A/n: this, is something I have absolutely no clue about, because I am in a state of haze as I write this. (Happens when you've been reading a lot of good stuff when you should be reading for your exams XD)

Character sketch:

Vraj Choksey: A 24 year old male, who joins the revolting side due to being pressurized. He is extremely arrogant and sarcastic. He now works for the government as an undercover agent, trying to prove himself to be worth the 'good' side. He doesn't believe in god, but believes only in himself.

Setting: 2014. There has been a war going on for the past three years, because a group of people decided to rebel against the government. It was easily handled at first, but the situation got out of control as another country joined on the rebelling side. A rebellion turned into a great war.

20 January, 2014

The present.

There is smoke, and smoke, and blood. Blood all over on everything. It's on her hands and she can feel it caked and layered on her face. It makes her want to throw up, and so she does, all over her new shoes. She spits and spits to try to get rid of the long strands of saliva and the horrible taste in her mouth, but it doesn't work.

She breathes deep, her throat burning and raw, and her breath catches in her chest. Her feet, numb and dumb, trip over themselves and then on a body. It is warm and crunches and squishes under her foot at the same time. He is dead beneath his blood splattered face, but she still scrambles away from him. She spits the puke from her mouth, closing her eyes, and sees his lifeless brown eyes staring back up at her.

Her fingers curl in grass and dirt, and she's crawling. Crawling until she manages to get enough momentum up to pull her feet to the ground, and then she's running. Running and running through all the smoke and the smell of sulphur.

There is a cracking in her chest, and throat, as she strangles air through all the bile, and her heart is a dead weight in the hole made for it. She's starting to edge to hysteria and she knows it, because her tears have made her blind and she's running without paying attention.

Through grey she sees movement, trivial at first and then an outline of a hood against the smoke. They collapse to the ground as she lowers her gun, and she keeps running, wounds crisscross her skin, and her shirt is soaked with her own blood. It's running from her head in gushes that don't seem to end, and she twirls and twirls in a dizzy sort of dream.

"Help!" she tries, screams, because she can't find the medical attention she needs in eyesight alone. "Help me! Help me, please! Shit! Shit!" she breaths, harsh. "Damn it! Damn. Damn."

Her breath is rush, rush rushing and then she is hyperventilating. Gasping in air and reaching out to clutch something, but there is nothing there. The world tips, spinning up, then to her right, and then any air she had left leaves her in a whoosh, without a fight. She is met with blackness before she can even breathe again.

27 December 2012

The Past

The dungeons are damp. She feels a rush of cold air wash over her the minute she sets foot into the dark place, and a sharp, nauseating smell fills her lungs. It smells something between wet cement and animal feces, but she can't assume how. It is so eerily silent, that her footsteps echo around her and she can hear her steady breathing so loud, that she thinks she is capable of going deaf. She trips over something she doesn't see, and her hand reaches out to the stone walls on instinct. She walks slowly along the torch lit path, dragging her fingertips along the wall, but she can barely see anything. The wall feels jagged and cold beneath her fingers and the rough floors press painfully through her flats against her feet.

Her heartbeat is a gradually growing crescendo in her ribcage, and she can no longer contain the fear that threatens to swallow her. She knows that coming into a dungeon full of the most ferocious beats isn't the brightest ideas she's had, but she can no longer contain the need to see him again. She feels her throat go dry all of a sudden. But then again, having a convicted criminal for a lover isn't one of her life choices she is proud of, and neither is it reassuring to her safety. But she knows that suppressing this urge means her great harm, and she cannot live with the burden of killing herself.

She is certain that this is the last day she lives, and she allows herself to drown in misery for a few minutes before she hears that ear piercing scream. She knows before she even sees the person that it's him, and she closes her eyes for a brief second, before she's running towards the voice.

In her pre-occupation, she doesn't realize running past his cell door until she actually does. She mentally curses herself before turning around and sprinting back. He looks bleary, tired of struggling and her heart reaches out to him, before she reminds herself that she can't love him. Sweat drips off his fringe in beads, and he is shirtless- jumper shrugged carelessly to the back of some nearby chair; some large piece of clothing, either a cloak or a long winter jacket, similarly discarded. She sees them then, the cuts, the scrapes and the ugly purplish bruises blooming all over his torso. There is a deep gash underneath the bandages that he has recklessly applied to himself, and she can already see blood seep out of them.

She can make out at least one large rip in the black fabric of his trousers as well-(Black, black, black. How could he manage to wear all that black in weather like this? She feels damp and sticky from the heat in just her sleeveless blouse and lightweight peasant skirt. And her hair is already a hopeless frizz in the unseasonably humid warmth) - a deep gash there too. From what she can see of his body-and she can see a lot- a fine sheen of sweat covers him nearly from head to toe. And here was the thing, blood sweat and bruises aside, he was, and she had to admit to herself, absolutely beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, feral, dangerous way, but beautiful nonetheless, and it-

"Take a picture, why don't you," he snarls abruptly, making her jump and blush to the roots of her hair, because it seems, after all, he has seen her "it'll last longer."

"God, Choksey," she manages, appalled, after she has gained some modicum of composure. "What did they do to you?"

He gives her a venomous glare from underneath the sweat sodden fringe that is pasted across his eyes, as he continues to tend himself. "All in a night's work" he says flatly, grimacing as he pulls the bandage closer around his ribs.

"But that'smonstrous!" she says, "How can… how can you even pretend to be one of them when they..."

"When they what?" he cuts in, furious, "you think the 'bad' side did this to me?" he asks, punctuating bad with quotation marks for extra effect. "Gosh, how naïve are you? They didn't do this to me, your side did. Your bloody side! They raided tonight. You know damn well that they've got no bloody idea what I'm doing. They would've killed me-slowly and painfully, if they could. And they did kill. What do you think, that your side's bloody pacifist? There's a war on!" he gets to his feet abruptly, brushing his hair out of his eyes, looking, with clenched fists, across the room to her.

"So wake up!" he spits in conclusion, kicking the chair he'd been sitting on as an added little bit of punctuation.

She feels as though she's been punched. The revelation of Vraj's injuries coming from the police force- the good guys- left him so shocked that she couldn't comprehend where he was coming from.

"So why are you doing this? Why are you helping us" she asks, even though she knows the answer. She's heard the story, but she's never heard it from him. His jaw actually really drops a little as he stares at her, astonished, it seems, that she has the guts to voice it out in front of him. His hand clenches and unclenches, and he feels a fire inside him that heats up his cheeks. But whatever that is, he doesn't answer, and so she turns away from him. She still waits, in case he says something, but all she hears is nothing.

"Look I'm sorry" she says already moving away, "I just came down to see if you were okay, Sara said-forget it. I shouldn't have pried. Whatever you're doing this for were grat-"

"I don't want your concern Vinithra!" he explodes behind her "and I DON'T want your bloody gratitude either! You can take your bleeding heart and choke on it for all I care."

She turns back toward him, ready finally to give him a piece of her mind, but she didn't get the chance. He had stopped only to take in a harsh painful breath. He was nearly mad with rage.

"You think I'm doing this for you? You think I give a damn weather you like or die!?" his fists are clenching and unclenching spasmodically, as if itching to seize up something and hurl it against a wall- or her neck and throttle her.

How exactly could someone live with so much of anger inside them? Vinithra wonders, before he bursts again.

"THEY KILLED MY MOTHER!" he yells, "they killed her and I was forced to watch! She was killed just as an example so that someone wouldn't want to escape again. The killed her in front of my own sodding eyes" he spits, before he finally breaks down, he is a pool of withering emotions, and this is the weakest she's seen him. Never has he been so vulnerable, but today it just feels different, and Vinithra suddenly feels guilty for pestering him about this, but she hasn't a clue what she can do now, because she knows that if she tries to comfort him, he will push her off with some random insult that only he can think of. So she just stands there. She just stands right there before Adi and Kaushik walk in.

"Are you crying Choksey?" a voice asks from behind her, and she swears, because she doesn't think he's crying. It's simply beads of sweat rolling off his fringe into is eyes. Yes, that's what it is. But she gets no chance to defend him, because Adi interrupts just as Vraj narrows his eyes at the pair of them, which are shooting sparks at Kenny. And he is out of the room before any of the two of them can bat an eyelid. He does, however, stop by Vinithra to say his parting words. He whispers then into her ear, and even that little contact sends shivers up and down her spine.

"I bloody hate you" he whispers, through gritted teeth. And he does. Because she is the reason Aditya and Kaushik have seen him in a state like this. And he is gone, his footsteps echoing throughout the dungeon as he makes his way back up to the headquarters.

A/n: Does THEY KILLED MY MOTHER ring any bells? Ok, so this is GREATLY inspired by Harry Potter, because I love him to death. Ha! And all the characters mentioned are either a part of CID, or the wonderful PR's creations. I only own Vraj Choksey and nothing else. So I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, but you can expect this to have a lot of anger, angst and fighting (I guess). There will be one or two more chapters after this, so yeah. See ya then!

Cheers

-Metallic Mist