Comments

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[And suddenly, the dramatic moment was ruined, by Gabriel dropping the gun and holding up his hands. That was fucking weird and he never wants to do that again.]

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay. Seriously? I've been tripping through a lot of headspaces right now and this one? Takes the whole friggin' bakery. Did I really just get forced to play a part in your sick suicide roleplay fantasy? I feel violated. People will be called about this.

[Yeah, Noah... Enjoy... That.]

[morallycomfy.livejournal.com]

[Even through the dream fugue, something feels distinctly off about this. He's not sure how he knows - but things aren't supposed to happen this way.]

What people? There's no one left to call. [Who don't know already, he thinks to himself.]

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[Welcome to being Sassy Angel Friended, Noah.]

Okay. Snap out of it, genius. You're dreaming- didn't you get the memo from Sabrina?

[morallycomfy.livejournal.com]

[Slowly, Noah rises to his feet, his wound completely healed by now.]

Dreaming? [read: this tone asks Gabriel, are you damaged?] ...You're one of them, aren't you?

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[Blank stare]

Yeah, I am. You're in the middle of the remake of Inception. Sorry, I don't wear a sexy vest- it's at the drycleaners.

[morallycomfy.livejournal.com]

How disappointing. Are you a telepath?

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Nope. I just don't dream, so I have to invade other people's to get the full experience. [Expecting a non-sarcastic answer anytime soon? Sorry!]

[morallycomfy.livejournal.com]

A dream-manipulator. That's a new one.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Sure. I also go by angel. Also? Your Sarcasm's rusty. I suggest night classes.

[morallycomfy.livejournal.com]

An angel. You're serious?

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Well, you're officially "dead" and all, so why wouldn't I be here? That's how the stories go, right? [His tone is dryer than the Mojave.]

[morallycomfy.livejournal.com]

Usually they show up after, not before with a gun.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

That part? That was just a glitch in the Matrix.

[morallycomfy.livejournal.com]

Right. [He smiles coolly, sizing Gabriel up.] An angel. That's new.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Nah, we're just one of those old school things that everyone forgets about, until suddenly we start being hip again.

[morallycomfy.livejournal.com]

A hip angel. Even better.

What do you want?

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

I took a wrong left turn at Albuquerque, and, apparently, ended up in your head- I was going for John Malkovitch, but, eh. Can't always get what you want.

[morallycomfy.livejournal.com]

Lucky me.