[fic] tabaqui: The World Where Yesternight You Died
[ Jared/Jensen ]
Title: The World Where Yesternight You Died
Writer: tabaqui
Alternate links: AO3
Status of work: WIP
Characters and/or pairings: Jared/Jensen
Rating: R
Warnings, kinks & contents:[Click to read]None listed so far
Length: TBD
Summary: In the year 2294, Jensen is an elite soldier - an ArchANGEL, known and feared through the 'verse. Jared is an indentured 'employee' of the Company, indebted for his life and his continuing health and happiness.
They are both living with secrets that will cause their lives to intersect, and put them both on the path to exposing one of the biggest cover-ups in the 'verse.
Reccer's notes: I love science fiction and this story is right up my street. It's got a great Aliens and Joe Haldman's The Forever War vibe to it, dark, terse with lots of chatter going on on the com. Jensen leading a pack of battle hardened ArchANGELs, with a feral ease and cunning. Lovely tech bits and descriptions of their biomech and the drug cocktail that keeps them revved that totally immerse you in this world of genetically enhanced Angels as we follow Jensen's Nephilim into battle. A must read for anyone who loves scifi, but it's the relationships between the Nephilim, the easy camaraderie of soldiers at arms that really pulls you in and makes you care about all of them. Looking forward to how it all unfolds.
[Short excerpt]The kid stepped closer, out of shadow and into a spot of the watery blue-grey light, and Issac swiftly catalogued what he was seeing. Thin limbs, ribs prominent, legs bowed and the teeth that showed in the animal snarl discolored. He was naked - corpse-pale, speckled with bruises and scars. Most of his hair was hacked off in short, uneven tufts, but long locks over the ears and in a crest along the top of his head were plastered with what might be paint, might be...fuck, anything. Matted twists and spikes hung down past his shoulders.
His arms were wound with long lengths of wire, knotted around his fingers and twisted up to his shoulders, across and around his neck like some bizarre and barbaric ornamentation. He had a long piece of jagged, stained metal in one hand, the grip wrapped with strips of plastic. Issac had no doubt it could rip right through skin and muscle. Probably his damn suit, if the kid tried hard enough.
The eyes in the gaunt, smeared face looked...not entirely sane, over-bright and fevered, a glittering and disconcerting green. His gaze swept over Issac, head to toe, and he lifted the weapon up high, over his head. Issac braced for a leap - a rush - but the kid let out an inhuman bellow, and the mob behind him, behind Issac, quieted.