Title – Fire Domain
Summary – A secret assassins organisation offers to get the twins out of prison. Their terms? The boys work for them, hunting down a DIFFERENT kind of danger. Warning – Starts out VERY dark! Will feature supernatural elements and dark creatures.
Rating – M for dark themes, implied non-con, violence and language (and all in the first chapter, too). You saw the movies you'll be fine.
Comments – I'm almost positive nothing like this has ever been posted for BDS, so bear with me.
Disclaimer – defiantly don't own Conner or Murphy, nor do I own the song lyrics that introduce each chapter (I only wish I could write poetry as deep as Slipknot). I do however own the organisation Fire Domain, it is actually in a novel I am working on, so HANDS OFF MY SECRET ASSASINS ORGANISATION!
Take this away
Take this away
I can feel it on my mouth
I can taste you on my fingers
I can hear you like the Holy Ghost
And kill you if you get too close
Slipknot – Left Behind
Was it all a dream? That man who appeared last night in my cell..................... He couldn't have been real. This is a maximum security fucking prison!
"Conner."
Conner could faintly hear his name being called, and he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Earth to fucking Conner MacManus!"
Conner finally lifted his head up when he felt Murphy shake his shoulder."
"Hu? Oh, sorry Murph. Just spaced out."
Murphy rolled his eyes. "You were fine last night. What could have possibly happened between then and breakfast this morning?"
"To tell you the truth Murph, I have no fucking clue. I had this weird dream."
"Yeah, what about?"
Conner hesitated. He felt like he was going crazy. After all, it had been almost a month sence the warden separated them, making them sleep in their own cells. He was afraid they might conspire and hatch a plan to escape. So, for the past twenty eight days and counting, the brothers slept (or didn't sleep) knowing that the other was clear down the hall, not five feet away as it had always been. It had also been just yesterday that the warden had taken them out of their tv room and placed them in general population. Today was only their second day in the yard.
Conner finally began his story, "There was this...this man in my cell. He was dressed the way we were when we were 'working'. His hair was straight, black. The strangest thing about him though were his eyes. They were pitch black. The whites were still, ya know, white, but the part that's supposed to be green or blue or brown was as black as, ya know, the part that's supposed to be black. It was fucking creepy as hell."
Conner fell silent for a moment. Then in a voice that edged on fear, he said, "Conner, I've had that same fucking dream."
"We've shared dreams before. This is probably no different. It will only get worse now that we're separated."
The brothers sighed together. The two sat on the bench in silence, content with just eachothers company.
That was until a group of 15 or 20 huge ass mother fuckers came stalking towards them.
The twins just starred at the mob growing frighteningly close. Conner turned his eyes to Murphy, but did not turn his head. "Just. Stay. Cool."
"Well what the fuck do you know!" declared the man who seemed to be leading the mob. He was about 6'1, his entire body was nothing but muscle, but not bulky can't-hold-his-arms-streight muscle. He was obviously caucasian, but very tan. His shirt was unbuttoned revealing a pit bull tattoo in the center of his chest. He also had barbed wire spiraling up his arms. His pale green eyes glared at them in evil amusement. "If it isn't the mother fucking Saints."
"Los Santos," echoed a short Hispanic man with a mohawk that reminded them of Romeo's.
Romeo. If he hadn't died of his injuries from The Roman's mansion, he defiantly would have died here. He wouldn't have been able to stay calm.
"We're not saints," Conner replied calmly as the brothers stood together. "Were just killers like the rest of you, leave us alone."
Cruel chuckles spread through the gang.
The leader snatched Conner's left hand. Conner tried to pull it back, but the man had a tight grip arond his wrist. "Veritas," the man read.
Conner answered, "Truth."
"And what is it they say about truth, hm? C'mon, tell me Saint."
"The truth will set you free."
The man with the pit bull grinned. "And so it shall. However," he stepped in front of Murphy, Who's eyes widened with fear. "I'm afraid the luck o' the Irish has not been extended to your brother."
Conner was about to lunge forward, but before he could move an inch he was grabbed by fore men.
"Get him," the man motioned to Murphy. All at once, everyone in the gang who wasn't restraining Conner was jumping Murphy.
"NO!" Conner screamed at the top of his lungs and struggled as hard as he could to free himself. "NO! You fuckfaced bastards! Get the fuck off Murphy!
"Conner!" Murphy screamed, barely audible from the commotion. Every prisoner in the yard began to gather around. No way the guards were getting involved in this. This wouldn't stop until the ravenous hoard said it stopped.
The brothers screamed each others names and various profanity as the a few men who had a hold of Murphy dragged him the the wall of the yard. Two men held him against the wall by the arms while others took turns punching, jabbing, slapping and kicking him.
By the time the men holding Conner made it through the crowd to make Conner watch, Murphy was covered in blood.
"MURPHY!"
"Con-" Murphy tried to choke out his brother's name, but he was interrupted when the men holding him against the wall threw him to the ground. He hit the dusty ground face first with a grunt. One of the men who had restrained him before knelt down and straddled his lower back. The bulky, muscular man grabbed Murphy's right arm and twisted it behind his back. Murphy groaned painfully through clenched teeth. Strangely though, he did not think much of the pain. What tortured him most was that Conner was forced to watch this. He could here him screaming his name, even over the cheering and yelling of the crowd of violent felons. Or maybe he could feel Conner screaming his name. He tuned out the audience and focused his mind on Conner, thanking the Lord that this was happening to him and not to his brother. But what was worse, being tortured or being forced to watch the torture?
Conner wondered the same thing as he stood still restrained by fore men. He wasn't struggling so hard now, because he knew that even if he did manage to wriggle free, he would just be jumped by twice as many men. But he didn't stop screaming. He couldn't hear anything, not even his own screams. But it was as if he could hear what Murphy felt- his pain, his desperation, his humiliation. He felt Murphy crying out to God to help him. Conner hated that he could only watch. He could not save his brother from what was happening.
Or from what he knew was coming.
Finally he did hear something. As the man on top of Murphy twisted and pulled on his arm, he suddenly jerked it upward. The pop was probably heard all the way back in Ireland. Murphy screamed long and loud.
"AAAAAAAAAH! Son of a.....GAAAAH! Fuck!"
"You heard him boys!" shouted a man in the crowd.
For the first time sense this all began Conner grew silent. His eyes widened with the deepest terror he had ever felt.
Murphy felt Conner's terror, as well as his own.
No.
Not that.
Anything but that.
The man from the crowd who had shouted stepped up just in front of Murphy. He cocked sick grin and kicked dust in Murphy's face. The man then turned to look at Conner. He just grinned and turned his eyes back to Murphy, who was choking on a mixture of dust, mud, and blood.
Conner released his rage with a scream to meat no match. "NO! NOOOO!" Conner eventually had to stop to breath. "N...Nu............."
The last thing Conner saw before he passed out was the man from the crowd dropping to his knees in front of Murphy. Blood pressure had spared Conner from watching what would happen to his brother, his only family, his teammate, his best friend, the other half of his fucking soul.
Conner would be spared.
But Murphy would not be spared.