project vessel (twenty one pilots)

twelve - atheist

The rooftop wasn't welcoming, but that wasn't particularly a surprise.

"You're certain this will work, sir?" A scout awkwardly adjusted her rifle, tilting her olive cap over her eyebrows and flicking hair out of her eyes by huffing. Tyler turned away from the edge of the railing that loomed precariously over the street; the metal groaned in relief as he quickly stepped away, momentarily horrified by the poor quality of the construction. The air Tyler sharply inhaled was thick with smoke and suffocating humidity, and his lungs pleaded for more. It was sticky, hot, and clouded with the varying, tainted scents of city: breeding fear, filth, the products of human misery and wasting away. Clouds tasted like discarded cigarettes crushed by heavy heels reflecting the pieced-apart, crumbling shards of a city's fading, dismal dreams. Nonetheless, Tyler rolled up the sleeves of his canvas green coat and cleared his throat, briefly scratching his nose as thought fragments strung together into words in some distant pocket of his brain. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Macy, sir."

"And how old are you, Macy?" He squinted, tilting his chin up slightly. Studying her for a moment, he concluded that she could only be a teenager, possessing the build of a strong child at most. Remaining innocence and childishness were observable in her ratty, hastily-tied black pigtails that were tucked messily beneath her cap. Likewise, the baggy ends of her uniform and vest that jutted out of her trousers hinted at having been forced to hastily dress and perhaps the identity of a runaway orphan; baggy men's clothes like her uniform were far too large for someone her small, narrow size of about 5'3. The tag that winked at the corner of her neck pointed to a more understandable conclusion; the clothes were stolen and mended by someone sloppily, most likely her.

"Sixteen and three-quarters, sir. But I'm turning seventeen in a month, I promise." She hastily replied, gripping the gun tighter as if trying to assert her usefulness. A sigh of defeat escaped Tyler's lips, but it broke and gave way to a weary smile. He shook his head, placing a hand on her shoulder, trying to say something although tiny, sad laughs kept the words from coming out. What could he really say that his laughter didn't captivate well enough? Macy pursed her lips, nodding understandingly although he hadn't actually said anything.

"You're too young, Macy. But no one is young to want change, I guess. I promise you, Macy, that you're going to survive this...uprising. Right now, it's just minor skirmishes at the borders where we make it out with a few nasty gashes but always have time to lick our wounds and cheer occasionally about tiny victories, but I know everything is going to change. We're going to be hunted, shot at, broadcasted, tortured, and we're going to be killed. We're going to fight til we win and we're bloody and we can do it all day because we're too stubborn to give up. Everyone is going to lose something, someone, the death count is going to scream our names and we will keep marching to our deaths because we're idiots with good intentions and the means by which to end everything evil and damned. I can promise you that you're going to get hurt. Any friends you have will get hurt. People will die. You will kill people and hear them scream for mercy. " Tyler quickly nodded, verbal projectile spilling out anxiously. The scout nodded as well, swallowing hard. His expression softened momentarily, and he murmured. "But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make sure you're safe and survive this. He does too," He lightly tapped his temple, a wave of pain flashing through his brain as Blurryface irritably protested.

"Of course, sir." Her reply was curt and appropriate to the increasingly growing awkwardness of the situation. Tyler didn't respond, eyes darting around the roofs of other buildings and the street below. All were empty, fortunately.Nerves tingled in his fingertips, causing a tiny twitch to develop and irritate him. Part of his mind questioned this fear and anxiety, but the other (most likely the one dominated by Blurryface) embraced the fear as well-earned caution.