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He'd arrived early. Or, at least, before Colton arrived at their destination. The sun was barely above the walls of Stronghold, just a small slip of orange light spreading across the ramshackle buildings that made up the commercial district of Stronghold. Heath enters the abandoned office building that's served as an undercover meet up spot for the Military for a couple decades now. Considering there were a lot of abandoned buildings that were too dangerous to destroy, it didn't lend suspicion to anyone that might have been watching him — for all they knew he could simply be a vagrant looking for shelter, seeing as how he'd dressed in incognito civilian wear. A bullet-proof vest sat snug against his chest underneath his top, hidden but necessary in case Colton was followed.

Entering the small room at the back, a flood of emotions wash over Heath. The last time he'd visited the place was a few weeks prior — back when he and Charles were still working cases together, the best of work friends. Heath releases the door handle that he'd been gripping a little too tight, taking a moment to gather his bearings before he enters the room and closes the door behind him. Wandering inside, he finally sits himself down at the desk at the far end of the room, facing the door so that he can see when Colton finally arrives.

Kicking back in the chair, Heath places his boots on the desk and crosses his legs one over another, an air of relaxation about him. The place hadn't been found by the Jabberwockies thus far, and therefore he had no reason to be on alert — not like when he'd been snooping around their place of business a few days prior.

The window behind him is boarded shut, allowing barely any light to infiltrate the room. He's fine with the dark atmosphere for now, considering it was just him alone with his thoughts. Instinctively, the man fishes a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, enjoying the way the smoke trailed lazily up from the lit tip clenched between his lips. Taking a slow drag, Heath sucks the smoke back into his lungs before blowing it out again. Fingers loosely hold the cigarette as he uses his free hand now to rummage around in another pocket and pull out a small container of pills.

Thirty of them. Just enough to last one month.

No doubt it wasn't as much as Colton was expecting — as he was hoping for. But Heath had to keep the younger man on a tight leash if he wanted to get information out of him. Heath turns the bottle over, round and round in his fingers, before he finally shoves it back in a pocket once more. As he smokes away on his cigarette, his mind lazily begins to drift back to various different memories he had of the place. Late nights spent working a case with Charles, young little Colton asleep on the couch tucked away in the corner. Charles's wife bringing them food as they work away into the night, warm food to fill their bellies and keep their minds sharp. Colton waking from the smell, dashing over to help himself to a piece with round, puppy dog eyes pleading for more—

Hm. Maybe this wasn't the best choice for a meet up after all. Rather than nostalgic, he finds himself growing angry at the fond memories.

Tag Colton Holcombe

Posted 09-23-2021, 03:02 PM

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Three days. At the time of agreeing and working out the time they would meet again Colton didn't realize how difficult determining the right date would be. It wasn't like they had a calendar hanging around, or really even much in the means of a clock readily available. Underground at the crossroads it was difficult to even track when it was day or night. There was no sun to wake him, no moon to stare at. The only means he had to track any semblance of time was the Spades sanctioned fights. Every night, or at least, for the next two nights, they held the spectacle. To keep track and because he didn't trust his own mind, he had carved slits into the cement walls next to the pile of blankets that made up his bed.

For three days he worried how he would get to the surface. What reason would he make, what excuse? Should he even ask at all. If he asked and they didn't allow it, would they watch him closer? Making it more difficult to sneak away? In the end he settled on not telling them. It was too much of a risk, and even if it was allowed, they would most certainly have someone accompany him. He couldn't think of a good excuse regardless... other than the 'I wanna run away from this place and never look back' story that would surely throw all plans in the gutter.

The fight from that night that had went on until the earliest hours in the morning had finally come to an end. The place was riddled with drunk and drugged out patrons, Spades, and who knew what else. But most were asleep. Colton too wished he could sleep. The night had been long, and the stress of the past few days weighed on him, creating dark circles around his eyes. Very quietly and cautiously he pilled up his blankets in the corner to make it appear he was under them, then crept his way through the maze and towards the surface.

The trek had taken longer than expected. He had been turned around at a few different points, had to avoid a few close encounters, but eventually he found the way out. He just hoped he could find his way back in, without anyone noticing. Even though he wasn't sure he wanted to go back. That thought played on his mind. Why go back? If he could make it to the surface... maybe he could slip away for good.

Once he got outside, the sun, though still rising blinded him for a solid several minutes. He winced, bringing his hand up at the incredibly bright light and trying to get his eyes to adjust. Careful, you'll burn, you'll burn right up the voice toyed with him, making him dunk behind a building and in it's shade. He felt so disoriented, nothing looked familiar anymore. Distraught he ran a hand through his hair and pulled. "I can't do this. I can't even do this." his mumbled at a whisper to himself. He stood there for awhile, panic coming over him the longer he did. Eventually he began making his way down the first block, looking for anything that he recognized. Anything at all.

"That's the bar with the broken light. Wait, I gotta go left... and then yes, there's that rusty … thing." Fire hydrant was the word he was looking for. While road signs were abundant, Colton could barely read, and didn't do well in using them for navigation. He was better off remembering landmarks. Eventually he remembered his way towards the small abandoned building. The one he had explored every nook and cranny of.

When he got to the door he opened it cautiously, unsure what he could be walking into, but immediately he smells the cigarette's. Nostalgia pours over him, not because he knows it's Heath, but because that smell and in this place... the two were inseparable in his memories. Maybe he could just stay here, hide out until Heath could find him a route out.

"Heath?" he calls out quietly, staring at the figure sitting at the desk. Dark, other than the light on the end of his cigarette. Even though he knew in his gut it was Heath, his mind threw doubt after doubt; making him keep his hand on the door, ready to bolt as he stared at the shadow.

Tag Heath Langstrum

Posted 09-24-2021, 08:48 AM

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Three stubbed-out cigarettes sit in an ashtray on the desk in front of Heath, just to the right of his boots still perched on top of the furniture. A fourth now sits betwixt fingers, smoke lazily drifting from the lit end to add to the already smoke-filled room. Something of a chain smoker, he's already made a good dent in his pack by the time someone finally shows up at the office. While the soft creaking of the entrance door's hinges alert the man to someone else's presence, he isn't immediately put on edge. The place was tucked far back enough that he doubted any regular person would seek it out. Still, his free hand casually drifts to the gun attached to his hip, immediately falling back into a relaxed position once the voice rings out.

"Yeah, it's me kid. Come in," Heath greets in a hoarse voice, leaning forward enough to crush the cigarette in his hand into the ashtray to join its fallen brethren. "You weren't followed?" the Lieutenant throws the question out at the younger man, even though it's phrased as more of a rhetorical question than anything. If Colton really had been followed...

Well, they'd find out sooner than later.

Wordlessly, the man points at a chair in front of the desk, silently demanding Colton take a seat. As he does so, he also reaches forward enough to turn on a light sitting on the desk. The bulb is old and just barely casts an orange glow bright enough to illuminate their features — it would have to do. It gives Heath a chance to look Colton over.

It was only three days since he'd last seen the younger man, but, shit, he looked like hell. Clearly stressing out about being in the Jabberwockies gang was doing a number on him, especially since he wasn't exactly doing so well mentally to begin with — hopefully things would change once he was able to get his hands on some long-awaited meds. One of his free hands plays with the bottle shoved in his pocket, but he doesn't yet reveal the meds to Colton. Not until he got his payment.

But first...

"It's been a long time since we've been here together," Heath comments in a low voice, a wry sort of grimace on his face as he brings up the memory. "Somehow it feels appropriate for this," he continues, not allowing himself to get too wrapped up in memories of the past.

Tag Colton Holcombe

Posted 09-25-2021, 03:46 PM

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Even while he knew it was Heath, relief didn't come and settle his nerves until he heard the reply. Feeling instantly lighter at hearing the others gruff yet somehow soothing voice, Colton shut the door into place; hearing the audible click of the lock. Turning around then, he took a step or two while answering "I hope not." That probably wasn't the best response, it should of been more confident to make Heath think he was more certain. "They were all asleep, when I left..." He tacked on, as if that might make it sound more appealing and safe.

Colton followed the direction Heath pointed to as his gaze fell on the chair. Taking a few more steps he grasped the backrest and pulled it back on it's legs a bit before sitting down. "I think they'd let me go places if I asked, but I think they'd follow me if I did..." he tried to make sense of it, for sneaking out when he did and how he did. He was constantly doing that, constantly questioning what he did and if it made sense or if it was a mistake. He didn't know what he was doing. Thrown into a world full of drugs, infected, grit and grime... Colton was so far from home and everything he knew. Not only did he question himself, but he that voice inside him, constantly berating him and making him second guess everything; including reality.

The light is turned on and Colton winces, once again blinded momentarily as his eyes adjust. It wasn't nearly as painful as the rising sun had been, but he still squints and rubs the corners, pinching the bridge of his nose before he can look at Heath again.

Then soon as he does, Colt drops his gaze to his hands "Yeah... it has." A very long time, when things were so different, when things were right. For a moment Colt let's his mind linger on what started it all, what brought him to this little forgotten building in the commercial district. The attack and subsequent rescue.

The neighbors had sworn the dog wasn't part wolf, but it was massive. Grey, with streaks of black and white that curled over it's brow to give it a permanent scowl. Colt was only 10 years old, playing out side in the small area of the front yard. Balancing on a fallen tree trunk, lifting up rocks to find earth worms and catching them before they disappeared into the soil again. He had no idea he had wandered too close to their neighbors yard and that the dog was watching from a windowed door. So when the man that owned it let the dog out to do it's business it made a beeline for Colt.

It had him by the ear mostly, teeth sunk into the flesh above and below, down into his neck and began to shake him like a toy. Colt screamed for his dad, but it was Heath that had found him first. He must of blacked out because the next thing he remembered was the military hospital. Stitches, twelve of them, that curved around his ear and went down the side of his neck. The shape of a question mark.

He still had the scar.

In an effort to keep an eye on his son, Charles had brought him along to the meeting at the abandoned building. Mostly to make sure he didn't pick at the stitches. What then happened was a normal occurrence of his presence there. He wondered then, how many times his name was written in obscure places, with chalk he had found and stashed so that no one could take it away. He was so proud to be able to spell it, C O L T he had put it anywhere he could.

"Why?" Colt came through his thoughts, questioning how this place where he had so many fond memories was now appropriate for the bad ones now instilled in his mind. The connection no longer to his childhood, but the problems of his adulthood. "What is my mom going to stop by and bring dinner? Don't think so." He stared at Heath briefly as if this was his fault, but then he wiped the look off his face and looked back down at his hands.

Tag Heath Langstrum

Posted 09-27-2021, 10:21 AM

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All of them were asleep? Somehow Heath doubts that.

Much as he despised the gang, he knew they weren't stupid enough to leave themselves completely vulnerable to attack. Not to mention they were the most idiotic of the bunch, having Infected penned inside their fight arenas that needed constant surveillance in the off chance one of them tried to escape. No, he doubted the accuracy of Colton's comment, but as long as he wasn't followed, Heath didn't particularly care about that bit of information. He simply nods along, choosing not to make a comment. Not even when Colton brings up the idea that he could probably ask to leave. Once again, Heath doubts that.

The Lieutenant watches as the unwilling-Jabberwocky steps deeper into the room, wincing with the light for a brief moment before he takes a seat as commanded of him. His eyes never leave Colton's face, not even when the younger man can seemingly barely look at him in return. Instead, the young man's eyes are turned downward as he responds to Heath's comment, quiet falling between the two of them. An eyebrow quirks questioningly as Heath stays silent, wondering if Colton was having another moment. But eventually Colton speaks again — coherently, thankfully — but it was to snark out a question, eyes lifting upwards to match Heath's once more before falling again.

Heath huffs, eyes narrowing every so slightly in response to the attitude that was suddenly being thrown his way by the young man. By the kid, that show know better than to be getting attitude with the man trying his best to save his life. Well, trying his best was pushing it. Save his life? Pushing it even more. Let's be honest, Heath was just using Colton's weakness to his advantage now, for his own selfish gains.

"I'd be mighty surprised if she did," Heath muses in a flat tone, his expression expertly guarded as he continues speaking, "hell, she hasn't even asked about you since I mentioned I was trying to locate you." Let him sit on that for a bit. A painful reminder that Colton's own parents all but abandoned him to the leeches of the Jabberwockies. A reminder, once again, that Heath was the only one left in Stronghold that seemingly cared for Colton. A good way to keep him held by a leash.

"I got your meds," Heath finally speaks again, turning the conversation into a much more business-like direction. He plays with the pill bottle in his pocket, just enough for Colton to hear the pills rattling around — but he keeps it hidden still, not yet willing to part with it.

"But first, you remember our agreement, yes? Information in exchange for medication. I want to know everything you've learned over the last three days," he finishes speaking, removing his hand from his pocket now so that he can cross both of them over his lap, boots still firmly planted on the desk, his gaze never once wavering from Colton's face.

Tag Colton Holcombe

Posted 10-04-2021, 05:41 PM

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Colton wasn't sure what made him react the way he did, but coming out of a memory that he had been fond of -- then being faced with the reality that was his messed up situation... none of it sat right with him. Even if the abandoned building was an appropriate meeting place, as it had been for Heath and his father, Colt never saw it as a place of business. Hadn't wanted to either. He didn't realize how opposed he was to it until now, sitting inside the building, across from a desk; and not in the corner on the couch. Out of the corner of his eye he stared out of his peripheral, looking for his favorite napping spot and finding it in a dark shadow of the room. If he had to guess, it was probably torn to shreds, old and dilapidated.

With his gaze prominently down at his hands, he heard Heath's retort. It held just as much disdain as his had. While his line of sight remained on his hands, he couldn't stop himself from the slightest rolls of his eyes. Figuring Heath was just being sarcastic. He deserved that, didn't he? But it was much more than that. The following add-on to his statement stung like Colt had just touched a hot stove. His palm straight down on a blue and glowing flame.

He can't help the frown that appears on his lips, pulled taunt like he wished Heath hadn't told him, like he could of spared him that one little detail. "She's … addicted. It's not her fault." he muttered to himself, trying to make it alright, trying to make an excuse that could warrant the lack of concern any mother would have for their missing son. She wasn't right in the head, not while under the influence of drugs. --And who was he, to judge anyone for not being right in the head. That solemn fact gave him some assurance, even if only a little. "Are they helping her? Is... is she getting help?" he asked directly, looking up at Heath now and trying to hide the pain of being hurt by his prior comment.

Hearing the rattling of the pills tapping against the side of a bottle, Colt audibly locates it in Heath's pocket; thought not within his sights. He sits a little straight then, where he was previously slouched over. His hands reach out to the top of his knees. "How many could you get?" he phases the question like Heath would get as many as he could at one time, that he wouldn't dare ration them anymore than he had too; nor hold them back.

Before he could ask anything more, Heath reminds him of the plan, the trade that they had agreed on. He looks off to the side again, appearing a little disinterested, or maybe it's the same look someone has when they know they didn't keep up their end of the bargain. He leans forward, pressing his elbows to the desk and crosses his arms. Looking up at Heath he squints, like the next thing he says is going to hurt. "Honestly, not much. It's only been three days... Not much happens in three days, and they don't trust me Heath... they don't know... me... yet." he breaks off some towards the end, as if he were interrupting someone.

After a second of pointed silence he seems to come too again "I did see them take an Infected out of the kennels yesterday though. I think they drugged him and took him to the parking lot... wouldn't tell me much, but he wasn't doing so good."Even though he knew he had very little, he wasn't too worried. Heath would understand. It was only three days. He was unmedicated and most certainly untrusted. Heath couldn't fault him for that, could he?

Tag Heath Langstrum

Posted 10-07-2021, 09:08 PM

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Heath scoffs, even rolls his eyes, as the kid's defense of his mother. Not like he expected anything less of course, Colton still too soft to really understand the life-and-death situation his parents had thrown him into just to save their own skins. Disgusting, really, so he keeps his mouth shut, knowing that whatever would come out next would just continue down a path of heated, venomous words. It wouldn't do either of them any good. The younger man suddenly looks him up, square in the face, in order to question how his mother was doing and... Heath blinks. Colton really didn't get it, did he? His parents didn't want help. They would have continued to hide their crimes, if their handlers hadn't come knocking at their door first. Colton's own mother didn't even care what happened to him now.

"That's none of your concern," is the only answer Heath gives him in response, choosing that moment to use the audible signal of pills rattling in their container to draw Colton's attention away from asking anything more. It was true, in a way — likely the less Colton knew, the better. He tsks at the way Colton is quick to ask how many pills he managed to get, already knowing the kid was expecting something in the dozens. But why was Heath gonna do that? It didn't feel like it would get him anything, other than an errant spy that would just end up getting himself killed trying to run away before the time was right.

"Enough—" a low, gruff growl in his chest, "for you to earn." That's all it was. Even if he had hundreds in his pocket, he'd only give whatever Colton earned. Finally the whole reason for their meeting is brought back around, and Heath leans forward, eager for information on the Jabberwockies. It was always hard to find someone to spy on a gang, able to survive long enough to get any kind of intel. But Colton, he was already part of the gang — he should easily be able to get something that the Lieutenant could use against the filthy creatures.

But... His dreams were quickly dashed, the more Colton spoke.

In reality, Heath couldn't really have expected much of a better outcome. It's true that he'd been given to the Jabberwockies as payment, nothing more and therefore they shouldn't have been expected to share much with the newest member of the gang. But where disappointment lay, it quickly fell into misplaced anger inside, his fingers pressing harder and harder against the pill bottle as if trying to break it. That anger snaps and overflows when Colton perks up and tells him about the Infected he'd seen them transport — as if that was somehow some big clue he'd be able to use to take them down. In a moment of weakness, Heath loses his composure just long enough to swing his boots off the desk, slamming them down on the ground as he glowers at the younger man across from him. His gaze makes it clear he's not happy.

"Of course they would drug an infected to transport it, you brat. That's nothing special, the Spades do it all the time," he sneers, combing fingers through his slicked-back hair in agitation. "So is that it, then? Sit around on yer lazy ass for days, then waltz in here with nothing for me and still expect me to help ya?" He snorts.

"Useless."

Tag Colton Holcombe

Posted 10-12-2021, 10:29 PM

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It's obvious that Heath doesn't agree with his statement, he had practically shouted as much with the roll of his eyes. Colton just drops his gaze to the desk that's between them. He doesn't understand. he tells himself, or rather, something does. As an only child, with no cousins, and barely even the idea of a friend or two... his parents had been his entire life. Though shaky, they were the only pillar he had to lean on. Even if that stability had literally only been a roof over his head the last year and nothing more. That was still something. That wasn't taking into account his childhood, which for all intents had been as good and practical as it was possible between mental illness and the world they lived in. That's what he told himself, holding onto memories from a better time and not letting the present situation upend them all.

Colton's lips stretch taunt in a thin line when Heath says it's 'none of his concern'. It was. In fact, he couldn't think of anything more that was his concern than the whereabouts of his parents. Why's he not want to talk about her... whys that? What's he hiding... Colt tilts his head just a little, curious too, but there's no time to say it out loud. The rattling pills garners the rest of his attention, the one thing that could stop the intrusive voice that consistently muttered to him. Rather intelligible, or not.

Enough wasn't the best answer, but the addition to it made Colt swallow hard. He knew he didn't have enough information, but it hadn't occurred to him that Heath would keep the medication from him in any event. Who would do that? As gullible as he was, he couldn't imagine Heath withholding something that would stop his suffering and prolong his life in the jabberwockies gang. It all began to dawn on him however. The moment Heath moved, quick and angry; Colton jumped. Startled and flinching at the sound of Heath's boots hitting the floor, he does everything but match his gaze. -- And Heath's gaze is scalding hot, likely to burn as easily as the end of his cigarette.

"But where are they taking them?" he questions again, quietly, trying to find the interesting factor that might ring some bell and give him his reward. It doesn't seem to be working, he drops his head; chin to chest, like he would rather melt into the floor than be sitting there across from the lieutenant. And that's who he was in that moment. The Lieutenant. Not a family friend that he had known since he was seven years old. Useless, isn't that right. Completely. Obviously. Useless.

Colt grits his teeth.

For a long few seconds, silence sits there between them, heavy and thick. Colton racks his brain for every thing he did the past three days. Every person he said more than a single word to, and then he looks up. "Atlas." His eyes are wide, like he's remembered something important, and important it was. "I met him. The leader, … the ace, you know? He's got..." Colt sits forwards now, like he's really got something profound to share. "He's got claws. Like real. Actual. Claws."

The tide was turning, and Colt smiled, proud as hell of himself.

Tag Heath Langstrum

Posted 10-14-2021, 01:14 PM This post was last modified: 10-14-2021, 01:14 PM by Colton Holcombe

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Whatever good mood Heath appeared to have earlier, was quickly waning by the second, even if he didn't necessarily give it away completely with his stoic facial expression. His eyes are trained to the younger man's face, watches as Colton's eyes once more turning to face the ground. If he was some criminal being investigated by the Lieutenant, he would have been seen as nothing more than guilty of the crime he was arrested for, unable to even face the Military man in front of him and lie. His small attempt at trying to coax Heath to think more about his words — as if they held some kind of importance, something that would earn him what he was there for — was laughable, really. He scoffs, making his displeasure known.

"It doesn't matter where. They have dens all over Stronghold; they're like rats, moving goods between their various nests," he rumbles in a deep, baritone voice, scalding with its intent. He doesn't say anything more, not even as silence falls between them. He keeps his gaze on Colton, never once wavering. It's hot and irritated, like a typical cop trying to stare down their suspect and get them to squirm. He begins to tap his fingers against the top of the desk, wondering if that was really all the information Colton had for him. Tap, tap, tap, a rhythmic beat to some unheard tune.

Finally, Colton offers up some information.

Something that Heath can actually sink his teeth into. The man's posture straightens ever so slightly as the Jabberwockies runt begins to relay information that he apparently had about the Ace of the gang. Good, very good. Atlas. The name rings in Heath's ears, but is unrecognizable to the man. There's some annoyance that flutters like an unwelcome guest in his chest, knowing just how far he was from bringing the gang down, if he didn't even recognize the leader's name. Heath's heart thrums in his chest in excitement as he watches Colton lean forward with baited breath — his lips, twitch, as though ready to smile and finally praise the young boy for getting something worthwhile—

"He's got claws. Like real. Actual. Claws."

Anticipation and excitement drains in one fell swoop, as though uncomfortably being blueballed and denied a much-anticipated orgasm. Heath blinks, grinds his teeth — and slams a fist down on the desk between them. Claws. This so called 'Atlas' was nothing more than one of Colton's fantasies. It was cruel to dumb it down to that, considering the poor kid has no choice in the hallucinations that plagued him when not medicated, but at that moment Heath doesn't care. All he knows is that he'd gotten no information to work off of; all he got was some delusions and useless facts. Rage turns his vision red.

"God fucking dammit Colt!" His voice booms in the small room they're in, closed fist sweeping some office supplies off the desk and sending them clattering to the ground. In that moment, he hates that smug grin on the kid's face, and wants nothing more than to turn it into something else.

"Here I am risking my neck for you — using my own money to procure you medication your family should be providing you instead — and this is the best you got? Some fantastical clawed monster and useless facts?" In a fit of rage, he snatches the bottle from his pocket, pops the top off with a thumb, and slowly begins to tip the bottle over, all the while his gaze never once leaves Colton's face. "If you're gonna jerk me around like this, then I don't think you've earned your payment," he growls out in a nasty tone as, one by one, he begins to pour the contents of the bottle onto the ground.

Tag Colton Holcombe

Posted 10-16-2021, 03:44 PM

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If the world was fair, what information Colton did have would be enough. Compared to his time restraints, his lack of experience to know good info from bad, and his trust level with the gang -- this was about as good as it could possibly get. But the world was not fair and Colt was beginning to realize that Heath wasn't a friend any more. He was his boss, his handler. Someone to report to. All under a guise that in the end he would be saved from this underground prison, medicated, and allowed to move on with his life. What he felt for the man sitting across from him was entirely different from his childhood memories. Fond moments from their past was quickly being replaced with doubt. His instincts told him Heath had changed, but maybe he hadn't. Maybe this was the real Heath. Easily angered, demanding, short-fused, but most of all: determined.

Why wouldn't it matter where? Colt can't understand or get it through his head. Wouldn't finding their dens be useful? Wouldn't they be able to bust them if they could find them? That seemed like a logical assessment, except for the fact that he missed the prominent fact that he had to know the location in order for it to be important. Just knowing an Infected had been moved wasn't enough.

He hung his head again.

That was until he gave the second piece of information he had discovered. Something worthwhile. He could read Heath's excitement about it too, like they were about to reach the climax of the story. He also very quickly understood the moment Heath was disappointed. It was like a red warning light flicking on and off, a loud, shrilling fog horn blaring and jolting his insides. Every fiber of his being telling him to abort the room, to exit, not orderly, but to bolt.

Confusion riddled his expression, instead of vacating, he sat there stumped. That was until the fist came down hard on the desk, Colton jumped then; blinking wide-eyed before Heath shouts. As he sweeps the supplies off the surface, Colt naturally recoils, like it'll be his cheek next that gets the punishment. The chair legs beneath him squeak as he pushes back on them, aching for a little distance.

"I'm NOT lying Heath! I saw it, plain as day, he has claws!" Why would he make this up? His eyes go back and forth on the now-emptied desk. Trying to understand where he had messed up, why Heath would think he was lying, -- which was simple really, maybe Heath thought he was just trying to cover his ass to get meds? "How-how am I suppose to do this if you don't trust me?" he stutters for the first time in a long time in front of Heath.

The bottle of pills comes into view and Colt watches him leerily as he pops the top off and starts to tip the bottle onto the floor of the small building. He watches for a moment, as nearly half the bottle is poured out. The seconds that tick by mark a very clear motive in his mind. His brows curve down, and without a second thought, he moves out of the chair and falls to his knees. He darts under the desk as best he can, grabbing the pills as they fall.

The first pill he grabs he tosses in his mouth, swallowing it dry down his throat; like a junkie needing their next fix, he can't even wait to dust the dirt off of it. But it's more than that. Colton wasn't too far gone yet. He was lucid, today especially, enough so that he knew the meds would do him good. The longer this went on though, the more he knew he risked talking himself out of the meds altogether. Eventually the demons would get him to believe they weren't good for him; then he would be up a creek without a paddle.

He didn't stop there. Grabbing up the pills in his fist like a piñata had burst and he was the first kid to get to the spilled candy. He grabbed them and began shoving them in his pocket, one-by-one; having completely ignored the rest of Heath's words.

Posted 10-20-2021, 12:46 PM This post was last modified: 10-20-2021, 12:49 PM by Colton Holcombe

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For whatever reason, Colton decides to dig his heels in and double down on the description he'd given of the so called leader Atlas — and that just pissed off the Lieutenant that much more. It was obvious that it was nothing more than just another hallucination, a product of the younger man's schizophrenia. Perhaps it was his fault for expecting any kind of useful information from Colton before he'd been supplied with his medication. But then again, he was paying good money for the medication. Colton should have made himself useful in order to earn something like that. At least, that's what Heath convinced himself.

He ignores the question. Colton isn't in any position to be asking questions of him. Instead he follows through with his anger, slowly pouring the pills onto the ground without a hint of remorse in his expression. His eyes remain trained to Colton's face, watching as the young man so eagerly zones in on the thing he craved the most. Like some kind of drug addict, Heath sneers internally, but keeps his mouth shut. That thought is only proved by the way the Jabberwocky practically lunges out of his chair, falling to his hands and knees on the dirty ground in desperation for the small, white pills.

Heath merely watches it unfold.

He's seen this kind of desperation before, and once more, a scathing voice echoes in his head, Like father, like son. Was this the same kind of desperation Charles had felt before he made the decision to pawn off his own flesh and blood like some kind of animal up for sale? Heath falls headfirst into his anger, as the feeling of betrayal once more overwhelms him, Colton's face being replaced by that of his father's. Is this how far you've fallen!? He wants to scream the words at the man, a look of disgust spreading across his face as he watches hands grab pills without care, shoving them into pockets.

It doesn't take long for Heath to snap. The pills aren't even all out of the bottle before it's suddenly thrown across the room, and hands are on the move as Heath roughly grabs the front of Colton's shirt and yanks him to his feet. He doesn't care if Colton tries to fight him — he's nothing more than a Military officer now, pinning down a criminal as he slams Colton against the desk, back first, his fists still clenching material and keeping the young man pinned beneath him. He moves, parting Colton's legs so that he stands between his thighs — in the moment, it was nothing more than a tactic to ensure he wouldn't be kicked. This close, he can feel Colton's smaller body. Lacking meat and muscle, Heath's rage begins to bleed out as memories come back of the skinny, lanky teen he'd practically watched grow up. This wasn't just some common street punk.

"You disappoint me, kid," a deep voice rumbles in Heath's chest as he practically whispers the words out, his eyes trained to Colton's face. "Do you think I'm gonna go easy on ya, just because you're Charles' kid? Hm? What do I have to do to make you take my orders seriously?" There's a hint of a threat in his voice. Corporal punishment always seemed to whip their new trainees into shape, after all.

Tag Colton Holcombe

Posted 10-27-2021, 11:58 AM

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In the back of his mind, he knew what he was doing would be met with an explosive reaction. Heath hadn't dumped the medication out on the floor of the abandoned building because he wanted Colt to have them. It was the opposite. But it came down to a simple question of if he wanted to survive or die. Heath wouldn't kill him, but rubbing the spades wrong very well could. Colton hadn't been with them long, but he had already realized they were touchy. Every gang probably was, it came with the territory. This gang in particular dealt drugs, and while it was clear they didn't all partake in those, some did. Mind-altering substances always bred paranoia, Colt's just came naturally.

On the floor, he heard the pill bottle hit the adjacent wall, eyes went wide at the sound but he didn't stop what he was doing. He only went faster. Like a warning bell, it had only served to communicate that time was almost up.

--And it was. Shortly thereafter Colt felt Heath's vice-like grip grab him by the front of his shirt and promptly yanked him to his feet. He held firm to the pills that were still in his fists, those that hadn't quite made it to his pocket yet. Thrown onto the desk, his back hits the wooden surface with a hollow thud. In that force of momentum his hands came unclenched and the pills went flying, bouncing off the desk like tic-tacs, then scattered across the floor below them.

Colton flails for a second, open palms smack against the desk, trying to grab something and almost gives the impression that if a stapler had been there, he would of used it to smack Heath over the head with it. But there was nothing to grab. The desk was clean, other than the ash tray which still holds the warm cigarette butts Heath had put out earlier. He doesn't grab it, and settles for a brief second as he feels Heath position himself between his legs. His brows cast down, uncomfortable given the situation as his heels hit the sides of the desk. It's an effort to brace himself as he shoves his hands into Heath's shoulders, trying to form space and consequently get him off of him.

Of course none of that happens, and Colton shudders as Heath whispers so close and dangerously. "I don't." he says quickly, answering that first question, even though he wasn't sure it was one to be answered. "N-nothing. I'll try harder, I'll be bet-better." he loosens his hands on Heath's shoulders, trying to appear cooperative. "I'll find out what they did with that infected? Would that help you? If I found out whe-where it went? The actual location?" he swallows hard, ready to sign over his soul, even if he might have already. "The Ace, he's tall, about as tall as you, muscular, white hair …. really pale. Young, but not-not like a kid, maybe late 20s? Early 30s?" he tried giving as much information as he could remember, grasping at straws to appease Heath.

Tag Heath Langstrum

Posted 10-28-2021, 01:49 PM

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He doesn't miss any of it. Not the way Colton flails with his hands, palms reaching desperately for something — anything — to grab. To use, perhaps? Heath's eyes narrow dangerously at the thought, but he keeps his cool. Well, as much of a cool facade as can be mustered, what with him pinning the younger man to the desk with the fury of a high ranking Military officer. He refuses to budge, not even when Colton pushes at his shoulders, desperately trying to put some distance between the two of them. Even still he doesn't relent, determined to get his point across.

A glimmer of a smile stretches across his face at Colton's admission that he didn't expect to be treated any different because of who his father was — but it's not a gentle smile. It's cruel, and twisted, like someone that just found a weakness to exploit. The Jabberwocky stumbles over his next few words, but he relents the grip he'd taken upon Heath's shoulders, making a show of trying to be better. Good boy, the phrase flashes through Heath's mind, even if he doesn't verbalize it.

He remains quiet — a very real, burning rage still lingering beneath the surface of his skin — as Colton continues speaking. In truth, it wasn't a singular Infected that Heath cared about. Everyone already knew what the Spades were up to. Raiding of their Infected dens were done not to clear out the damned creatures — well, okay, it partially was — but mostly just to fuck with the gang and capture any who dared to stand up to the Military. A singular Infected? It had no consequence to Heath, at least not in regards to Colton... But at least the kid was smartening up.

Apparently getting slapped around a bit was all he needed for inspiration to do better. Heath tucks that information into the back of his mind.

Heath sighs at the information about the Ace. "That just about describes half of Stronghold," he rumbles out, speaking for the first time since Colton had begun panicking. "Fine. I will accept your promise to do better. But mark my words, Colt, come back to me with a lack of information next time, and I'll do more than just toss you around a bit. That medication better be worth my time, or else you won't be getting anymore."

The threat lingers in the air, but he decides to push it a bit more as he leans down, and hisses in a low, guttural whisper: "Just remember who's trying to save your skinny ass, and it sure as hell isn't your father." Heath's finished with his little threat... But even so, he doesn't budge from his position.

An unknown part of him lights a fire, rather enjoying the sight of Colton spread out on the desk in front of him.

Tag Colton Holcombe

Posted 11-28-2021, 11:00 PM

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When Heath's power position over him doesn't budge, much like a wrought iron fence, unmoving, and concrete -- Colton fears he won't be able to appease the older man. He had never been the best at talking himself out of situations, only into them. Colt rambles and sputters like the engine of a broken down car, on the brink of giving up at the site of a steep hill. Heath eventually reacts and it makes Colton shutter like he was about to be smacked or assaulted in some way. The other's voice deep and dark, promising of dangerous disappointment that was on the brink of violence. He winces, instinctually.

"But-... but." he tried to interject, like somehow, some way he would come up with more information. He would pull it out of thin air if it meant getting Heath to let up on him.

Thankfully he didn't have to go further, and considering anything he could of added would have been equally dissatisfying -- it was a good thing then that Heath accepted his promise. He nods, too quickly. Fidgeting and looking off to the side and then back to Heath like staring at him was a hard feat, and it was. It was entirely too confrontational, to the point it almost felt painful. Like locking gazes with him would be some kind of challenge and allow the opportunity for Heath to fly off at the handle once more.

Colt remains quiet at first, hoping the silence between them would coax more good will from Heath. Instead it punctuates with a reminder. That he owed everything to Heath and nothing to his father. "I know, I-I know." Colt whispers back, much more frail than Heath's tone in comparison.

Another pause and Colton brought his line of sight to the space just below Heath's top lip, trying to convey he was listening, but again, not wanting to make a challenge with abrupt eye contact. "What.... what do you want to know? What information would be good information?" he asks quietly, looking for guidance. He was in over his head, and he most certainly did not know how to swim in these waters.

"What'll make it worth it?"

Tag Heath Langstrum

Posted 01-19-2022, 12:40 AM

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The show of force is apparently exactly what Colton needed to spur him into compliance. It doesn't even surprise Heath — his entire identity as a Military officer was built upon the idea of instilling fear in others in order to better control them. He doesn't even bat an eye at such things anymore.

His gaze remains trained to the younger man's face, noticing the slight shift of his eyes as their gazes no longer meet. While tempted to reach out and snatch his chin — force him to look at him once more — Heath's smart enough to know he pushed just far enough to get what he wanted. Anymore, and he might risk sending Colton tumbling down some abyss that he might never climb out of again. So instead he merely grunts in approval, a slight nod of his head as he finally takes a step back and gives Colton back his bubble of safety. No longer between his legs, he gives Colton the chance to sit up if he wishes — but not leave. Not yet.

He listens in silence as the other man begins to speak, words tumbling out of his mouth in a mumble, as though scared that his questions would send Heath flying into another fit. Fingers rake through Heath's hair as he pushes it out of his face, letting out a huff of breath before he folds his arms over his chest and stares down at the other. He really didn't think it was that difficult to discern good information from bad, especially from someone that had grown up in a Military family. But Colton was... Different.

"I need information that will help me take those bastards down," he finally speaks in a gruff tone, a slight sneer on his face as he speaks about his 'mortal enemies'. "Some made up fantasy of some creature you believe to be the gang's leader will do nothing for my investigation," he continues with a wave of his hand, as though dismissing Colton's earlier claims that had first sent him into a rage.

"Locations. Where are their main headquarters? What buildings house underground fighting arenas? From there, we need numbers: how many gang members are located at each location? What kind of weapons do they have? I need information that will help me devise a plan of action, that will help us infiltrate them — and eradicate them once and for all." As he finishes, Heath pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, taking a moment to take a drag of the cigarette before finally turning his attention to Colton once more, a huff of smoke trailing from his lips as he asks:

"Got it?"

Tag Colton Holcombe

Posted 02-20-2022, 10:38 PM

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