R.J. MacCready - D6M, 16

One of the most defining moments of Emperor Caligula's prideful reign occurred when he ordered the soldiers of his army to collect seashells as "the spoils of the sea". This led to…

"I'm almost ready to head out, Richard." I look up from my book as my father removes his surgeon coat. The clock shows that it's five-forty, ten minutes passed when his shift is supposed to end. I hadn't realized it was so late. I stuff my small book into my pocket and stand up. I'll have to finish my chapter later.

Just as my dad flips off the lights and we leave his office, a young nurse comes running up. "Dr. MacCready," she pants, as if she ran to find us, "Dr. MacCready, I'm sorry, but we need you to stay a little longer. Some teenagers got into a fight with some peacekeepers. A lot of them need medical attention. We're already short staffed, and if you leave, I don't know if we'll be able to help them all!"

"No worries, Ella," my father smiles, putting the teenage nurse at ease. "I can stay as long as you need. Send up the first patient."

We reenter the office, and my father pulls his surgeon coat over the arms. "I might need your help, Richard," he says. "It'll be good practice for when you take over." I wince at how my father uses my first name. I much prefer to be called R.J., but my father insists that "Dr. Richard MacCready" sounds a lot better than "Dr. R.J. MacCready".

The sound of a stretcher rolling down the hall draws my thoughts away from the dilemma of my name. I wonder who the patient will be. Perhaps it's a boy who the peacekeepers tried to make an example of, just as Caligula instated treason trials. Perhaps it's one of his friends who fought valiantly to restore justice in the face of tyranny. The door opens, and I wait expectantly, wanting to know which brave soul we will be helping tonight.

The stretcher is wheeled in, and my stomach drops.

A peacekeeper.

We have to help a peacekeeper.

Hoc sugit.

This sucks.

My father and I exchange glances before getting to work. We would never refuse help to anyone, not even a peacekeeper. However, although our actions show only kindness, my thoughts soon turn to hatred.

This man stands for all that is facist.

All that is imperialist.

All that I hate.

I keep my hatred hidden as I bandage a cut on the peacekeeper's upper arm. Eventually, he's able to walk, and, although my father still recommends he rest, he leaves without a word.

"Gratias!" I yell after him. "Nunc ut vales, cur alios innocentes non terres?"

My father gives me a look. "Do I want to know what you just said?"

I smirk. "It's not that bad. I only said 'you're welcome'. Then I told him that, since he's well, why doesn't he go terrorize some other innocent people?"

My father laughs. "You're lucky no one else speaks Greek, Richard."

"Latin." I smile to myself. My moral code may make me help anyone in need, but that doesn't mean I can't insult them in a language they can't understand.

It's my occulta seditionis.

My secret rebellion.

Porsche Romeo - D6F, 17

We're cornered. Both of us.

Me and my best friend.

Me and the love of my life.

Me and my cane.

The loan shark approaches us, teeth bared. "Romeo!" he snarles, completely refusing to address my cane. How rude!

"Why so formal?" I respond. "My friends call me Porsche." My cane taps in agreement. I continue, "I can't recall your name. Can I call you Sharky?"

"Since when did you consider me your friend?" Sharky asks, completely disregarding my question about his name. How rude!

"Ever since you lent me that twenty-thousand for my poker game."

"Which you lost, which is why I'm here."

Anyone who knows me will tell you that losing poker is my specialty. That's only partially true. I have excellent skill. I just have terrible luck. Either that, or the game is rigged. The jury's still out on that one. My cane thinks it might be rigged. I might just have to agree.

Unfortunately, loan sharks don't care whether or not the game is rigged. They only care that I pay them back, which is an area I'm not skilled in.

"Listen, Sharky," I sigh, tapping my cane. "We both know how this is going to go. You're going to say 'give me the money' and then I'll tell you that I don't have it, so then you'll beat me up. It sounds fun and all, but please aim fot the stomach. It's easiest to hide."

I stand tall, waiting for the fun to begin. Sharky eyes me suspiciously as he comes closer. His arm moves quickly, but instead of punching me, he grabs my cane. I let out a surprised yelp and try to take it back, but Sharky moves away. How rude!

I feel a sharp pain in my stomach as my cane jabs into it.

Then my face.

Then my knee.

It's not as fun, knowing that it's my most loyal friend that's inflicting the pain.

Eventually, the party stops, and Sharky remains still.

"I guess I'll see you next week, then," I wheeze, still trying to catch my breath.

Sharky grunts, snaps my cane in half, throws it on the ground, and leaves. He's one of my least favorite loan sharks.

I stare down at my broken cane. It was a good friend. It lived a good life. It will be impossible to replace.

Then again, it was pretty bad at poker.

If I'm being honest, it was probably the reason I lost so much.

Maybe this is for the best.

I hum a quiet funeral march as I hurry off to find another stick and give it the honor of being my cane.

Hey guys! I guess that you've noticed that there was no Ebony POV in this chapter. Tbh, her commentary was giving me intense writer's block and is the reason I haven't updated in forever. You've probably noticed how repetitive it was getting. I'm going to try a few chapters without her and see how it goes! Thanks for your patience as I stumble blindly through my first SYOT! Until next time!