Author has written 5 stories for Need for Speed series, Pokémon, Cherub, and Highschool of the Dead.
Hey there, welcome to my page on FanFiction.net
Favourite Series: (editing in progress)
Line of Duty
Stories out and coming soon:
Vulcan: New Beginnings
Vulcan: Unfortunate Reality (Sequel to New Beginnings)
Vulcan: Dark Art
Vulcan: Going Forward in Reverse (Sequel to Dark Art)
Vulcan (Currently codenamed 4)
Life Before Masterhood: The Deadly Dead Bug
Need For Speed:
Need For Speed Undercover UK Style
Previews for Upcoming Stories:
Life After Masterhood; He's Not Helping Me!:
‘To be honest pal; I’m just hoping I’m ready for this battle, let alone meeting a legend again.’ Ayumi thought to herself as she stood on the opposite side of the battle field. Ever since she saw Suicune at the Burnt Tower; Ayumi had felt a lot less confident than normal, she couldn’t put her finger on the exact reason though. She just hoped this lack of confidence wasn’t going to upset her battle strategy.
“Are we ready over there Ayumi?” Morty asked across the field, snapping Ayumi out of her trance. “Gastly!” Morty shouted as he tossed his first poke ball into the air. The gas Pokémon emerged from its capsule, letting out a strange noise as it did so.
Ayumi fired up her pokedex to get her bearings for the oncoming battle. The image showed Morty’s animated sprite before being replaced with Gastly. The Gastly was male and level 21, hopefully not too much of a problem. Ayumi looked down at Bellsprout and then at Gastly before looking at Bellsprout again. ‘OK, let’s do this.’ She thought before sending Bellsprout into the field.
“Gastly, Mean Look!” Morty ordered straight off the bat. The Ghost type executed the order immediately, and with incredible speed too. Gastly’s mean look created a red light around Bellsprout which then appeared to shatter, causing Bellsprout to look around completely dumbfounded.
Vulcan; New Beginnings:
"Hello, Universal Exports London, how may I help?" came the voice from over the phone. Zane initially hesitated before replying, not used to the whole secrecy gimmicks MI5 and 6 played.
"This is Commanding Officer Zane Wilkins of Vulcans Fourth Squad, requesting Zara Asker immediately." rushed out of his mouth. The tension in his voice was clear but the woman on the other end wasn't going to rush herself.
"I'm sorry, she's in a meeting and cannot be disturbed -"
"Listen here love. You drag her out of that meeting, tell her to call Special Branch and get an SAS squad on standby, because one of her agents has been kidnapped by the IR f()&@ing A!" Zane spat, obviously irritated by the lack of urgency on the other end.
"Can you hold for a minute?"
"Sure... Why not?"
Vulcan; Dark Art:
Chapter X: Paris
Zane was partially glad that the operation in Northern Ireland and later Georgia had blown over quickly. The result wasn't the expected one, not to mention that he was probably still on Zara's worry list.
Right now though wasn't the time to worry about CHERUB; he had Vulcan matters to tend to in the French capital.
The Brit had known for a while that COs had meetings, but he was totally unaware about what they were about. As well as that; he hadn't met even half of the other COs, so it was imperative to make a good first impression on some of the most experienced Vulcans around.
Because of the nature of their work and their location none of the COs was going to be in full uniform, instead the CO at the head of this meeting; Alain Arnoux, had insisted on suits and ties. As such, Zane had had his suit ready for the past month.
Karla had given him a hand with choosing it as he knew nothing about suits; he was still surprised as to how knowledgeable Karla had been about suits. In the end they'd settled on a black suit, without pin-stripes, a red shirt and black tie.
He sat in the Parisian hotel room waiting for a text from Karla. He'd sent her a pic for her approval. As he waited, he began to think why these meetings were so secretive; Dana Whiteman had been to a few and never spoke a word about what had happened in them. As well as that, his father; Eoin – due to his experience – had been in a number of these meetings too; and he'd been equally silent on the contents of them.
The text from Karla had been a resounding approval of Zane's attire; however, she was yet to be convinced by the month's worth of face fur he'd acquired. The attempted goatee beard had been grown in order for Zane to look a little older than he was. People had thought of him in the past to be three years older than he actually was, he wasn't convinced that the goatee would improve that perception though.
Before leaving the hotel, the woman behind the desk on the ground floor collared Zane.
"Monsieur Winton," he'd given a false name, as was protocol for these meetings apparently. "A package was left for you earlier." The desk clerk informed Zane, handing him a package with his room number on it.
"Mercí," he replied taking the package from her.
He left the hotel before opening the letter that'd been left for him. The contents were a letter with details of where the meeting was to take place, and how to get there.
"You've got to love Paris's underground…" Zane smiled to himself, playing with thoughts as to how the package had been delivered. His thoughts were interrupted by his phone going off. The Brit was slightly surprised to see the caller I.D.
"Bonsoir Monsieur Klein," Zane flamboyantly answered. "How are you?"
"Not too bad Zane. Why the French accent?" the American asked slightly confusedly, due to being unaware of Zane's meeting.
"Je suis dans Paris en ce moment." Zane replied enthusiastically, despite hating the French language.
"Zane, all I got from that was Paris. I'm assuming that's where you are." Dan replied, confused slightly by the Brit speaking in French.
"Sorry about that. And yes I'm in Paris." Zane responded, but his English still had a strong French twang to it.
"With Karla?" Dan asked slyly.
"I wish, no I've a meeting; and that's all I can really say about it." The Brit replied, slightly dismayed at the fact that he wasn't in France for pleasure. "How's Alex?"
"She's not too bad, just bought an Allroad."
"Doesn't sound too bad…"
"With my money…" Dan interrupted stalely. Zane couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Dan having to fork out for his misses' new car. "$40K aside, I just wanted to let you know that the U.S Coastguard and Homeland Security had begun their investigation into the people smuggling trade from Europe." Zane's tone turned serious on hearing that.
"Well that's something. At least you guys have actually started working on it, that bastard Home Secretary is more worried with reorganising SOCA and the Border Agency than actually letting them do their job." Zane spat acidly. That was something he was going to sort out when he got back from France.
"Zane," Dan spoke solemnly, trying to snap Zane out of his sudden pissed-off mode. "How are Karla and you getting on?"
The question caught Zane off guard slightly. Dan sensed this in how hesitant Zane was in giving his answer.
"Remember what fine means? Freaked-out, insecure, neurotic and emotional." Dan informed Zane.
"Dan, I know what fine means. I told you that after our first op..." He spoke softly. "I need to go know Dan, I'll speak to you soon." Before Dan could argue, the line was cut, as Zane had arrived at his destination.
Entering the room the meeting was to be in, Zane noted a few faces that he recognised; chief among which where the Scottish CO of UK 1st Squadron – Robert McNish – as well as the fabled 'Godfather' Boris Vilani, CO 4th Russian Vulcan.
Instantly Zane made his way to the familiar face of the Godfather. It felt odd to Zane having a conversation in French with a Russian but that's what was called for.
"Good evening, Boris. How are you, sir?" Zane asked politely. Boris turned to face the Brit with, what Zane could have sworn was, a slight smile on the Russian's face.
"Ah Zane! I'm well thank you, yourself?" Boris eagerly asked. Zane had never seen Boris even slightly chipper before, let alone eager.
"Considering recent circumstances, I'm fine I suppose." Zane solemnly replying. "How was your training op?" He asked out of curiosity, he was met with the sort of response that was to be expected of the Godfather.
"Could've been better," Boris turned to steal a glimpse in the direction of Robert McNish and the subsequent gathering. "You know what I find funny Zane?" He asked out of the blue.
"No sir. What is it?"
"It's that your Welsh and Scottish counterparts are chatting with the Americans, your French counterparts too. You're the only westerner that's speaking to us Russians." The elder Vulcan explained matter-of-factly.
"I suspect it's to do with how I know you best out of the other 4th Squadron COs." Zane guessed at the statement. Before Boris could reply, one of the French COs barged his way into the conversation.
"Boris, who is this? I thought you of all people would know the regulations..." the Frenchman went into a rant explaining how ridiculous Boris had been by letting a 19-year-old into a Vulcan meeting, and a CO meeting of all things.
Boris stood, non-phased by the rambling, only speaking once their French counterpart was finished. "Francois, meet CO Zane Wilkins." The look on Boris's face gave Francois just screamed 'don't you fucking dare lecture me.'
Francois looked at Zane with slight disbelief. "This is the Cleaner's son? That is Eoin's son?" Zane went to hold his hand out to Francois, despite wanting to punch the man for thinking too much out loud.
"Commanding Officer Zane Wilkins, UK 4th Squadron. At your service sir."
"Please excuse me Zane, I didn't recognise you. My name is Francois Vogel, of France 2nd Squadron." The Frenchman greeted, accepting Zane's handshake too. Zane had a feeling that if Boris hadn't been here he wouldn't still be in the room.
However, it seemed that one of the other COs had overheard Francois's commotion.
"Did I hear that the Cleaner's boy is here?" boomed a thick American voice. It belonged to a five foot six, forty-something New Yorker. He'd seen his fair share of punch-ups judging by his mangled nose and cauliflower ears. "Joseph Wahlbergh, US 1st Squad. I thought you'd be bigger," Wahlbergh spoke aloud.
"It's a pleasure sir," Zane spoke through gritted teeth at the obvious comment at his developing muscle.
"Ah cut the sir bullcrap son, we're all commanders." Wahlbergh bleated. "If you were ya dad though, then it would be sir especially after that right ol' cock up..."
"That's enough Wahlbergh!" Boris cut in, stopping the stocky yank from continuing. It wasn't often that Boris shouted, but when he did, you damn well stopped talking. It was even rarer that anyone, even a fellow CO, back chatted the Godfather.
"C'mon Vilani, you know as well as I do that one of them fucked up. Wouldn't surprise me if it was Wilki..." Wahlberg didn't get to finish his sentence as Boris had knocked the brash git out with a right hook.
Everyone in the room stood in silence. Every senior Vulcan was aware of Vilani's way of doing things, and as such was looked up to as the man who made the casting decisions. For him to have knocked out a fellow CO meant that the topic of conversation had turned sour long ago.
"Sir? Boris? What did Wahlberg mean by 'that right ol' cock up'?"
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