TomTord oneshots

i'll end up, i'll end up, i'll end up alone

this is like... a trailer for a future fic, for once I finish OFH. so light spoilers? I guess? For a fic that won't be coming out for months? whoops

Soft fingertips traced a picture. Four men stood, though the colors of blue, red, green, and purple were blurred. It shimmered in the dark room, illuminated by nothing more than the light of a computer screen.

Wait. That wasn't a computer screen.

A man stood there, clutching the photo. He wore a black hoodie, fading into the darkness. The light came from the LED mask he wore; light some from the outline of his face, a beak, and the outline of his eyes; all thanks to the mask, of course. The hoodie clung to his body, which seemed rather skinny. Perhaps the boy hadn't eaten in awhile.

Then again, who could have a real meal in these days?

He flinched when a bomb screamed overheard. He leaned on the wall; he didn't have to worry about his personal safety. He stood beneath the war world in a tunnel far under the surface.

Only, he could hope that the war world didn't seep into his home.

"Sir!" [REDACTED] said suddenly, making him jump and flinch.

He gave the person a weary smile. "Time to go already?"

They nodded.

A sigh escaped his lips as he pushed past them, walking down a tunnel hall. He gently adjusted his mask as the noise of a small crowd entered his ear. Maybe thirty, forty people.

He winced. Smaller than he wanted.

Slipping into the back room, he looked around at the cameras in front of him. It showed all the people he has recruited. Nobody he recognized. No color he recognized.

He sat down on the chair in front of the camera. Even if not that many people could live down in the massive tunnels under Britain, he could at least reach everyone else through technology.

He checked his firewall to make sure the stream was protected. Adjusting his mask one last time, he let out a soft sigh.

It's now or never, bitches.

He clicked start. The screen counted down from three, giving a moment to ready himself.

Then he went live.

He heard the crowd go silent. They could see him. A grin spread across his lips.

"Hey, rebels." He tilted his head; he didn't have a voice changer. Nobody important would recognize his voice, thanks to [REDACTED]. "It's ya boy, Owl." He chuckled. Of course he nicknamed himself Owl; it's what his mask represented, after all.

Perhaps he shouldn't be goofing off.

"Now, friends, you might be asking what we're doing here today. The White Army is stampeding above us, killing our friends and family—if they're left." He leaned forward. "Well, bitches, that's why I'm here. I have a message for the fools."

He leaned back, relaxing on his chair.

"You could surrender now." He shrugged. "Then you'd save some men that way. Keep them from useless deaths." He tilted his head with sudden intensity as another bomb shook the ground. "Then again, everyone dies, so when you meet your creator, are you coming with a fire in your eyes or your tail between your legs?" he spat before leaning back. "So, General Benjamin Cook, what do you say? I know you always curse me 'with the power of God.'" He brought his hands up for the quotation marks.

Fucking Benjamin Cook.

"Well, I've got news for you, fool. God may have cursed me, but his mortal ideology means nothing in the presence of stubbornness," he spat angrily.

He let out a soft sigh and did his famous hand signature over his mouth. Thumb, middle finger, and index finger sticking out as the other two curled in, hiding his mouth.

"Surrender, General, or you'll regret it."

He ended the livestream and let out a soft sigh. Cheering erupted from the other room as he looked at the amount of people watching.

Almost one billion. Only 1/12 of the population. He sighed.

The population would be dwindling soon enough. It was already dwindling.

He got up and left, slipping away from everyone else as he rushed to his room. He got inside, shutting and locking the door behind him.

A soft sigh escaped him. How much longer could he do this?

Pulling off his mask, he grabbed the photo once more. Black eyes blinked down at the photo. A sniffle escaped him as he pulled his hood down before running his fingers through his spikey hair.

"I'm sorry, guys," he mumbled before slowly crumpling to the ground. "I wish..."

He swallowed.

"I wish I could come home."

But you don't always get what you want, do you?