#Elevator Video Monitoring

[medicalweightloss100]

Enhancing Elevator Safety with Advanced Wireless CCTV

Enhance elevator security with Elevator Video Systems' wireless CCTV, featuring motion detection, night vision, and cloud connectivity for safer transit.

Discover flexible and powerful elevator surveillance solutions for safe rides.

Elevator Video Systems enhances security with its advanced wireless CCTV, offering easy installation, minimal wiring, and superior image quality. Featuring motion detection, night vision, and cloud connectivity, it ensures real-time monitoring of commercial and residential properties. With expert support, the company leads in innovative elevator surveillance for safer transit systems.

Creative Methods for Installing Wireless Lift Security Cameras

Our wireless CCTV for elevators enables a seamless safety upgrade that transforms traditional elevator surveillance. By replacing extensive cabling with modern wifi CCTV for lift systems, we deliver enhanced security flexibly. The installation of a wireless lift security camera is straightforward, requiring minimal structural interference while providing high-definition clarity and precise coverage. In addition, the battery-powered lift CCTV option minimizes downtime during installation, allowing businesses and residential properties to maintain operations without major disruptions. Advanced features, such as smart CCTV for elevators and remote access CCTV for lifts, further deepen the security measures within elevator cabins.

This innovative system uses cutting-edge technologies to ensure that every detail is captured. With a no-wire elevator security camera, there is reduced clutter and a more aesthetic installation, while the wireless lift monitoring camera assures comprehensive coverage. Regular monitoring via remote access adds an extra layer of protection, creating a highly responsive environment determined to address safety issues swiftly. This approach not only meets modern security standards but also exceeds expectations, making it an ideal solution for safeguarding passengers and easing management efforts.

Ensuring Continuous Elevator Surveillance with Wireless HD Cameras

The integration of a wireless HD camera for elevators is a game changer in modern security systems. Utilizing superior image quality, these cameras provide clear and detailed footage essential for daily surveillance. The system incorporates features such as motion detection and infrared night vision, which ensure smooth operation at any time of day. With no physical wires required, the setup is both rapid and efficient – perfect for retrofit projects and new installations alike. Enhanced by the integration of remote access CCTV for lift systems, security personnel can instantly review footage from any location.

By employing a battery-powered lift CCTV system, facilities benefit from a reliable and renewable power source, minimizing the risk of disruptions. Regular system checks guarantee up-to-date performance, ensuring that even in low-light conditions, the clarity and integrity of video data remain intact. The advantages of adopting a wireless elevator surveillance system include reduced installation costs and greater flexibility in camera placement, creating a comprehensive solution that effectively addresses today's dynamic security challenges.

High-Security Elevator Cameras with Remote Access And Smart Technology

With our wireless lift monitoring camera, security teams gain unprecedented control over elevator environments. This smart CCTV for elevators provides immediate remote access, allowing facility managers to oversee elevator movements and detect potential threats in real-time. The system’s high-definition capabilities ensure that facial details and key security features are captured without compromise. An integrated alarm system can warn personnel of irregular activity immediately, positioning the setup as an ideal solution for busy high-rise buildings where rapid response is crucial.

Moreover, the emphasis on a cloud-based platform and advanced analytics transforms traditional elevator surveillance into an interactive and responsive security system. The wireless HD camera not only delivers exceptional clarity but also analyzes activity patterns to predict and prevent security breaches. The combination of smart sensors and real-time monitoring makes this system highly adaptable, ensuring every ride is safe and every incident is recorded accurately. This forward-thinking technology empowers both occupants and operators with the tools needed for a secure environment.

Cutting-Edge Features and Advantages of No-Wires Elevator Cameras

Our no-wires elevator security camera is designed for modern buildings that demand aesthetic integrity and functional excellence. This system eliminates unsightly cabling, ensuring a clean installation that blends seamlessly with interior designs. The wireless connectivity also reduces labor costs and installation complexities, while the advanced battery-powered lift CCTV maintains robust functionality even in challenging settings. Users benefit from high-definition imaging combined with motion detection for full-spectrum monitoring. The integration of a wifi CCTV for lift ensures that data transmission is both secure and rapid, facilitating real-time responses to any irregularities.

By choosing a no-wire approach, property managers drastically simplify both the initial setup and subsequent maintenance procedures. The wireless system is engineered to function reliably under constant use, ensuring consistency in surveillance quality. Using innovative communication protocols, the system integrates efficiently with remote control hubs. Consequently, this approach not only boosts operational efficiency but also reinforces overall safety measures, making it a superior solution in today’s technologically driven security landscape.

Advanced Elevator Security System for Enhanced Protection

Elevator Video Systems offers a comprehensive suite of wireless CCTV for elevators that redefines security standards. Their wireless lift security camera systems are engineered to provide high-definition video monitoring, integrating smart and reliable technology with a focus on user convenience. This company’s solutions include remote access CCTV for lifts, allowing real-time monitoring and immediate intervention from any remote location. With an approach centered around innovative design and technical excellence, Elevator Video Systems ensures that every component, from the wireless HD camera for elevators to battery-powered lift CCTV options, works together to provide a robust security framework.

Elevator Video Systems' elevator surveillance wireless system is distinguished by its easy installation, minimal wiring needs, and superior image quality. The fusion of advanced features such as motion detection and night vision with cloud connectivity creates an elevated safety experience tailored for modern commercial and residential properties. Providing thorough support and expert advice, the company is a trusted partner in the transformation of institutional security practices. Their commitment to technological innovation positions them at the forefront of elevator surveillance, ensuring safer and more dependable transit systems.

Conclusion - Reinventing Elevator Safety with Wireless Technology

In summary, the modernization of elevator security through wireless CCTV systems represents a significant advancement in safety and monitoring. The integration of a wireless lift monitoring camera with a smart CCTV for elevators offers a dynamic blend of high-definition video, real-time remote access, and efficient battery-powered operation. These systems are designed for quick installation, eliminating the clutter of traditional wiring without sacrificing performance. Every elevator becomes a monitored and secure space, fortified by advanced image capture, motion detection, and night vision functionalities that cater to modern security demands.

This comprehensive approach to elevator surveillance not only enhances passenger safety but also streamlines maintenance and reduces overall costs. By leveraging state-of-the-art technology, property managers are equipped with the tools required to proactively manage any safety concerns. The wireless HD camera systems and no-wires elevator security camera solutions provide a promising future where safety meets efficiency. The evolution witnessed through these technologically advanced systems marks a new era in building security, ensuring that every ride is as safe as it is seamless.

[elevatorvideosystems485]

Why the Best Network Video Recorder is Crucial for Surveillance

In the modern era of smart security, the quality of your surveillance system can make all the difference. A Network Video Recorder (NVR) is the brain behind the camera system, managing video footage from IP cameras and ensuring it is stored securely. The best NVR systems provide high-resolution video, intelligent storage solutions, and remote access. For industries like vertical transportation, this technology is not just helpful—it’s essential. Whether it's a small business or a large facility, investing in a reliable NVR ensures you never miss a moment that matters.

When it comes to elevator surveillance, having the best network video recorder isn’t just a bonus—it’s a necessity. Elevators present a unique challenge for surveillance due to their confined space and constant movement. A top-tier NVR must be compatible with compact, high-definition cameras and deliver real-time footage without lag. Moreover, it needs to offer ample storage and seamless access for reviewing historical footage. This becomes vital in case of emergencies, disputes, or maintenance issues. The right NVR enhances both security and operational efficiency, making it a critical tool in comprehensive elevator monitoring systems.

How Smart Surveillance Protects Elevator Passengers

Smart surveillance is transforming how elevator security is managed. Instead of relying solely on basic CCTV, modern systems integrate smart features like motion detection, real-time alerts, and cloud-based storage. These capabilities ensure that building managers and security teams receive timely updates about any unusual activity. Particularly in elevators—where incidents can escalate quickly—this proactive monitoring can be life-saving. The NVR plays a key role by coordinating camera inputs and storing video securely for future use. With better analytics and instant access, elevator passengers enjoy safer and more secure rides in residential, commercial, and public facilities.

Beyond just storing footage, the best NVRs support high-efficiency video coding (HEVC) and other compression technologies. This allows them to retain high-quality footage without requiring excessive storage space. For elevator systems, where space and connectivity can be limited, this is essential. The system must also withstand environmental challenges like vibrations or electrical fluctuations. For this reason, ruggedized, elevator-specific NVR models are now becoming the norm. These advanced systems support redundancy and remote diagnostics, helping technicians and facility managers identify and fix issues before they cause system downtime. Reliable storage and rapid access to footage are non-negotiable in elevator security.

Key Features That Define a Top-Tier NVR System

The best network video recorders are equipped with features that support a wide range of surveillance needs. Essential features include multi-channel input, real-time video processing, and remote access through secure applications. In elevator settings, they must also support integration with emergency systems and intercoms. Intelligent video analytics—such as facial recognition or people counting—can add an extra layer of monitoring. In multi-floor buildings, these features help improve passenger safety and manage elevator usage more efficiently. Another important factor is reliability; a good NVR should continue to function even during network outages, ensuring no footage is ever lost.

In elevator environments, security must balance discretion and effectiveness. This is where compact NVR designs shine. A small form factor ensures the system can be installed in tight spaces like elevator control rooms or maintenance closets. Remote monitoring allows building management to observe real-time footage without needing physical access. This saves time and enables rapid response to incidents. Furthermore, with cybersecurity concerns rising, modern NVRs come equipped with encrypted data streams and user authentication. These protections guard against unauthorized access, ensuring that both recorded and live footage are only available to authorized personnel at all times.

Tailored Elevator Security Solutions That Work

Generic surveillance solutions don’t meet the unique demands of elevator systems. This is why specialized products, such as those offered by Elevator Video Systems, are essential. Their offerings are designed specifically for elevator environments, addressing challenges like limited space, signal interference, and vibration. By combining durable hardware with high-performance software, Elevator Video Systems delivers reliable and intuitive NVR setups. These solutions ensure that footage remains clear, secure, and accessible whenever it's needed. Choosing a provider that understands the vertical transportation space ensures optimal performance, lower maintenance, and greater long-term value.

By selecting an elevator-focused surveillance provider, facilities benefit from industry-specific support and guidance. Whether it's a retrofitting project or a new installation, companies like Elevator Video Systems offer customized consultation and scalable options. This means building owners get the right number of cameras, proper NVR capacity, and expert installation. When elevator security is handled with this level of attention, the results are clear: reduced vandalism, faster incident resolution, and better passenger safety. Investing in tailored solutions makes a difference not just in performance, but in the peace of mind it delivers to everyone using the building.

The Future of Elevator Surveillance Technology

As surveillance continues to evolve, the next wave of elevator security will lean heavily into AI and cloud integration. Advanced NVRs will not only store data but analyze it in real time, identifying anomalies and alerting security teams instantly. Features like behavioral analytics and predictive maintenance are becoming part of comprehensive systems. This proactive approach minimizes downtime and improves passenger experience. The shift toward centralized, intelligent control panels makes monitoring multiple elevators across a property easier than ever. With scalable cloud solutions, security managers can access footage and insights from any device, anywhere in the world.

With the rise of smart buildings, elevator security is no longer optional—it’s a necessity. A powerful NVR system is the cornerstone of any reliable setup, bridging high-quality video capture with efficient storage and retrieval. As buildings get taller and smarter, the need for robust surveillance grows. Choosing a system built specifically for elevators ensures durability, compliance, and superior performance. Whether you're managing a high-rise condo, hospital, or commercial tower, equipping your elevators with smart surveillance powered by a top-tier NVR isn't just about protecting property—it's about protecting people. Make the right investment today, and stay ahead of tomorrow’s security challenges.

[r3ynah]

GHOSTBUSTERS DCxDP oneshot?

The bats think the mansion is haunted, and no one questions it. With the manor being at least decades old, being haunted by a possible ancestor of Bruce was the least of their worries when they have cases to solve, rogues to fight and mountains of paperwork to do.

At first, they ignored it, it was harmless at its earliest phase; pens disappearing out of nowhere when they'd clearly just placed it on top of the desk a minute ago, along with random lights flickering which they just reminded themselves to make a mental note that a lightbulb needs replacing.

And then it escalated, a few months in and things started getting freaky even for them, some of the bats would hear distant laughter in some corridors of the manor, shadowy figures at the corner of their eyes, and one time when the family was downstairs at cave working on a crime file half-past midnight, there was a sudden occurrence that every single light present in the Wayne manor even the cave underground suddenly turned off leaving the bat computer as the only thing to resonate light off from.

But even the bat computer was not completely protected, a few seconds after the blackout and after a few questioning glances at each other— all the monitor screens turned green, nothing in view just this neon sickly green that reminded them of the Lazarus pits, if they weren't alarmed yet, then the affair after this will certainly will:

The sound of someone weeping was heard, the crying was soft but not unnoticed. No, they couldn't even ignore this cry if they wanted to, but because this person was not letting their cries go unheard, it seeks their attention in every direction.

Everywhere but nowhere at the same time.

No one dared to break the silence, they thought they couldn't all the training and practice they had just willingly jumped out of the window when they heard the bellowing cries.

It seemed like they were being clung onto by unseen hands clutching at their legs to stay put in their places.

A few bated breaths: One, Two, Three, Four.

Wet footsteps can be heard slowly walking in their direction and then— Stephanie booked it, screaming along the lines of colorful and creative swears, followed by Tim cursing to himself that he needs to buy a bottle of holy water tomorrow, Jason definitely creeped out went to start his motorbike and escaping to go back to crime alley, Duke who was panicking grabbed Cass who was giggling at the chaos that is happening, by the hand and sprinted to the elevator with his powers keeping them from not slamming into anything, Dick was no religious person but he ran while singing the lyrics of 'I love you Jesus', Damian who was in Dick's arms can only protest.

And then there was Bruce, still standing unmoving at the center of the cave all alone, or is he?

And then Bruce felt it, cold mist gathering on top of his shoulders forming into a figure like someone was perched on it, he didn't want to believe it at first, but it was starting to be hard to make an excuse for it when a pair of neon green orbs like eyes opened up to stare at you, goosebumps traveled all over his body as he heard the uncanny but very clear whisper of the said mist like figure saying "Boo" before he also sprinted out of the cave to go to sleep, maybe he indeed was very stressed just like how Alfred told him yesterday.

It was now the next day, Alfred stood idly behind the kitchen counter, he adjusted an old cellular phone in his hand for a more comfortable grip while pressing it against his ear, his great-nephew called just a moment ago to express the troubles that he did.

"Did I go too far, scaring them?" Danny meekly said, clearly letting the guilt get to him, Alfred stayed silent as he looked up to look at the other room connecting to the kitchen which is one of the more used living rooms of the manor.

There he saw almost everyone present watching intently as Stephanie presented a PPT presentation of a video game called phasmophobia and was currently giving insights on how this game can help them as a basis on how they can identify the entity if it's just a shade or a full-on demon, which was also backed up by additional information given by Tim, who was very compelled on also doing this and was practically vibrating in excitement in place.

Surprisingly everyone else also seemed interested, nodding a couple of times in agreement and raising their hands when confused.

Alfred only had an amused look plastered on his face, as he brought his attention back to his nephew on the other side of the line:

"No need to worry too much my nephew, you have completed the task I gave you perfectly thank you."

Turns out that Alfred was getting irritated about how his worries were being ignored and how he was only given excuses as to why the bats couldn't rest and allow a time of relaxation, so he sighed and finally gave up and called his great-nephew from Amity Park to ask for a request in exchange of home baked desserts which was immediately accepted as a very good barter (Danny's words).

In the end, it went well, at least they have had their sleep and was now more focused on other things than work and being vigilantes, Alfred can only hope this will last up at a minimum of 2 weeks or so.

[luna-rainbow]

@ashacrone sent me an excellent video essay about how and why CATWS is the best MCU movie and about half way through I had to stop and watch the real thing cos it made me so nostalgic and emotional 😂

New things I noticed this time around that I probably should have noticed ages ago:

The Winter Soldier theme has two distinct leitmotifs: there's the haunting digitised scream, and there's the percussion triplet. I think last time on a random rewatch I noticed that during the very opening of the Causeway scene, i.e. Steve, Nat and Sam are just driving on the road in the car with Sitwell, "the scream" comes on momentarily before their conversation takes place, as a foreshadowing. This time I noticed that during Nick Fury's car chase scene, much of the BGM was built on the Winter Soldier percussion triplets until it quietens suddenly and "the scream" comes on while the Winter Soldier comes into focus. I love the foreshadowing in the music

On the subject of music, the end of the line scene after Sarah's funeral plays a very similar tune to the end of the line/fall from the helicarrier.

I think I mentioned on the last rewatch that it's interesting Sharon says she was sent to "protect" Steve when he's a super soldier, and he probably clocked very quickly she was sent to monitor him, hence his very curt "neighbour" the next time he sees her. I think I may have written it in another meta too about whether Sharon (given her later going rogue as the Powerbroker) was a double agent who had a hand in setting up Fury's assassination. She somehow heard/noticed music coming from Steve's room before Steve, the super soldier with super hearing, noticed. Sure, maybe it's louder inside her room than it is from the hallway, but strange that she felt the need to bring it to his attention? It was almost as though she said it purposely to get Steve on edge -- remember Steve's reaction is then to climb through his window rather than go through the front door. This would have exposed his presence to the Winter Soldier who is most likely already in position on the opposite roof, especially if we go by the theory that the Soldier used Steve's eye line to triangulate where Fury was located. I know Pierce spends a lot of time questioning Steve about why Fury was in his apartment as though he wants to know what information Fury passed onto Steve (and that might be true), but likely part of the plan was also to frame Captain America in order to remove him from any kind of influence, so the Winter Soldier was instructed to wait until Steve was inside before finishing the assassination.

Steve's look when Fury shows him his phone that says "ears everywhere". It screamed "OF COURSE MY UNIT IS BUGGED OF FUCKING COURSE OF COURSE YOU DID IT".

There's this interesting small detail during Fury's car chase: he asks the AI to calculate the route, and he's told that one particular road is gridlocked, but there's another road that's more open. That is, of course, the road that the Winter Soldier was waiting for him on, which means SHIELD was controlling the lights/traffic to lure Fury into the trap. A callback later in the movie proves this -- when Steve dives through the glass ceiling and runs, Sitwell says, "All traffic lights in the district go red." So SHIELD had the capacity to control traffic, and they definitely did it to bring Fury into the Soldier's path.

When Steve was at the hospital after Fury's assassination, he was in his civvies, and Rumlow was rushing him to get back to SHIELD. Interestingly, when he arrives at SHIELD to speak with Pierce, he is in full battle suit (despite, obviously, the Strike team pressuring him to make things quick, he still took the time to change into his suit). The elevator fight is set up like an unexpected escalation given the civil way his conversation went with Pierce, but clearly Steve had been prepared for a fight as soon as he stepped foot inside SHIELD.

When he goes back to the hospital, he's back in a different set of civilian clothes and he doesn't don that particular suit again, instead opting to steal his old uniform from the museum. More than a statement against SHIELD, I wonder if he disposed of the suit because he's worried it had tracking embedded?

One minor detail during the elevator scene - Steve was initially standing near the back of the elevator and watching out the window. As the second group of people got on, one of the men says "excuse me" to Steve, forcing him to step aside and closer to the centre. Steve had already noticed Rumlow's team had their hands on their guns, but once he was forced into the centre he turned and gave the two guys who displaced him a very long suspicious look (one of them had the sweat dripping down his face). When Rollins gets on, that's when Steve was like "pretty sure all the players are here" and said the famous "does anyone wanna get out" line. I just love the way the action was set up, as they intentionally but subtly forced Steve into the middle and had him surrounded, which I think is also when it clicked for Steve.

Hilarious tiny detail when Steve and friends arrive at SHIELD HQ during the final act: they knock on the radio room and the guy who opens the door is faced with Sam and Maria pointing guns at him, and Steve going "excuse us". The guy throws his hands up and then does a little sideways wave to wave them through....XD Dude was like Cap I'm on your side <3

Look, if anyone can put themselves through the electrocution scene, Bucky actually lets out a strangled whimper before the electricity starts firing *heart shatters*

Steve's trembling voice as he pleads, "Don't make me do this." D=

Steve's thousand yard stare when Sam asks, "What makes you happy?" and his resigned, "I don't know." =(

I am firmer in my belief that Pierce intended for Bucky to die during the launching of Insight. In his speech to Bucky, he says "I need you to do it one more time". It just sounded very final (and besides, once the helicarriers are in the air, they don't have a need for an assassin who needs to be electrocuted every few days to keep in check). This might be partially why Bucky made no attempt to leave when the Helicarriers were crashing, because his mission was to bring down Steve and die there -- so Steve really did save him in more ways than one.

I feel like I love this movie more on each rewatch. So much thought was put into the script and the music and the action. Characters were so competent, which made the stakes feel so high and personal. The MCU really peaked with this movie and Black Panther.

[mephistostwin]

Away from Him

SYLUS X NON-MC! READER PT. 2

Part 1 Part 3

REMINDERS:

I do not own the characters, this is simply a story that I made up inside my head.

Sylus is a very green forest guy, his attitude here is very different to his real personality.

I'm not a professional in medical topics and the medical terms that I used are just based on my research.

The plot and story line does not follow the events in the game.

MC, Sylus, and other characters' personality and behavior here are not the same as what's in the game.

I'm a first-time writer so please be understanding with the wrong grammars and misspelled words.

Expect that I probably did not use tumblr correctly because this is the first time that I will post an au here.

If this is not your type of story, please scroll up and ignore this post.

Some scenes that are like the scenes from other works are pure coincidence. I never intended to copy anyone's hard work and this is based on my imaginations alone.

Please differentiate real life and the real lore of the game from this fanfic.

Open for constructive criticism but be mindful of your words.

Rafayel woke up. He had the feeling that he should visit you and invite you for breakfast in the café. He got ready and got outside his apartment to knock on yours. After what feels like forever, you still haven't open the door. He's starting to get anxious so he decided to call your number. To his disappointment, you are also not answering your phone.

He is an over-thinker and it doesn't help with the situation so he decided to go at the front desk and ask if you went outside. “Hello, good morning. Have you seen a girl go out earlier? the one that lives in 502”. The receptionist shaked her head, “So far, no one has come out yet. People usually go at 8 am and it's only 6:39 am”.

The answer does not satisfy Rafayel’s overthinking— He some what hoped that you just went somewhere to buy something or do anything. “Can I view the CCTV footage— if you don't mind?” The receptionist hesitated at first but as she look on Rafayel’s face, she knows that he's eager to find that girl— to find you.

“Are you a stalker or what? Stalking women can be punishable by law, you know?...” The woman looks at him, wanting answers before letting him see the CCTV footage.

“No! I'm her friend, here's the proof,” Rafayel showed his phone to her. There's a video that he took last night— he films the surrounding buildings as you both walk to the building of the apartment. The camera happened to capture your smiling face as you look back to Rafayel.

“Look at the date, I captured this last night.” Rafayel pleaded. The woman looks at him in a suspicious way.

“Ok... Because you live here and you showed me that video, I'll let you view the footage from earlier. But once something happened to her and there's a police officer looking for you, I won't hesitate to give your information to them... Got it?” The woman crossed her arms.

“I promise that I'm not a stalker! She just won't open the door after all the knocks I did... She's not even answering her phone either.” Rafayel tugged his shirt as panic rush to his chest.

The woman sighed in defeat and turned the rotating monitor to him. “Here’s the footage... I already replayed back to 4 am. Just click the fast forward or replay button and check it for yourself.”

Rafayel said thanks to the receptionist and he did exactly what she told him to do. After minutes of checking, he never saw you on the footage. “Something’s wrong...”.

He said goodbye to the receptionist and run to the elevator. He clicked the button of the fifth floor in a hurry. When the door opened, he did not waste time and sprinted towards the door of your apartment.

He knocked again as loud as he could but you are still not opening the door. He called for your name but he did not get a reply from you.

“This will be so embarrassing if you were just in a deep sleep but it's better for the situation to be like that than anything else bad happening.” He murmured to himself as he continue to knock.

He gave up on knocking on your door and grips his hair out of frustration. He wants to believe that you're fine and you're just a heavy sleeper but something— that he does not know— is telling him that something is not right. “I’m a very caring person but I don't act like this before... fuck.”

“I feel like I'm trespassing and invading your privacy— argh! I don't care, I'm worried!” He sighed in frustration. He did a lot of loud knocks and calls— it would be impossible for you to not wake up because of that if everything's alright.

He broke the handle of the door and barged in, eager to find you. “Y/N? where are you?” He called your name multiple times and the silence that welcomes him adds to the panic that he's receiving in his chest.

He went to the kitchen and the living room but you were not there. He continued searching for you in every room that your apartment has. One room in the end of the hallway is the last one that he has not went to yet— your bedroom.

He quickly opened the door to your bedroom— and there he saw you curled up into a ball. Your hands gripping the shirt that covers your chest that looks like you want to remove your heart. Your eyes and face are both red and puffy, you look like you cried for months.

His breath hitched as he run towards your weak body. He tried to stay calm to properly assess you but tears rushed down his cheeks.

He's a caring friend but he does not know why he's reacting like he's the other half of your feelings and situation. It's like he can feel your pain and he does not know why.

He teared up as soon as he saw your current state.

“Hey... I'm calling for you earlier... what happened?” He said as he sobs. He’s now caressing your forehead and neck, checking for any sign of fever. You are not replying— you're like dead but you still have a pulse.

He picked you up bridal style and rushed down to the parking lot to get you in his car. The receptionist saw both of you and she felt guilty for thinking that Rafayel is just a creep that was stalking you.

He went to the driver's seat after putting you in the back, making sure that you're comfortable and safe during the drive because he can't promise that he will not sprint to the hospital. He picked up his phone and dialed a number before starting to drive.

“Hey, Zayne! I'm on my way to the hospital right now, I'm bringing a friend of mine. I don't know what happened to her but I know that she's not in a great condition. Please ready a bed for her if you can— I'm panicking and I can't understand why...” Rafayel was still sobbing on the phone and he can't put his mind in ease.

“Don’t panic, it will only worsen the situation... and you're also driving. Focus on the road and drive safely. I already told the interns to prepare a bed for your friend.” Zayne encouraged Rafayel to stay calm. Rafayel— after the call— did his best to focus on the road to drive safely even when his heart feels like it's gripping itself because of intense nervousness and panicking.

You're at the backseat, still hardly breathing but only slightly conscious. Your body feels numb but your chest feels like it's being stabbed from front to the back and vice versa. Your eyes still want to cry but you already emptied out your tears.

“Raf... it hurts...” You mumbled and Rafayel heard it. It was making him hard to breathe. He does not know what hurts you but he wants to take the pain away.

“We’re near to the hospital... you'll be ok... hmm..” He tried to reassure you with a smile that you will be fine but even himself— he can barely stay calm.

Your heart hurts so bad that it pulls you into a deep sleep again.

Finally, both of you arrived to the hospital and Rafayel parked his car. He picked you up in a bridal style again and rushed towards the entrance. Three interns were already waiting for the both of you with a gurney. They quickly put you in the gurney and went to one of the hospital rooms.

Zayne was already at the room, he just finished taking care of one of the patients that he have. He immediately checked your condition while Rafayel just sits at a chair in the corner of the room. Zayne puts an oxygen mask to your nose and mouth area before turning back towards Rafayel.

“It looks like she heavily cried... Due to her heavy breakdown session, there was a lack of supply of oxygen in her body. The amount of oxygen that is in her bloodstream also reduced. This is not yet life-threatening but the emotional stress that she currently experience can trigger other conditions like broken heart syndrome.” Zayne spoke as Rafayel’s mind went blank. He's still processing everything that Zayne said. He don't know what to reply to Zayne.

“It’s better if you will bring her to a psychologist or a psychiatrist after her body and breathing goes back to normal.” Zayne said. Rafayel nodded as a response because his mouth do not know what to say.

“I’ll go to my next patient now. Just call me if you need help. I'll check up on her later.” Zayne said goodbye as he exited the room, leaving Rafayel and your unconscious body.

“What happened to you? you were just smiling last night...” He murmured as he approached a chair besides your hospital bed.

Rafayel spent hours in the hospital, waiting for you to wake up and tell him what happened to you. He did not eat for hours since morning, he lost his appetite when he saw you in that painful state. But his stomach is begging him to eat, it's making him weak.

He decided to go a nearby restaurant to take out some food for him— and also for you when you finally wake up.

He ordered his favorite dish but he does not know your favorite food so he just ordered a healthy meal that he thinks will help you to recover.

He went back to the hospital, his body can barely handle the heavy steps that he takes. He did not eat in the restaurant, he wants to eat with you— just like what you guys did last night.

“Why do I feel miserable already? I just met her last night...” Confusion is messing with his mind.

He reached your hospital room. His eyes slowly lighten up when he saw you in the bed— barely moving but clearly awake. He quickly went to the drawer at the side of your bed and placed the food that he bought.

“Hey, how do you feel? Are you alright? Wait, let me call Zayne...” He flooded you with questions before he dialed Zayne’s number on his phone.

- Meanwhile, on Onychinus base -

Sylus spent his yesterday with MC, clearly not aware that you also left N109 zone yesterday. He went to your desk to hand over the paper works— of course, he wants you to be tired.

To his surprise, you're not on your desk. Your working area is completely clear of signs of work and papers. He felt irritation build up inside his chest. He immediately called for the twins for your whereabouts because they are the ones that you are close with. Maybe you told them where you will go.

The twins barged inside Sylus' office after he called for them. Sylus is on his desk, looking furiously at his laptop. For their relief, MC is not around. They stood in front of Sylus’ desk, waiting for an order.

“Do you both know where she is?” Sylus looked at them with a hint of frustration in his eyes. The twin gulped from anxiousness. How are they now supposed to tell him about your resignation when he's clearly mad? they also thought that he is aware about this— just like when you said that it was his request.

“Boss we don't know what you're talking about...” Kieran lied. Of course they are aware that Sylus is talking about you. But the problem is, how will they tell him without facing Sylus’ anger?

“Answer me with the truth, don't lie... Where did she go?” The twin gulped again. Luke cannot hold back anymore, he told Sylus about your last encounter with them.

“We saw her the day before yesterday... She brought all her things with her and said that she'll resign because of your.... request.” It felt like a dagger is dragged in Luke’s throat as he spoke.

“That explains the resignation letter that she sent in my email.” He said while caressing his temple.

“Go and find her, she still have a lot of work to do”.

- Back to the hospital -

Zayne already checked up on you earlier. As of now, your condition is improving but you are still not fully recovered— especially, your heart.

You are now eating with Rafayel. His eyes looks a little puffy. He told you everything that happened and it touches your heart that he did all of that for you even when you guys just met last night.

“Do you mind telling me what happened? I know that something's wrong... it's not normal for someone to have a breakdown that affects their health like that...” He spoke as you guys both finished your meal. He stood to take the empty container of your meal and throw it away in the trash bin before walking to you again.

“I want to... but I don't know if I can tell you everything, it still hurts.” You hugged yourself.

“I know that it's hard and I'm not forcing you to tell everything right now because of your situation... Just tell me when you need help or you need someone to talk to, ok? You're also my friend now, and I care about my friends.” He pats your head with a warm smile on his lips.

You sighed. “I guess I'll just rant to you right now... I want to let out everything to lessen the burden that I feel.”

Rafayel did not speak, he only listen and that's what you need right now.

“I have this friend for 10 years... I worked as his secretary but I resigned just a night before I went to Linkon City. I slowly loved him because he's the only one that defends me from people that hurts me. I thought we will be more than friends because he gave me signals that he also feels the same— I guess that was a mixed signal.” You painfully chuckled. You continue to speak as Rafayel sat beside you, carefully listening.

“And just months before, he met a girl. Actually, he already met her before me... They're tied by fate in every lifetime... Five months ago, they became official. I tried to make my feelings go away because they were really nice. But that girl was two-faced, even...” You hesitated to say the name of the man that caused you this pain— but you still did.

“Even Sylus’ two assistants don't want to be near her. I really want to tell him that... MC was evil. She changed her behavior once they went official.” You don't want to remember everything that happened but you want to let out the pain.

“Sylus also changed... He promised to never hurt me— but he did. Just for MC, he threw our 10 years friendship. I actually wouldn't mind it that much if he meant it to respect MC, but he also made me suffer. He made me work late to finish the papers that was never meant for my job...”

You know to yourself that you are now hating him— you are slowly hating Sylus.

“Long-story-short, I left the company, I resigned, and flew here. It was also his wish...” You added while a potential sob is building in your throat.

Rafayel’s eyes showed a hint of empathy and anger. He should not be feelings this way but he actually cares for you...

He will do his best to never let you be near that Sylus guy again.

-Timeskip, 7:38 pm-

- Back to Onychinus base -

The twins went back to Sylus' office. MC is still not around. Sylus never left his desk, finishing the works that you are supposed to do— and it frustrates him... but it also make him feel unease.

“Boss...” Kieran softly called, careful to not trigger the irritation that is hidden in Sylus’ mind.

Sylus was always calm, his actions and words are always calculated. He is a very disciplined man— but today is different.

“She’s not in her house... We also searched the whole N109 zone but we can't find a trace of her...” Kieran hesitated to continue as Sylus slowly looked up to them with furious eyes.

Luke and Kieran gulped. They want to sprint outside Sylus’ office. Sylus’ presence and aura never felt scary and suffocating before— even when he is furious. He is very different right now.

Sylus stayed silent, he knows that there is still something that the twins want to tell him. Luke started to speak.

“However, there's a record in the airport... She flew to Linkon city. But we haven't found where she stays for now because we just got the information this evening...” Luke spoke very fast, it's like he is rapping.

Sylus wiped his face with his palm out of frustration. He fucked up but he does not realize it yet...

“Find her and bring her back here... She can't leave this place just like that. She belongs here.”

(Note: I suddenly got a flu and migraine huhu I'll make the part 3 longer, promiseee)

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[saphig-iawn]

Repro

Her third monitor flashed with an alert, a new support ticket had been submitted.

In most positions where support tickets are involved, there would be a groan that would accompany this kind of interruption to one's day. One's mind would fill with the usual rigmarole of the same tired remedies that are often the solution: "Is your VPN turned on?", "have you cleared the cache?", "have you checked the cables?", "is it in your junk folder?", "have you turned it off and on again?".

But her role was different.

Such a ticket didn't send her slouching into her chair. It didn't send her to taking another sip of her energy drink. It gave her a massive grin with excited eyes. She stood up and squeezed out of the nook she had built herself in her office. Padding barefoot to the bedroom she swung open her wardrobe. What mood am I in today... she pondered, as she danced her fingers across the different outfits hanging all in a line. She ran her finger down a latex dress. She felt her cheeks flush. It was a simple number, a tulip skirt with slight height to the shoulders. She loved how it felt on her, how it elevated her almost. Her smile weakened and her cheeks dulled when she saw the time. A lot of prep for a simple ticket, she lamented. But then her fingers found the shiny spandex, the black fabric shone in the warm light of the standing lamp.

The body suit hugged tightly. She honestly felt she might leave it on, it was so comfy. She made her way to her dressing table for a few simple adjustments and additions. The first was long plaited pony tail to tame her dark auburn hair. The next was her lips. A red would work well, but then... ah yes, there's my green, she thought, relieved. She painted her lips, paying deliberate attention to the shape of the lips she wanted to portray. Lips no one would be able to their eyes off of. Then the final addition: the face visor.

It was spotless and sleek. The dark reflective glass covered her face, save for her lips and jaw. She arranged her plait so it ran over her chest, accentuating the reflections of the spandex.

She did chuckle about her lack of footwear as she padded back to her 'office', but with the nature of the ticket she received, it wouldn't matter too much.

The user was reporting abnormalities in operation. Seemingly at random things would slow down, especially if a webpage had a lot of gifs. In bad cases, it would hang or freeze. The fix is incredibly simple.

She sat in her chair, adjusted herself, and connected with the user.

...

The chime of a connecting call perks you up. It was surprise more than anything that made you jolt a little. You didn't expect that the Admin would get to your ticket so quickly, but here she is.

You feel the guilt of taking up someone's time line your stomach. You try to convince yourself that its all fine, the option to contact Admin wouldn't be there otherwise, and that there wouldn't be someone on hand if it wasn't something you were supposed to-

The video call connects.

"Hello darling, what seems to be the problem?"

The guilt and anxiety melts. The messy scribbles of thoughts in your head untangle and calm. With an unprecedented clarity, you explain what has been happening.

"Thank you darling, that is incredibly helpful"

You glow and feel... is that blushing?

"Now, would you be a doll and see if you could reproduce things for me?"

You agree, cheeks burning a touch, and offer to share your screen so she could see, but she declines. The confusion surrounding her decision is forgotten a moment later.

You go to the site you usually go to when you want stimulation but either nothing is grabbing your attention or too many things are. You scroll and scroll and scroll, but everything seems fine. You furrow your brow, and explain to Admin.

"Ok, that's no problem darling, why don't you do everything you were doing when things slowed down last."

You close the site, and open up your work program, open up emails, and then you open the site again. It took only moments before everything began to slow.

...

She smiled.

It was a warm smile.

It spread her emerald lips effortlessly beneath the bottom of her visor.

This was the joy of a productivity program. Each one was tailored to each drone. Some wanted a firm carrot and stick approach, others preferred gamification of their work. This is one was unique.

Her visor hid the way her eyes drank in every moment of the drone slowing down. It starts in the neck first. Its like it has disengaged. The head sits lower. Then it spreads to the eyes. First they unfocus, seemingly staring through the screen, and then the eyelids begin to flutter and semi close. The second cutest part soon follows which is the bottom lip growing so heavy that mouth begins to hang open. The main cutest part is how the drone begins to mumble the mantra "Good drones stay on task.".

Her smile softened.

The fact that her drone came to her with a support ticket meant that the unique element of her productivity programming was kicking in.

That the drone had no idea it was a program. A program they had wanted.

This little ticket, was simply a sign it was working. This was why she'd get dressed up, why she'd relish in the moment. It meant she had a little time with her drone to tend to her. To run little checks. There was a bittersweetness to it, that the drone might never know how much care was being put into it, but right then, in that moment, Admin was happy.

She brought the drone's attention to her visor, and she pressed a little button on a controller that made two green lights flash. The drone's sentence truncated in the air. Its posture straightened out as all emotion tucked itself away in compressed folders.

It was time for maintenance.

Simple pleasures like mobility tests, having the drone stand and sit, position its arms and hands, its face and head. It was like playing with a doll, seeing how all the articulation worked. The drone, prior to its conversion and programming, even set out little phrases to use as vocal tests. Some were what you'd expect, following the norm of such a kink. Others were silly, fun, a little embarrassing. The kind of things that would have the drone blushing after being awoken and not quite knowing why.

More advanced tests were always fun to run through. Memory tests like forgetting simple things like numbers or letters and having the drone respond with outputs that would use the 'forgotten' data. Restricting use of specific faculties, like sealing its lips shut and having it attempt to speak, or locking its arms in place and have it attempt simple object manipulation.

She savoured every moment of this time that would soon be squirrelled away. Its address in the memory of the drone erased, waiting to be reassigned when it wanted it.

...

You blink rapidly, like you had woken from a quick but all encompassing daydream. You apologised to Admin, and asked her to repeat what she said.

"Oh that's ok darling, tech talk can be boring. It seemed it was another cache issue, too much bloat being stored and slowing things down. Should all be working normally now."

The urge to check was surpressed immediately without any concern.

You could feel the heat of your cheeks. You didn't know why but you felt so glad you got to chat with Admin for a brief spell.

You thank Admin for her time, even compliment her outfit, you always liked that kind of look.

...

Her smile lingered after the call had ended. She knew it wouldn't be long before her drone would return with issues again, but that was ok. It was a good drone, and she always loved to tend to her good drones.

This was released on my Patreon a week ago! If you want to support me and read these fictions early then head over to my Patreon (patreon.com/MissSaphi)

[xoxolaw]

+ THE TURNING POINT

this is an interactive story. if this is your first time seeing this, then hop over to introduction - to get the idea behind this story.

+ CONTENTS

+ CH A2

It was the weekend, and she was glad that she could avoid facing people at school for 2 days. But the guilt that she has been trying to supress all this time, had caught up to her and now she was standing in front of the hospital, that she remembers being pushed out of.

“Never show yourself here! My poor baby’s in that condition because of you!” The screaming women’s voice, she remembered.

The antiseptic scent of the hospital hit her the moment the glass doors slid open. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, echoing against the white-tiled floors like memories she didn’t want to remember. Her footsteps were too loud in the silence, like each one was dragging the weight of what she'd done.

She kept her head down, hoodie casting a shadow over her face, hoping no one would recognize her—especially not her mother.

The receptionist didn’t even glance at her when she asked for directions to the intensive care unit. Maybe she looked just like any other visitor trying to see someone they’d lost. And in a way, she was. The girl in the bed wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t really alive either—not the way she used to be. Bright. Loud. Laughing. Now she just lay there, in a room that smelled of stillness and machines.

Room 409.

She hesitated outside the door, fingers trembling as they reached for the handle. For a second, she thought about turning around and running.

CHOICE

run away - continue to CH AA1

stop running away - continue reading

but she’d been doing that for too long.

With a shallow breath, she pushed the door open.

It was dim inside, curtains drawn halfway. A steady beeping filled the silence, tracking a heartbeat that shouldn’t still be there—but was. And there she was, the girl from the video. Her face was paler now, framed by tangled hair and medical tape. A breathing tube. IV drips. Monitors blinking quietly beside her. She looked small. Fragile. Nothing like the last image frozen in Y/N’s mind—the one of her falling backward after taking the final blow from her in the fight.

She swallowed thickly and stepped closer, heart pounding like she was trespassing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Her voice cracked at the end.

She waited.

But there was no answer. Just machines and silence and that dull hum in her ears.

Y/N slowly sat down on the plastic chair beside the bed, unsure what to do with her hands. She wrung them together, staring at her knuckles. Then at the girl’s bandaged wrist. Then back at her own reflection in the monitor screen.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, voice smaller now. “For trying to forget about what I did to you… for laughing around like nothing happened.”

The tears were hot and unwanted. She wiped them away angrily. Crying wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t make the machines go quiet or bring her back to school. It wouldn’t erase what happened in that MMA ring.

She stayed a few minutes longer, fingers curled tightly in her sleeves. Then, silently, she stood up, placed the strawberry milk on the bedside table, and gave one last glance before stepping outside the room.

The hallway was quieter than before.

She turned toward the elevator, head down.

That’s when she heard footsteps. Soft, slow ones. She wouldn’t have noticed if the person hadn’t paused in front of Room 407—just two doors down.

She glanced up—and froze.

Si-eun stood there, hand on the doorknob, eyes widening as they landed on her.

Y/N's breath hitched. Of all people—

They stared at each other.

Neither spoke.

The silence stretched, a chasm between them filled with unsaid words, old wounds, and things neither of them wanted to face—but had to.

Si-eun’s gaze dropped briefly to her hoodie, her sleeves still damp from where she’d wiped her tears. Then it flicked to the side, toward Room 409, where the soft beeping continued behind the closed door.

“Why… are you here?” he asked finally, voice low.

“The girl in the video… The one I fought.”

“She isn’t dead?” He asked.

“In coma… but that’s literally equivalent to dying.”

Si-Eun felt it. The guilt she had been carrying with her. Because it completely mirrored his own. He suddenly felt the pressure of the room behind him, the one he just came out of. His own friend, lying in there, in coma.

His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Two friends. Two fights. Two lives hanging by threads of machines and quiet rooms. “Do you want to come to the rooftop? The visiting hours are over.” He said and she just looked at him.

She gave him a nod, “sure.”

---

The evening sky looked beautiful from the rooftop. The gentle hues of orange and purple stretched across the horizon like a quiet reminder that the world kept turning—even when everything inside them had stopped. It was quiet up there, the air cooler, fresher. A soft breeze carried the scent of blooming grass from the hospital gardens below, cutting through the sterile numbness of the corridors they had just walked through.

Y/N stood near the railing, resting her hands on the cold metal. Si-Eun handed her a can of energy drink and stood next to her. They stayed silent, the same silence from when they sat next to each other in the library. He again didn’t ask her anything.

She opened the can and took a sip, “What were you doing here?” She asked.

“Visiting a friend.” He answered to her surprise. She wasn’t really looking forward to an open answer. She faced him, leaning side ways on the railing, “What happened to him?”

“He fought for me… and ended up in a coma.”

She stayed quiet. She didn’t know what to say. He looked down at his hands, as if they held the weight of everything. Y/N watched his profile—how still he looked, how calm. But the tightness in his jaw said otherwise.

“What happened to the person who put your friend in that condition?”

“I… smashed his leg.”

Y/N almost choked on her drink. “Huh?”

“When I transferred here last year, I heard the rumors about me. It didn’t really matter to me. All I wanted was for Suho… to wake up again. Eventually, I made more friends… who stuck by my side. I know it’s weird to say all this out of no where. But… all I want to say is… Just hold up. People will talk, treat you different… but don’t let it get to your head.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on a point far in the horizon where the city faded into mist. The rooftops, the skyline, the sunset—it all felt too still, too quiet, as if the whole world was watching them unravel without saying a word.

“I wish I was like you,” she murmured.

He glanced at her, confused. “Like me?”

“You don’t run away. You face it. You fought back, even when it wasn’t pretty.” She gave a dry laugh, bitter. “I just stood there and let people believe I didn’t care. I thought if I smiled enough, people would forget. But I couldn’t. Not really.”

Si-eun was quiet for a long beat. Then he said, softly, “You came here today. That’s something.”

She shook her head. “It’s not enough.”

“It’s a start.”

The wind picked up, tousling her hair, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself feel the weight of her breath. Like it belonged to her again. Like maybe she hadn’t completely lost herself the moment that fight ended and the sirens started screaming.

“She was… my closest friend once. Back when we trained together.” Her voice faltered, eyes still on the sky. “We got into MMA at the same time. Same gym. Same dream. We pushed each other so hard, we forgot when it stopped being about growing together and started becoming… war.”

Si-eun’s voice was quiet. “You think she hated you?”

“No,” she said. “I think she was just hurt. Like me. And we both didn’t know how to stop hurting each other.”

Another silence fell over them—heavier, but not uncomfortable.

“I hated myself for what I did,” she said. “I thought if I buried it deep enough, laughed enough, it would disappear. But every night, I hear it. Her scream. That fall. The sound of everyone watching.”

His voice was barely above a whisper now. “Guilt doesn’t fade.”

She met his eyes.

“But you learn to live with it,” he added.

Y/N nodded, slow and small.

The sky had grown darker now, streaked with violet and the last traces of fading gold. Somewhere below, the hospital lights flickered on, glowing like tiny stars. Life continued, even when theirs felt like it had stopped.

They were now sitting at a bus stop waiting, “Someone else put your friend into coma, and you smashes his leg… I put someone in coma… what punishment should I receive?” She jokingly asked.

“You don’t need any punishment… you are already suffering enough. Fighters, fight at their own risk.”

Her eyes flickered at his words. Something inside her clenched—grief, maybe. Or relief, wrapped in disbelief.

“Then why does it still feel like I deserve it?” she whispered.

He leaned back against the bench, hands stuffed into his pockets. “Because you’re human.”

She scoffed quietly, shaking her head. “That doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” Si-eun said. “But it makes it real.”

For a moment, the only sound was the rustling of leaves overhead and the distant hum of a car passing by. The night had settled fully now, wrapping them in a quiet stillness that was softer than the sterile silence of the hospital. More forgiving.

“You didn’t mean to hurt her,” he continued. “But it happened. Now you’re here, trying to face it. That’s more than most people would ever do.”

Y/N turned to him, really looked at him this time. He wasn’t the boy people whispered about in the halls. Not the cold, emotionless top-ranker everyone feared. He was just a boy—sitting beside her, carrying his own scars, trying to offer what little comfort he could.

Then she said, “If Suho friend wakes up… What would you say to him?”

Si-eun exhaled, long and low. He looked ahead again, as if the answer might be written somewhere in the horizon.

“…I’d tell him I’m sorry.”

“And then,” he added, “I’d thank him. For protecting me.”

They were quiet after that. No more confessions. No more guilt. Just two people, sitting in the thick of everything they hadn’t said for too long, watching the world move slowly around them.

When the bus finally arrived, they got on together, but didn’t sit side by side. He stood, leaning quietly against the rail. She sat near the back, her head against the window, watching the reflections of city lights blur across the glass.

Yet, even from where she was sitting, she could feel it—that strange, grounding comfort of not being completely alone in what she carried.

Si-eun stepped into his room, dropping his bag by the door before collapsing onto his bed. The mattress dipped beneath him as he stared at the ceiling for a moment, then reached for his phone. He opened his messages—Suho’s chat was still pinned at the top.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before he finally started typing.

“Suho… there’s this girl…”

continue to CH A3

crafted for you with love by - xoxolaw

[azzifudd10]

Somewhere To Land

Chapter 6: New Beginnings

The first thing Azzi noticed when she woke up was the silence — the rare kind that only came in the calm before a storm. Monday loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon, but right now, the weekend stretched out in front of her like a gift. Her last full two days with Eli before work.

She rolled over, gaze landing on the baby monitor. Eli was still sleeping, arms flung out, his soft belly rising and falling in the crib she’d pulled beside her bed the night before. He looked so peaceful, like nothing in the world could touch him.

Azzi rubbed her eyes, then slid out of bed.

The first thing she did was make pancakes shaped like stars.

By the time Eli woke with a raspy giggle and sleepy eyes, the apartment smelled like cinnamon and syrup. She scooped him into her arms and pressed a kiss to his curly head.

“Good morning, sweet boy. You ready to hang out with Mommy all day?”

He babbled in response, clutching her hoodie with one hand and patting her cheek with the other.

They ate together — or rather, Azzi ate while Eli smeared mashed banana and pancake bits across the tray of his highchair and smiled proudly. She didn’t even mind the mess. She took pictures. Videos. She made a whole folder on her phone just titled “Last Weekend.”

10:34 a.m.

They went to the park.

Azzi packed a blanket, snacks, sunscreen, toys, and a worn copy of Corduroy. She laid it all out under a shady tree and let Eli crawl in the grass, giggling whenever a breeze lifted his curls or a ladybug landed near him.

She read aloud while he played with a teether, pausing only when he leaned his head on her thigh, eyes heavy. She brushed her fingers through his hair and whispered, “I’m going to miss this so much.”

He didn’t answer, of course. But in that moment, his warm weight against her legs, the way his fingers curled into the edge of her shirt — it felt like he understood.

Azzi – Sunday, 8:18 a.m.

By Sunday, it had started to sink in.

The toys scattered across the living room. The bassinet shoved awkwardly between the couch and the window. The narrow kitchen counter where she stacked formula and bottles. The pile of bills under a magnet shaped like a cat.

She loved this apartment. It had been her first place on her own.

But it felt like it was shrinking around her.

Azzi sat on the couch while Eli napped and opened her laptop. Just out of curiosity, she told herself. Just to see what was out there.

She typed in “2-bedroom apartment, Dallas, washer/dryer in unit.”

One of the first listings that caught her eye It was perfect everything she had wanted.

2:01 p.m.

Azzi held Eli on her hip, diaper bag slung over her shoulder, and rang the buzzer. The leasing agent met her in the lobby, smiling wide.

“Come on up! It’s a quiet unit — great lighting, top floor, freshly painted.”

The elevator ride felt too fast. Her heart thudded harder with every ding.

When the doors opened and they stepped out into the hallway, Azzi’s breath caught in her throat..

“This is it,” the agent said, unlocking the door.

Azzi stepped inside.

The apartment was larger than hers — open floor plan, big windows, new flooring. The second bedroom was perfect for a nursery. There was even a little balcony with space for plants.

Eli squealed and flailed his arms, clearly in love with the echo his laugh made in the empty room.

Azzi smiled faintly. “You like it, huh?”

The agent handed her a folder. “Take your time. Let me know if you want to apply.”

Sunday Night – 9:57 p.m.

Azzi sat on her couch, Eli asleep in her lap, her laptop open on the armrest.

She looked between the listing and her son.

Then she opened a new tab and started the application.

It was just… more space. A fresh start. Something Eli deserved.

But as she clicked "submit," her heart pounded — not with fear, but with something more electric. Something that lingered.

Wednesday, 6:42 p.m.

The email came while Azzi was trying to coax Eli into taking his evening bottle — half-asleep in her arms, cheeks flushed and heavy-lidded from a long day.

Subject: Lease Approved — Welcome Home!

Azzi blinked at the screen, her heart lurching.

It was done. The apartment was hers.

She glanced down at Eli, brushing his curls gently. “Looks like we got a new home, baby.”

He let out a soft snore in response, the bottle slipping from his lips.

Azzi laughed quietly and tucked her phone away, her mind already buzzing with packing lists and moving day logistics.

Thursday, 11:13 a.m. — Text from Azzi to Nai:

Got the apartment! We’re moving next weekend. I’ll send you the address  🫠

Nai’s reply came fast:

Wait—seriously? That’s Paige’s building.

Azzi paused, staring at her screen like it had betrayed her.

What do you mean? she replied.

Like literally her building. I think she’s on that floor. Wild, right?

Azzi slowly lowered the phone to her lap.

The butterflies that fluttered through her chest were the annoying kind — the ones that felt way too much like anticipation.

Friday, 8:47 p.m. — Azzi’s POV

It was the end of a long week — Eli had settled in at Little Sprouts better than she’d expected, and though her shifts had been tiring, she was starting to feel her footing again.

And somehow, through all the chaos, she found herself standing outside the Wings’ practice facility. Nai had invited her to come by for a bit, said she and Paige would be finishing up soon.

Paige was the one who spotted her first, towel draped around her neck, cheeks flushed from drills.

She grinned. “Hey, stranger.”

Azzi smiled back. “Hey.”

“Eli doing okay?”

“Yeah, he’s loving daycare so far. I think they’ve already won him over with snacks and lullabies.”

Paige laughed, pushing open the gym door for her. “That sounds about right.”

They sat together on the bleachers, waiting for Nai to finish a final meeting with the trainer.

Azzi hesitated for a second, then said, “I actually wanted to tell you something.”

Paige leaned in, curious. “What’s up?”

“I’m moving,” Azzi said softly. “Next weekend.”

Paige blinked. “Wait — really? Where?”

Azzi named the street, then the complex.

Paige stared at her.

Azzi tilted her head. “What?”

Paige blinked again, then grinned slowly. “You’re moving into my building.”

Azzi’s brows lifted. “No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Paige said, clearly amused. “I live on that floor. What unit?”

Azzi told her.

Paige’s mouth dropped open. “That’s literally across from mine.”

Azzi’s jaw dropped too. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” Paige leaned back, laughing. “Guess we’re neighbors now.”

Azzi groaned dramatically, covering her face with both hands. “Oh my god.”

Paige nudged her shoulder. “It’s not so bad. I’m very quiet. Only occasionally play Drake at full volume.”

“I knew I should’ve triple-checked the address,” Azzi muttered, but she was smiling now.

Paige stood and stretched. “You need help moving? I’ve got a free afternoon Sunday.”

Azzi looked up at her, surprised.

“You’d help?”

“Of course.” Paige smiled, soft and sure. “I mean, what kind of neighbor would I be if I didn’t?”

Saturday Morning, 7:05 a.m.

Azzi stood in her apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes and Eli babbling in the corner.

Her phone buzzed.

Paige: Want me to bring coffee before we get started?

Azzi stared at the message for a beat too long, then replied:

Yeah. You know what I like.

Her smile lingered even as she turned back to tape up another box — heart full of nerves, and something else she wasn’t quite ready to name.

Sunday, 8:03 a.m.

Azzi was tying her hair up into a messy bun when the knock came.

She cracked the door open, blinking in the morning light.

Paige stood there with two coffees in hand, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, dressed in a faded UConn hoodie and black joggers. A lazy grin tugged at her lips.

“Morning, neighbor.”

Azzi stepped aside, smirking. “You’re early.”

“I believe in punctuality and bribes,” Paige said, holding out one of the cups. “Oat milk, light cinnamon, one pump vanilla. I paid attention last time.”

Azzi blinked, taken aback for a second before accepting it. “You remembered that?”

Paige shrugged, walking into the half-empty apartment. “I remember the important things.”

8:42 a.m.

Eli was awake and cooing in his playpen when Paige knelt beside him.

“Hey, little man,” she murmured, reaching out a hand.

He stared at her for a long beat before breaking into a gummy grin, kicking his feet like he recognized her.

Azzi watched from the kitchen, heart tugging painfully in her chest.

Paige had the kind of easy presence Eli responded to — gentle but firm, silly but grounded.

“He likes you,” Azzi said, voice quiet.

Paige glanced back at her. “I like him too.”

10:17 a.m.

The apartment was chaos. Boxes were stacked along every wall, labeled in Azzi’s neat handwriting. Clothes in piles. Bottles wrapped in newspaper. Half of Eli’s toys already loaded into the car Nai had dropped off earlier that morning.

Paige hauled the heaviest boxes like it was nothing. “You packed your whole life in here,” she teased.

Azzi snorted. “You try living in a small place with a baby and not having twenty versions of everything.”

“Touché,” Paige said, straightening. “But still — you didn’t have to do all this alone.”

Azzi paused mid-wrap on a picture frame, shoulders tensing.

“I usually do,” she said.

Paige didn’t say anything for a second.

Then, softly: “Well, you don’t have to now.”

12:04 p.m. — Arrival

The door to the new apartment creaked open, and Azzi stepped in with Eli balanced on her hip.

“I can’t believe we’re neighbors,” she muttered.

Paige grinned behind her. “Destiny.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “More like poor planning.”

But there was something easy in her smile now, like she didn’t hate it nearly as much as she pretended to.

They began unloading.

Azzi directed, Paige carried. Every once in a while, their fingers brushed — passing tape, setting down a box — and the spark lingered longer each time.

Eli babbled and squealed, happily playing in a pile of bubble wrap while they worked around him.

2:36 p.m. — Lunch Break

They sat on the floor, eating tacos from a takeout bag, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes.

Azzi leaned back against the wall, bare feet stretched out. “I don’t remember moving being this exhausting.”

“You didn’t have a baby last time,” Paige pointed out, sipping from a cold soda.

Azzi laughed. “True.”

She looked over at Paige, her voice quieter now. “Thanks for helping.”

Paige turned to meet her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to.”

There was a beat of silence, heavier than the rest.

Azzi looked away first.

4:17 p.m. — The Nursery

They stood in the empty second bedroom, boxes labeled ELI stacked against the walls.

Azzi ran her hand along the windowsill. “I’m going to make this nice for him. Soft colors. Maybe stars.”

Paige smiled gently. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Azzi turned, surprised by the warmth in Paige’s voice.

“You really think so?”

“I know so,” Paige said. “He doesn’t even know how lucky yet. But he will.”

Azzi looked down, throat tightening.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m enough for him,” she admitted.

“You are,” Paige said firmly. “And you don’t have to be everything alone.”

Azzi didn’t answer, but her eyes shimmered.

6:01 p.m.

By the time most of the boxes were unpacked, the apartment didn’t feel empty anymore. Eli had fallen asleep in his travel crib, thumb in his mouth.

Paige leaned against the doorframe. “I should probably head out.”

Azzi walked her to the door, arms folded loosely over her chest.

“Thanks again. Really.”

Paige lingered. “Anytime.”

She hesitated, then added, “You know, if you ever need anything — diapers, dinner, someone to cry to — just knock.”

Azzi chuckled softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their eyes held for a moment too long.

Then Paige stepped back into the hallway, the door clicking softly behind her.

Azzi stood there for a few seconds, heartbeat fluttering, then turned back inside.

The apartment was quiet again. But it didn’t feel lonely.

[signedkoko]

You are such a sweetie! Since your requests are open, if you feel inspired and motivated by this (otherwise you can 100% ignore it, writing is hard - I know), could I request a one-shot for Vox who falls in love with a imp!reader? Would love to see how you write their "forbidden" love, how would Vox feel and what if the other Vee's found out about it. It doesn't have to be a story, you can do it in headcannon format if you feel like it suits better! Just try to have fun ♡ -Nia

Intern [Romantic]

In which the techy overlord falls for one of his new hellborn employees, much to his dismay. Reader is genderneutral.

Song - Break My Heart by Dua Lipa

Any hellborn would die for the opportunity that graced you. Well, graced was not the right word; you fought for months against many candidates, beefed up your resume, and pulled some strings to get an unpaid internship for the Vee's. More specifically, a three-month internship at VoxTek with the potential to be hired in immediately after. 

It was a position people could only dream of, especially hellborn. Sinner-based companies had a tendency to place sinners above hellborns, but you knew that and used it to your advantage. You couldn't go in as equal; you had to know you were less and make up for it. 

The job itself wasn't all that bad, either. It was a lot of unpaid hours, from the crack of dawn to the dip of the sun or later, but it mostly involved the small details. Coffee, sorting, and delivering mail between sections were hard to mess up. 

There was the rare extra task where someone messed up and they needed someone to cover quickly. 

Today was one of those days. You were at the right place at the right time, sitting by the coffee machine, grabbing yourself your first cup of the day. 

That was when he entered, his shoes tapping on the floor with confident clicks, and when he spoke it commanded attention. 

Mostly because he spoke through every speaker in the building at once. 

"Who here can follow me? No questions asked."

Before anyone could chime in, his monitor did a full rotation of the room, his eyes narrowing when they landed on you. 

Your ear piece buzzed to life. 

"You, follow me. Now." The overlord spoke directly into your ear using the device, and knowing this may be an opportunity of a lifetime, you followed. 

There was no question about who it was: a monitor for a head, control of all technology, and a towering seven feet tall. Vox was the top of the top, and it was hard to believe you were allowed to so much as stand next to him. 

It was hard to keep up with his speed-walking pace, but he eventually led you into the mail elevator, hitting the twelfth floor while he muttered something about incompetence amongst hires and how he always had to take control of every production if he wanted it done right. 

With a ding and the slow release of the elevator doors, he took the lead once more, though this time he was walking slower and backwards, navigating with ease despite looking directly at you. 

"Alrighty intern, ready for your shot at becoming something more? Because our previous voiceover person just walked out on us, and now you'll be covering for them." He stopped with his back against a door, grabbing the handle and awaiting your reply. 

"But I only just spoke to..." 

"You're cute, you know that? How many videos do you think are out there with your voice? I listened to them all the moment I saw you." Vox only smiled wider when his words sunk in; he saw the usual flash of embarrassment as you pondered what he might have seen. Without waiting any longer, he pushed the door open, spinning so he was finally walking normally. 

It was a recording studio, and there were several other employees waiting, mostly those handling the recording equipment and some holding papers. 

Vox sat himself in a comfortable rolling chair in front of the glass window that overlooked the recording studio, spinning to hand you some papers that he took from a demon next to him. 

"Here is your script; all you have to do is read. Make it sound exciting! Something new, something beyond anyone's imagination, is now available to the public!" He put on a voice as he continued, demonstrating what he hoped you could manage. Someone ushered you into the booth and plopped some headphones over your ears. 

"From the top! 3...2..."

The whole process was a thrill, but you managed to run over the script in three separate recordings, of which Vox cited them all as 'stunning' or 'absolutely perfect!', though the producer claimed to need multiple for any potential recording malfunctions. 

For an overlord, he had been oddly kind and encouraging throughout the process, and he walked you out himself when everything wrapped up. 

Vox continued to speak about what the script was for and how excited he was for the launch, all while leading you through parts of the building you had never been to before. You thought after that he would have sent you back down and forgotten everything, but eventually you found yourself in front of your supervisor. 

"Vox! Sir- oh no, had our intern upset you?"

"No, no, not at all. Sorry, what was your name again? Ally? Yeah, listen, Ally, I need you to handle the paperwork they were assigned. Oh! And I want them promoted to my personal studio for tomorrow, too."

Before you or the sinner could ask questions, Vox was already out of there, chipper as ever. 

That evening, you went home with an upgraded badge and access card, along with details on your new position and expectations. It was a lot to get through, but you felt extremely proud of yourself for doing so well. Hell, you met THE Vox, and he wanted you to be the voice of VoxTek? 

While flipping through the pile of information, the most surprising aspect was the six-figure salary you were about to get started on. 

. . .

Surrounded by monitors, Vox watched various camera feeds as they traced your steps home. Vox saw you smile from several angles, the electricity between his antennae flickering. Each monitor had some kind of file or piece of information on you, and he was only pulled out of his trance when he got a call from Velvette. 

"Hello there, Velvette! What can I help you with today?" Leaning back in his chair, the overlord flicked his wrist, which shot the call from his monitor onto one of the many others displaying you. 

"I need your guys for a sh- wait. Vox, what the fuck is all of that?" While the fashionista originally had her eyes elsewhere, her gaze quickly fixed on his background, which was quickly followed by all the screens going blank with his logo. 

"That? Oh, oh no, its nothing at a-" 

"That's the imp you were talking about last week! The one you were trying to get to apply to VoxTek!" 

"Well, maybe, but-"

Once again, she cut him off with a gurgling groan. 

"Listen, I don't care who or what you fuck; just get your camera crew here and we'll talk about this later. Kay? Kisses!" Before she abruptly hung up on him, he could have sworn he heard a small 'at least they're hot' before the call disconnected. 

Tensed from the interaction, Vox could only groan and dramatically fall back into his chair, tapping his claws along the armrest. 

So what if he scouted you out? You didn't know that, and you were happy about it anyway! One by one, each monitor opened back up on your data, the overlord grinning. 

It was better this way; everyone would think it was the intern going after him, so nobody knew one of the top overlords in hell was dotting on some helpless imp.

Author's Note - I love Vox so much...hes so obsessive but he denies every accusation (its the same w Alastor lmao) like its going to hurt him! But thank you so much for the request Nia, I hope this interests you 🖤

Word Count - 1,219

[perpetuallyconfused10]

Im the one who asked about requests lol, I just have this Hotch thought and I can't stop thinking about it 🫂😭

Imagine Garcia "screaming" about a video, telling the whole team about it (except Hotch and Reader), and that video is on tiktok. When they spill something about the video, Hotch and Reader ask which video they're referring to, not knowing it's from a tiktok account where the person makes videos on Hotch x Reader (like edits taken from some interview where they look at each other, slightly touches and things like that) and it's a whole profile with a lot of videos like that! So the whole team teases them and they obviously like eachother!!

Feel free to change anything!!

Gone Viral, Gone Wrong

Thank you to this anon for submitting my first request! I might have written it (and especially Hotch) be a little (way) too sappy, but I love your idea so much and I hope I did it some type of justice! WC: 3.3K

GIF by ssa-aaron-hotch-hotchner

There must be something on your face. Toothpaste, maybe, or coffee on your shirt, or a tear in your trousers. Something to explain the numerous pairs of eyes following you as you dash for the elevator, just as you always do. 

This morning’s been one for the books. Between a text from your highschool ex-boyfriend, congratulating you on your ‘newfound fame’ — whatever he means by that, you don’t know — and the incomprehensibly slurred voicemails you woke up to from your sister, you aren’t quite sure what to do with yourself.

You tell yourself you’re probably imagining it. But Anderson doesn’t say a word to you as you both make your way to the BAU, just casts you sidelong glances between the rapid texts he’s sending. You hope to God it’s not you, that he's just having an awful morning, then scold yourself for it. If you’re not off to a good start, at least somebody should be.

It’s the silence in the bullpen that confirms your suspicions. Emily, JJ, and Garcia sit huddled around Emily’s computer, squeezed onto two chairs they’ve pulled together. Morgan leans over them to look at the screen. He’s in the middle of laughing at something Garcia’s said when you walk in. 

You don’t even need Reid’s not-so-subtle hiss of “Guys–” to know you’re not going crazy. The smirks that drop from their faces, the giggles that extinguish themselves as you enter through the double doors, are more than enough. 

Four profilers and a technical analyst, as it turns out, can be rather terrifying when the force of their stares are directed at you. 

A sheepish grin tugs at your lips as you hold up your peace offering: a tray of coffee. “Hi?”

You’ve come to know how the team works. You know exactly how they react when ambushed, how they spring to action like a well-oiled machine.

There’s something a little mechanical to them now, bared in their responses to your arrival. After giving you one of his usual tight-lipped smiles, Reid flips open a random file on his desk and begins to read. JJ grabs the computer mouse, clicks a few times, and turns away from the monitor to greet you. Morgan clocks the drinks in your hands and conjures a grin just a little wider than normal. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he says as he plucks the tray from your hands, thanking you with a squeeze to your forearm. 

Garcia, eyeing the gesture, nearly chokes on the end of the pen she’s chewing. She stands to usher you over to your desk, her chirpy voice a balm attempting to smooth over what has been a very odd start to your working day. 

“What were you guys looking at?” You ask her, eyebrows raised. If anyone’s going to tell you what’s going on, Penelope is, without a doubt, most likely to spill.

You’re disappointed – and even more confused – when she stands her ground. Through her ramble, you just about make out the words “cat” and “spa” before she’s kissing your cheek and speeding away to your lair. 

You sigh as you switch on your own computer. One thing is clear. The team doesn’t like to be ambushed. And, somehow, that is exactly what you have done. 

—

After finishing off one of your consults, you suffer through a morning briefing that ends up being far more complicated than it needs to be. It’s only a paperwork day, by the looks of things. In theory, this is the ‘easiest’ your job gets; if you’re not called out on an emergency, you can bank on a day of case reports and shitty coffee. 

Nothing is ever easy at the BAU, not even now. Everything is out of order. There’s none of the usual idle chatter that precedes a briefing, just a fragile silence. Rossi moves from his normal position to take your place between Reid and JJ. He mutters something about the chair being uncomfortable and shoos you away from your seat. Though you can’t resist the opportunity to call him an old man for his pedantics, you acquiesce and take his spot instead. You find nothing wrong with it. 

Then Hotch walks in to start the briefing, and you find about a hundred reasons to curse David Rossi. He’s wearing the gray suit, again, the one he likes pairing with his red tie. That should be a crime in itself. When he takes the only seat available — his usual seat, the one now next to you — you’re almost sure you hear JJ snort. Emily pats her on the back as she conceals it with a very unconvincing cough.

Hotch frowns in your direction, probably mulling over the change in seating plan, then turns his attention to JJ. “Are you alright?”

The blonde clears her throat. “Fine. Thanks, Hotch,” she says. 

Garcia rests her elbows on the table, her mouth concealed by the palm of her hand. 

Hotch nods, casting another short glance your way. “Good.”

Then he launches into the briefing, and you can almost convince yourself things are perfectly normal, that your face isn’t alight with heat and you’re not avoiding looking at him, that everything is fine. When you’re dismissed, you scurry towards the door fast enough you almost miss it. 

“Garcia?” His voice is quiet, his tone soft with something disapproving hiding beneath it. “My office, please.”

Everything is decidedly not fine. 

—

By noon, you can’t take it anymore. “Emily Prentiss, what the fuck are you doing?”

The question comes out louder and more harshly than you’d intended. In your peripheral vision, you see Reid’s eyes widen at the desk next to yours. Emily, halfway through a sandwich, freezes. 

“I’m sorry?”

The grin fades from her face. 

You huff. “You’ve been looking between me and your computer for the last half-hour. What is it? Is there something on my face?” Morgan laughs from the other side of the bullpen, and you raise your voice a little in desperation. “Seriously. Have I done something wrong?”

JJ must have heard the commotion, because she pokes her head out of her office door. She takes one look at you and sighs. “Probably best to get it over with, Em.”

When Emily hesitates, your eyes narrow. “Get what over with?”

She stands and beckons you over to her desk, firing up her computer screen as you settle into her chair. JJ comes down the stairs to join you. Though they don’t move, you can practically feel Morgan and Reid staring at the three of you from across the room. 

What you see projected on Emily’s screen doesn’t make things any clearer.

“That’s—” you pause, dumbfounded. “Why are you looking at me and Hotch?”

The picture is easy to place. It must have been taken a few days ago, during a small-town case. Hotch had asked you to deliver a profile to the media when JJ was working on something else. It was far from the first time you’d faced the press head-on during your time at the Bureau, but Hotch had stood by your side anyway. 

You’re not sure why she’s chosen this photo, if any, to look at. The wind’s blowing your hair into your face, and you’re midway through changing expressions so it almost looks like you’re in pain. 

“Just watch,” Emily says. She presses the spacebar and the picture bursts into action.

—

“—If you believe you have any information that may relate to this case, we’d appreciate you calling the following number…” you say. You proceed to rattle off the number for the tip line JJ’s set up, but only get halfway through before everything derails. 

“How do we know this isn’t all just bullshit?” 

The voice overpowering yours is weathered, and so is the man who pushes through the crowd of journalists to get close to you and Hotch, whose posture you see straighten in an instant. You watch as the reporters from the city turn to look at the interloper, pens out and waiting, no doubt, for either you or your boss to slip up.

For a long moment, Hotch watches the man, his face twisted in irritation. He merely restates the tip line number and your request for any potential witnesses to come forward.

But the skeptic doesn’t let up. “This guy’s an outsider. Not one of us. Everyone here knows each other, they have done for years—”

“We’re not trying to cause a panic,” you say, your tone even, “We don’t want you all to turn on each other. But the man we’re looking for knows this town. He’s confident finding his way around the forest, even the areas that haven’t been mapped out yet. He knows the shortcuts, which roads are quiet and which are too risky to take. We’re asking you to exercise caution, and to report anything suspicious if you see it.”

“So what? A few pins on a map and you’re convinced it’s one of us?”

Hotch’s jaw tightens. This case has been harder on him than most, and you can sense that he’s on the verge of responding in a way he’ll regret later. You put a hand on his forearm as he raises it to retort, squeezing it gently in the hopes he’ll get the signal you really don’t have the seniority to be sending him: stand down. He takes a deep breath, and you let your hand slide down to meet his wrist, guiding it just a fraction backwards to rest by his side. The contact lasts only a second, maybe two, before you let him be. 

When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, his eyes slow to drag themselves from your face. “We’re not here to defend the science behind criminal profiling. Our priorities remain finding the person responsible for these crimes and the safety of this community until we do. If you have any information at all, please don’t hesitate to contact us. We appreciate your cooperation.”

Even the most amateur journalist would know he’s done answering questions. Hotch gives a brief nod, turns and leads you out of the Georgia heat and back into shelter of the precinct. All the time, his hand hovers over your back, his gaze searching for any potential disruptions. 

Then there’s his voice, deep and almost inaudible. You feel his breath brush your earlobe. “Thank you.”

—

Oh. 

Now you’re looking at it from an outsider’s perspective, you do look a little…cozy with Hotch. Not enough to walk the line of unprofessionalism, but enough for you to notice it. 

Emily folds her arms, leans back in her chair. “What’s that about?”

Avoiding her eyes, you shrug. “What’s what about?”

“The canoodling,” JJ says with a smirk, and you slap her arm. 

You’re a profiler. You should know your little attempt at denial isn’t going to work, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. “Canoodling? Seriously, Jen? I don’t think anyone under the age of eighty has ever said the word ‘canoodling’.”

You hear Penelope’s kitten heels clacking against the floorboards before you see her. “Doesn’t mean you’re not doing it,” she sings. Her arms wrap around your shoulders from behind.

You groan. “Penny, you know I love you, but what are you doing here?”

“I got lonely,” she says, and her expression is so genuine that you can’t even bring yourself to be upset with her. “Just wait…”

Leaning over you to press the escape button, she exits out of full screen mode and points to the corner of the screen. When you read the number she’s showing you, your breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.

“Would you look at that?” Emily laughs. “It’s gone up.”

You blink. Once, twice, three times. And once more, for good measure. “Six-hundred-and-fifty thousand people have seen that?”

It all starts to make sense. The texts, the calls, the stares, the team’s behavior…you don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. On the bright side, you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing that could get you fired. But more than half a million people have seen you practically mooning over your boss.

Emily makes a noncommittal noise. “Half of them were probably Garcia. And a good twenty-five or so were us, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” You resist the urge to slam your head against the desk. You’ll have to settle for burying it in your hands instead. “Six hundred and…fuck. And they all think–?”

“—That you’re in love with our boss? And that he’s in love with you? Yes.”

“Oh, fuck.” “They think that, too,” says JJ, sounding sympathetic. If it weren’t for the frankly dastardly smile on her face, you’d think she was on your side.

Picturing the general population witnessing you make an idiot of yourself is bad enough. How do you even conceptualize that many people? How many stadiums could you fill solely with people who have seen you head over heels for your boss? Even worse is the thought of Anderson, or your parents, or – God forbid – even Strauss having seen it. You’ll be suspended. Fired. Or, even worse, be called into a mediated meeting with Hotch and HR, where they’ll ask him if you’ve been making him feel uncomfortable. 

Emily’s voice pulls you from your shame spiral. “And there’s more, too.”

This world hates you. You’re certain of that as she opens Twitter, putting “FBI agents” into the search bar and bombarding you with hundreds, maybe thousands, of tweets with your image attached. Some are disturbingly sweet. Others poke fun at how obvious you are, and even more disturbingly, seem to think your feelings are reciprocated. That’s not a mental path you can allow yourself to go down. 

“So…” You say after a long ten minutes. “What do we do?”

Footsteps, then Rossi appears at the stop of the stairs. “You go back to work. Your break’s over.”

He’s lucky you’re so fond of him. Had it been anyone else (save maybe one person) to disrupt your shame spiral, you’d have been furious. More than furious. You’re still a little irritated now.

There was nothing wrong with his fucking chair. 

—

Your mission is simple. Avoid. Deny. Deflect. The rest of your afternoon drags along in a blur of paperwork and teasing comments you choose to ignore (mostly courtesy of Morgan — JJ and Emily have decided you’re nearing your breaking point and vow to leave you alone). 

Five o’clock can’t come soon enough. Even when it does, there’s no reprieve. Reid turns out to be the one to betray you as everyone else packs up to leave, their files in his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers. To his credit, he looks like he means it.

“Judas,” you hiss back, but you stand and take the reports from him anyway. 

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “Going somewhere special?” 

You flip him off, muttering something under your breath that sounds just a little like “your funeral”. 

The stairs to Hotch’s office feel much longer and much steeper than usual. At every step you reconsider. Reid’s probably still heading for the elevator now. If you catch him, you can guilt him into doing this instead. But your thoughts carry you close enough for Hotch to spot your approach through the blinds. He rises from his desk, opening the door before you can even reach for the handle. 

You can’t even look him in the eyes. “Hi.”

Stepping aside to let you inside, he says your name, and it sounds so warm coming from his mouth. You wonder if he knows about your newfound fame, too. He seems to be focusing his stare directly between your eyebrows. 

“I just came to drop these off.” 

As if your words aren’t explanation enough, you hold up the files for him to see.

“Thank you.” Hotch reaches out to take them, and you feel his fingers brush yours as he does. He stops before the exchange is over. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”

It won’t be long now before the sun sets. It’s making its final play for glory now, golden light filtering through the window and settling over Hotch’s face. Hints of amber tones surface in his eyes, usually so dark and unreadable, making him appear much softer than usual. Safer.

You sigh. “I think some people got a little more out of that press release in Georgia than we intended them to.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“You know about that?”

You wouldn’t half mind if a wormhole opened up, right there in his office, and transported you to another universe where you don’t even have to think about this moment ever again.

“I do.” He winces. “Garcia’s computer system is the most secure in the FBI, but she doesn’t have an inside voice.”

The dry comment shocks a laugh out of you. “No, she doesn’t. But…it’ll die down, right? No one is actually going to believe that. Us being together would be—”

“Unprofessional,” Hotch supplies after a beat. “Very unprofessional.”

He reaches backwards to put the files you’ve given him on his desk, somehow managing to do so without actually taking a step away from you. If anything, he gets a little closer. 

“Exactly. Strauss would kill us if we even thought about it,” you say, “Not that we would, I’m just…”

Now he looks down at you, straight into your eyes. You swear his pupils are dilated, that he slips for just a half-second and lets his attention drift down to your lips. “There’d be a lot of paperwork.”

You nod. “Too much, really. You’ve got enough already. It’d also be…”

“…Nice.”

Hotch stops breathing, lips downturned in a frown. You’re sure you’ve heard him wrong. But half a minute passes, and he doesn’t retract his statement, though he looks as if he’s close to doing so.

“I’m sorry?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He’s close enough you catch a hint of his cologne, and the woody scent of it makes your head spin. 

“I can say it again,” he says through a long exhale, searching your face for any sign of discomfort as he takes another step closer. His breath ghosts your neck. “Or we can forget this ever happened.”

Your answer is almost immediate. “Let’s not do that.”

Hotch tilts your chin up so you’re forced to look at him. You lean upwards to meet him halfway in a kiss that is soft and tentative, the sort that promises everything and asks for nothing in return. One of your hands cups his jaw, and both of his find their way home to your waist, rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. You smile against his lips. He leans forward as if to chase yours when you pull away.  It hits you, now, that this is really happening. The months you've been agonizing over this - whether to make a move or to shut the part of you that cares for him away - have led you here. There's much you've got to think over: what this means for both of your careers, the risk to the team's dynamic, whether it'll even work in the long run, if Hotch wants that too. You know he's thinking the same thing; his face adopts the same mask of concentration it always does when he's considering something. You take a deep breath. It might be hard, but does that stop it from being worth a shot? In the end, you don't think it does.

“I think I’m gonna order takeout tonight,” you say quietly. “There’s a really good Thai place down the street from me.”

Hotch clears his throat. “That sounds nice.”

Shaking your head, you rest both hands on his shoulders, laugh at him. “That was my way of asking you if you wanted to join me.”

“Oh.” 

His brow furrows. For a terrible moment, you think he’s about to say no. And then, “Haley has Jack tonight. I…I’d like that.”

You beam, pull back, and head towards his desk to find a pen and a scrap bit of paper. “Here’s my address.” A quick glance down into the bullpen, which is thankfully empty. “Give it ten minutes, then follow me?”

“Okay,” Hotch says. Even you can tell he’s grinning like an idiot, and you make a note of the rare expression. “Okay. I’ll see you soon?”

Squeezing his hand, you kiss his cheek and walk towards the door. “Soon.”

You feel his eyes on you until you reach the elevator.

If you got this far, thank you for reading! I've watched a lot more Dharma and Greg than CM, lately, so I have a feeling that my version of soft!Hotch is currently just a grownup version of Greg Montmgomery????

[like-rain-or-confetti]

I'm baaaack! And I've got a good request for you my lovely!

So you know the videos where the guys go for surgery or dental work and they come out high as a kite and don't remember that they're in a relationship? And there's a mega hottie sitting beside them looking after them which either goes "back off lady I'm happily taken" or "Holy shit you're so beautiful! The most gorgeous thing I've seen". Then the woman reveals that they're their significant other and the guys stare at them and are either dumbstruck, get a big goofy grin and childlike excitement or their heart beat on the monitor increases suddenly?

Yeah, that. With the usual top 5 of Batman's hotties...baddies...I said what I said

Anaesthesia

Scarecrow: You were helping Jonathan as he woke up from his anaesthetic. After a few minutes of ensuring he was comfortable, you giggled at his expression, like he found the coddling ludicrous. He smirked at your laugh. "You..." He wagged a finger at your face. "...you are very tempting." You lowered his hand gentlly, squeezing his hand. "I am?" You asked. "Ohhhh very much." He grinned. "That's so sweet of you." You smiled. "Oh don't get excited. I'm not available." He said. "You're in a relationship?" You asked feigning surprise but your smile remained. "I am." He replied smoothly. You decided to press a little more. "Do you like it?" "Being in a relationship?" He asked. "Yes." "I like being in a relationship with (Y/N). I don't care for relationships any other time. They're the exception." You giggled and kissed his cheek. "Do you not recognise me, baby?"

The Riddler: "Welcome back, gorgeous. Even under anesthesia, you're a cutie." You smiled. Being Edward, he had a response, though slurred which ruined the factly tone. "Of course, your hormones are drawn to me. I am one of the more superior in our species. Or as one would say, i'm a catch." You smiled. "I do think you'd be nice to look at." "So are you." Compliments didn't come easy to him get in his state, they tumbled out loosely. "Am i?" You grinned, running a finger to and down his forearm. "My partner is prettier." You wanted to laugh but tried to hold it back. "Is that so?" He added quickly. "Because my partner isn't blurry." You burst into laughter. "I'd hope not." His heart rate monitor reading elevated upon hearing the giggle. "I'm (Y/N). I'm your partner."

Two-Face: He had started rambling as he woke up. Harv' was silent. Only Harvey was talking. "I've been married." He announced. You already knew that. "Yeah? How did that go?" You knew that too but figured you'd act interested. "It was good...until it was bad. She left me." He said and you hummed "Yikes." He spoke again. "It's all good now though I found another one. As gorgeous as you are, I'm very happy with that partner and may actually be the love of my life. So I'm off the market, sweetcheeks." You giggled. "I'm jealous. They're very lucky." He shook his head. "I'm the lucky one." "Is Harv' alright?" You asked, stroking his hair. "I'd say so." She pressed a kiss to his jaw. "Thanks, gorgeous." He said, his pet name for you. You smiled. "Are you remembering who I am?" He nodded slightly. Then Harv' gruffed out. "We fuckin' hate hospitals."

Black Mask: When he woke up, he stared at you for a long time. "You're cute." He finally murmured. You smiled. "Thank you. So are you." "Are you single?" He asked and you hummed in amusement. "No." "Boyfriend?" He asked. "Yes." You nodded. "Fancy a new one?" He slurred. "I'm quite happy with him." You smiled. "Baby, I'm rich. I guarantee I'm better than your man." His coment made you laugh and couldn't keep quiet. "Sweetie, you're my man." You said rubbing and massaging his shoulder. "I am?" You dont think you ever heard Roman so surprised and uncertain. You giggled. "Yes." He reached out and grasped at your arm. "Do me a favour." "Okay." You nodded, expecting him to ask you to do something to make him more comfortable. "Remind me to marry the hell out of you." You laughed immediately. "I'll do my best." His grip tightened. "No, say you will." You nodded. "I will."

Mad Hatter: His eyes lit up upon seeing you, filled with excitement. He gasped, his heart rate picking up immediately. "You're the pretty one!" He exclaimed. "I am?" You smiled. "Alice!" He cried excitedly. "(Y/N)." You corrected him. "Same thing." He giggled. Most times, they were the same. His hand came up and stroked her cheek with his index finger lovingly. "Pretty one..." His grin widened. "My pretty one." He emphasised the word 'my', cheekily letting you know he recognised you. "Oh, catching on, are we?" You smiled playfully, and he giggled. "Just relax, sweetheart. You're alright." Jervis reached for you, and you took his hand, holding it tightly and kissing his fingers. He angled his head further toward you, and you rested your head against his.

[inkandtension]

Psychopaths prefer freckles [part-2, final]

A older,(about 30)!reader x 26,(crushing on you since long)! Felix

A two shot, part two will be coming soon[in prob next 2 days].

Plot, plot with romance, final part, Long?

warning: murder,violence, sort of love at first sight, kind of broken parent-child relationship, and humor.

the final part!

Part-1

It started a day after Mimiko.

The sensation: Being followed.

You’d feel it on the way to the car, on the elevator’s closing doors, or walking into your building’s bathroom, reflexively checking under the stall even though it was empty. There was no one. But something coiled in your spine still tensed.

You were being followed. Or maybe not.

But maybe.

When Chan’s assistant told you to come to his office, you just closed your file, stood up, nodded once at Seungmin—who blinked rapidly like he wanted to say good luck—and went.

Bang Chan’s office was colder than the rest of HQ. Minimalistic. The kind of place where emotions came to die politely.

He was staring at a document when you entered, posture casual but his hands death-gripping a pen.

“You called?” you asked.

He looked up, smiling.

“Yeah. Just a regular follow-up. Have a seat.”

You didn’t. Just leaned against the doorframe.

“I’m fine.”

Chan tapped his pen once. “That’s not what I asked.”

You tilted your head.

Silence.

He smiled again, more tense this time.

“…Are you sleeping alright?”

“No.”

“Appetite?”

“...”

“You… okay with what happened?”

You blinked once.

“Which part? the murder or the uploading?”

Chan chuckled. You didn’t.

He closed the folder and set it aside. “The meetup date’s been revealed, hasn’t it?”

“30th. six days from now.”

His fingers tapped out a rhythm on the armrest. “You’re sure you’re still good to go?”

“I haven’t bled out yet, so yeah.”

You turned.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Bang. They’ll expect tailing. Stalking. Bugs. Maybe even team formations around me or anyone who goes. So no, no one else should come. Just me.”

And you left.

Outside, the mood in HQ was sticky. Like wet cotton. Everyone was tense.

Yeji leaned against the vending machine, sending a meaningful glance toward Hyunjin. He just raised his eyebrows and chewed on his straw. Seungmin stood at the end of the hallway, shuffling files, eyes flicking between the team and your back.

Somebody should talk to her.

Not me. She’ll bite.

Hyunjin, she likes you.

Bro, she almost killed me once because my phone rang during a meeting.

Eventually, they gave up trying to send a soldier into your warpath.

You? You sat at your desk, feet up, coat still on, scrolling your phone with the most dead-eyed, battered-soul expression imaginable.

Your thumb moved like it had lost hope years ago.

Yeji peeked over her monitor, wide-eyed.

"You're on nyxnet?"

You didn’t even look up. “Can’t upload a murder video and die single. That’s just lame.”

Hyunjin’s voice from a distance “You scare me”

You look at him

“I mean—I love that for you.”

You locked your phone and stared blankly at the wall.

Seungmin, though, steps forward.

“I want to come with you on D-Day.”

You raise a brow. “What?”

“I mean it. I don’t trust anyone else to cover your back.”

You study him for a moment. You sigh, shake your head, dig through your folder and hand him a form.

“Your niece’s annual function is on the 30th, right?”

He blinks. “Yeah…”

“Then go.”

You decide that your father needs to go.

Not in the way you’ve sent others off, of course. One that keeps him alive and breathing and far away from this.

Far away from you.

You hear the clatter of a spoon before you see him.

He’s hunched on the floor mat, watching the TV at a volume high enough to wake the next flat. Rice bowl balanced on one knee, the news anchor’s monotone droning into the leftover soup. You wordlessly lower yourself beside him. He glances sideways like you’re a raccoon that wandered too close.

“You sat.”

You blink. “Is that a problem?”

“No” he says, suspicious.

You sit for a moment. Your dad stabs at his food like it personally wronged him, mouth chewing mid-scowl. The news flashes a grainy image from the forest. BREAKING NEWS: TREKKER DISCOVERS BRUTALLY MUTILATED BODY—SECOND THIS MONTH INVESTIGATIONS UNDERWAY

You lift your bowl and sip quietly.

Your dad, of course, must comment. That’s the man’s life mission.

“Tch. What’s happened to people these days?” he mutters, stuffing rice in. “No morals. Just chopping people like onions.”

You hum.

He continues, undeterred. “It’s the phones. And those apps. Tinder, Instabook—whatever. That’s why people are like this.”

You clench your spoon just slightly.

“They said the body was hanging upside down. Who does that? Looks like beef in a butcher’s shop. Must be some fellow with a loose screw—”

“If the upbringing goes wrong” you say quietly, your voice cutting clean through his, “then humans do turn out like that.”

He gives you another side-eye.

You don’t look at him. You just swirl your soup, eyes fixed on the steam.

“I—I was joking! Obviously! Just wanted to lighten the mood, heh.”

You say nothing. Just chew calmly.

He chews, then points at the screen. “See this? This is why I say you need to get married. Settle down. Normal people don’t have time to kill others—they're too tired from fighting with their wives!”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s your take?”

“It’s true!” he declares. “You know how your mother is. You’d rather hang yourself than another person if you had to live with her for twenty-four hours.”

A pause.

You reach for the remote, mute the TV, and turn to face him fully.

“I think you should move in with her.”

He almost drops dead on the spot.

“What?!”

“Stay with her for a few months. Rebuild the bond. Like you said—married people are too tired to kill.”

He stares, stunned. “You’re joking. You’ve never even liked seeing us in the same room!”

You shrug. “Maybe you’ll tire each other out and leave me alone.”

He squints suspiciously. “Are you... planning something?”

“Always” you say.

He groans, wiping his forehead. “Your mother will murder me in my sleep. I’ll wake up with curry in my ears and a slipper lodged in my throat.”

“That’s assault, not murder” you correct.

“Same difference!”

You finish eating and rise. He watches you like you might flip the mat with him on it.

“I’ll tell her you're coming Friday” you say, already halfway to your room.

“No! Wait! At least let me die naturally!” he shouts after you. “I can change! I can improve! Let me live with you!!!”

You slam your door shut with a satisfied smirk.

Inside, your room is dim.

You toss your phone on the bed, then sigh. The screen lights up.

You hadn’t checked Felix’s chat in a while.

lix

hey sorry 😭 things have been hectic, i had to go back to my academy for alumini event the moment work was done promise i’ll make time after the event is done don’t forget me alright??

That was... four days ago, before you killed Mimiko.

You scroll up. The last few conversations were brief. Short replies. Nothing deep. You didn’t respond to that one.

You didn’t want to lie.

You didn’t want to pull him in, either.

So you left him on read.

You lock your phone.

You lie down, stare at the ceiling. From the living room, your father starts a loud phone call, probably already crying to your aunt about being "sent to the battlefield" that is his wife.

You smile to yourself, bitter amusement in your chest.

[Nyxnet Notification]: Your video has reached 1,000 saves. Congratulations. Welcome to the elite tier. New folders unlocked.

The nyxnet homepage flickers in dull resolution on your screen. Your video—your video—is right at the top, above rows and rows of snuff edits and murder fancams, captioned with a font that reads:

"Efficient. Elegant. Real." Pinned by the admin.

There's a like button. There’s a comment section.

A post down below says: "New drop: virgin transport – Korea branch expanding." The accompanying image is just a warehouse. But the comments under it are what churn your stomach.

Then there’s a folder titled "Child Play" —empty. But not for long, probably.

You grimace from disgust, thumb scrolling through the feed like you're checking the weather, because that’s all this has become now. Rot in high definition.

The community is disgusting—and alive.

People have profiles on this site. Avatars. Statuses. Some post daily logs of what they wish to do. Some post domestic violence. Some review each other’s videos like it’s an award show. All of these people killed two, to get a membership, and most continue so.

And under your pinned video?

user5891: “she didn’t even flinch. look at the wrist flick. pro-level.” user2129: “dope setup. camera angle fire.” admin: [⭐ pinned your post] “a clean kill. precise. efficient. she's going places.”

You stare at that last line longer than you should.

Three days to go.

You step back into the office as if you hadn’t just spent the past few days murdering people upside-down in the woods. As if your video wasn’t currently pinned on a secret psychopath network. As if you weren’t being watched by both psychotic strangers and the man who technically signs your paychecks.

“Morning,” Hyunjin says, holding a pen in his mouth, fingers flying over the table-sized blueprint on the wall. It’s smeared with notes, circles, underlines, red arrows—chaos disguised as planning.

Yeji gives you a tight nod from the whiteboard. She’s mid-sentence, “—so we keep the cameras off until she’s out of sight. No drone. Too risky.”

You nod and drop your bag, taking your usual seat at the edge of the table.

Seungmin doesn’t look at you. He’s sulking.

He’s been sulking since the moment you insisted he take the day off for his niece’s school dance recital.

He taps his pen aggressively on his clipboard, muttering, “Hope her classmates appreciate my sacrifice.”

Hyunjin snorts, finally taking the pen out of his mouth. “We’ll send you the whole kill montage with violin music if that helps.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Minnie.”

You stretch your neck and glance at the board. The mission name—handwritten in messy black marker by Hyunjin himself—sits proudly at the top like a title card in a b-grade action film:

Operation: Whopp-the-bitch-ass-bastards.

No one’s changed it. No one dares.

“That’s official now?” you ask.

Yeji sighs. “Unfortunately.”

“Whole system’s falling apart,” Seungmin mutters.

You let them banter while your eyes scan the mission outline: you’ll drive out before sundown, in the camouflaged car, location confirmed, meet point documented, route vetted three times. And then you’re on your own—until you aren’t.

“That car’s sick, though” Hyunjin pipes in, flipping to a picture. “Pitch black. No lights, not even a brake light. Looks like the Batmobile if Bruce Wayne lived in a basement.”

“No reflective panels either,” Yeji adds. “And tinted deeper than my patience.”

“I tested it last night,” Seungmin mumbles. “Couldn’t even find the gear in the dark.”

They quiet down when Chan walks in. His expression is unreadable. Crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, folder in hand. The man looks like he hasn’t slept in three days.

You can relate.

“I just finished the final brief with Command,” he says, placing the file on the table with a thud. “Here’s the plan.”

Everyone straightens slightly.

“You’ll tail her until she reaches the compound. Stay out of range. Once she confirms the site, signals go live. We’ll have SWAT on standby and aerial if needed.”

You nod.

“And I won’t be there” Chan adds.

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll be at Command HQ with the higher-ups. Someone has to monitor the quadrant while she’s inside.”

Hyunjin frowns. “You’re not coming at all?”

Chan’s jaw ticks. “One of the higher-ups bailed. Didn’t even glance at the files. Said he had ‘prior commitments.’ Which probably means he’s golfing or getting Botox.”

You remain quiet.

Chan turns to you. “Since I won’t be there, I’m assigning someone else to ride along with the team and relay back to me.”

You blink slowly. “Who?”

“A recruit” Chan replies, carefully vague. “Someone new to this division. Been here a few years, works mostly behind the curtain. Not part of your regular rotation.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. That’s too much emphasis on ‘not your rotation’ for it to be casual.

Hyunjin leans forward. “What’s their clearance?”

“Enough” Chan says simply. “They’ll send hourly updates and stay in the car. They are not to interfere. That’s clear.”

Your head tilts, reading him. His words are tight. Clipped. Controlled.

He doesn’t trust you.

The silence stretches for a second too long.

Yeji’s eyes flick to yours. Seungmin shifts in his chair.

You smile faintly. “Fine.”

Chan watches you for a moment. “Good.”

He closes the file, then pauses. Looks at you a little longer than necessary.

D-DAY.

You arrive at the station in a dark hoodie and jeans, your face clean of expression, your posture unreadable. The duffel slung over your shoulder carries half a decade of training, several tracking devices, a phone with an encrypted uplink, a tranquilizer, two knives, a first aid kit.

Hyunjin is already waiting at the far platform, dragging a small suitcase with cartoon stickers and a pout on his lips. “Could’ve made this mission a flight. What are we, peasants?”

Yeji checks her watch. “Too obvious. Too traceable. Trains are quieter.”

You nod. The plan has shifted, and it’s not your favorite.

Originally, the target had promised to send a car to pick you up from your state—anonymously, discreetly. But the new message said: come to one of the border state-whose name you dont remember-, and they’ll find you. An unsettling shift, but unavoidable.

So now the plan was: all of you take the train. You disembark. They’ll “collect” you. Yeji and Hyunjin, along with the new recruit, will tail you using the blackout car, which had already been shipped ahead. You wouldn’t see them after the train. Just earpieces, and faith.

Chan appears like a ghost behind you—clipboard in hand, sharp in black.

“I’ll take it from here,” he says.

Behind him...

No.

No.

Your lungs hesitate.

Blonde hair. Innocent, kind face. That too-perfect smile dulled now into guilt. Hands in pockets. Not looking at you fully.

Felix.

Felix.

You don't flinch. You blink once, lips parting slightly in the faintest mockery of surprise.

“This is Felix Lee” Chan says, like this isn’t a twist of a knife. “New recruit. Joined us a few years ago. Works mostly in forensic patterning and cyber. Honest. Reliable.”

Honest.

Reliable.

Right.

You give a nod. Like your stomach doesn’t feel like it’s being scraped raw with a fork.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am” Felix says quietly, voice soft.

He’s looking at you like he knows.

And of course. Of course Chan would send someone to watch you. Of course he’s been suspicious from day one. Of course Felix, with his charm and eyes and that convenient academy schedule, had been watching you all along. Maybe even reporting. Maybe always lying.

Maybe he never liked you.

You nod at Chan, dead calm. “He’ll follow protocol?”

“Down to the last line.”

Hyunjin, oblivious, waves at Felix. “Yo! You’re the new guy? Sweet. Do you have driving anxiety?”

Felix glances at him. “No.”

“Aw, too bad. Was hoping for some drama on the curves.”

Yeji sighs. “Stop talking.”

You exhale, watching the train approach in the distance. The tracks vibrate.

You turn to the group, all business. “We go in with no contact after the station. Hyunjin, Yeji—you follow thirty minutes behind. Maintain stealth. If they change plans, I’ll signal using codes”

They nod.

Chan claps his hands once. “You’ll receive updates through Felix. He’ll be on channel three.”

Of course he will.

You adjust your backpack. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Everyone starts walking. As you’re about to step onto the train, a voice behind you says, soft—

“Y/N?”

You pause.

“Sorry. Ma’am.”

You keep walking.

Your seat is far from his—intentionally. They were booked with logic, not comfort. Scattered across the coach so no two agents were seated together.

You slide into your seat, spine straight, eyes locked on the window. Outside the platform moves like a slow, crawling insect.

You watch people go on with their lives, all while your brain flashes the pinned video of Mimiko on Nyxnet.

You look up.

Felix.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

“No.”

He flinches. “Just—just a minute, please.”

You turn your head to him fully this time. “No. Are you stupid?”

He freezes.

“This carriage has cameras. Every move is monitored. You think you talking to me right now isn’t being logged?”

His lips part. He tries to say something—probably an apology. Probably some lie soaked in softness.

You cut him off. “Get back to your seat. This might ruin the entire plan.”

His throat moves as he swallows.

“Get lost. That’s an order.”

He blinks. Just once. Then nods, slowly, and walks back down the aisle, head down, silent.

You exhale, the burn rising behind your eyes. But you don't blink.

You sit up straighter. You will not let this become personal. Not now. Not with Felix Lee.

hours away from a slaughter.

The cold night wind whips against your face as you stand between the compartments, the open train doors letting in slices of dark landscape and speed. The rhythmic clattering of the wheels on the track feels like an angry lullaby—too fast to calm, too loud to forget. You’re supposed to be inside, keeping your head down, blending in.

But breathing felt like choking back there.

So here you are, standing by the edge, one hand loosely hooked around the bar, the other in your coat pocket, feeling the ache of your shoulder from the Mimiko kill still tugging at your nerves.

You close your eyes.

A footstep.

You open your eyes immediately.

He’s there again.

Felix.

You turn on instinct to step back into the train, but suddenly—

Your collar jerks back, his hand clenched tightly into the fabric, dragging you and pinning you.

“Talk to me,” he hisses, his voice nothing like the soft guilt he wore earlier. “Or I’ll push you out.”

You stare at him.

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

But there's a flicker of something real in his eyes.

Desperation.

You raise your hands a little. “Fine” you mutter. “I’ll talk.”

His grip loosens immediately.

You fix your coat with a scowl, stepping beside him at the open door. Wind slashes past again. Neither of you says anything. For a long time, it’s just the train and the sound of everything moving forward. Too fast to step back.

“I get it” you finally say, quietly. “You were put on me by Chan. You tailed me. You reported to him. That was your job.”

He doesn't say anything.

“You said you were busy because of your ‘academy’—I didn’t realize it was police academy.”

You chuckle without humor.

“Guess I was too blinded by how nice you were. Good job. I would've bought it too, if I didn’t know how to profile liars.”

He turns his face toward you slightly, his hair wind-tossed and golden under the fluorescent flashes.

“That’s your version,” he says calmly. “please hear mine?”

You don’t answer. But you don’t stop him either.

So he speaks.

“I saw you for the first time six years ago” he begins, voice softer. “I was twenty.”

You glance at him sideways. He’s not smiling.

“I was out with my sister. We were just walking. Laughing, you know? It was one of those rare nights when the weather’s too good to stay indoors.”

“She was walking ahead of me. And then this guy—some absolute trash on a bike—spanked her while passing. She froze.”

He exhales hard. The memory still seems to sting.

“And I—” his jaw clenches, “I was stunned. I felt so useless. So fucking helpless.”

You stay quiet.

“I was about to run after him, but you were already there. You stepped out of nowhere, badge in one hand, yelling for him to stop. You forced him off the bike, beat the living shit out of him, with a baseball bat”

Your eyes flicker.

“I didn’t even know what to say. You didn't wait for anyone to thank you. You didn’t even ask who we were. You just cuffed him, told the local unit to pick him up, and left.”

You dont quite remember it.

Felix leans on the door rail now, both hands gripping the cold metal.

“I decided that day. I wanted to be like you. I wanted to protect people like that. I joined police training a few months after. Transferred divisions twice just to get here. I don't know if you remember, you also came to my academy as a guest instructor once....”

The sun was brutal that day. Not enough to burn, but enough to stick your shirt to your back and make the metal of the gun barrels too hot to hold for too long.

You stood near the firing range, dressed in black jeans and a shirt, sunglasses perched at the edge of your nose. Behind you, half the academy was lined up, each student stiff and silent, clenching their training rifles like nervous babies.

You were invited that day as a guest instructor—only for the advanced batch. Rumor had it the Division chief had personally called in a favor.

And someone had warned them, she doesn't smile, don't try anything funny, and for the love of God, don't mess up your first shot.

Felix was nervous, but he wasn’t the only one.

He stood near his best friend Jeongin, both trying to remain expressionless, but stealing glances at you whenever you lifted your hand or walked past.

You started the session by calling out names, one by one.

Jeongin was second in line. When he approached the target line and took the gun in hand, he tried to remember every instruction they'd been given. But he missed. By a long shot.

And you sighed.

Loudly.

"You think this is a water gun, rookie?" you said, your voice sharp, unimpressed. "You think perps stop running just because you wish they’d get scared?"

Jeongin blinked rapidly. "No, ma’am."

You rolled your eyes, took the gun from his hand without a word, and turned to him. “Hold still.”

Felix watched like it was a scene in slow motion.

You stepped behind Jeongin, adjusted his shoulder, then placed your hand on his hand, guiding the grip. "Thumb aligned. Elbow loose. Trust your stance."

You didn’t yell that time.

You whispered it.

You were calm. Focused.

And then—bang. Dead center.

Jeongin looked like he was about to faint.

“Better” you muttered, handing the gun back and patting Jeongin once on the back before calling, “Next.”

Felix stepped up. He fired. He hit the mark. Decent grouping. All logical.

You didn’t say anything.

You just nodded and moved on.

No correction. No praise. No touch.

And somehow, that bothered him more.

You didn’t speak to him that entire session.

But Felix didn’t forget. Not the sigh. Not the whisper. Not the way you touched Jeongin’s hand to correct him and never even looked at Felix twice.

After you left, Jeongin was walking around like he’d just been knighted.

Felix?

He waited until Jeongin went to the canteen and then switched their rifles.

“Hey,” Jeongin frowned when he got back. “Where’s my—wait, this isn’t mine.”

“Sure it is,” Felix said, far too fast. “You must’ve mistaken it.”

“No, mine had a scratch here near the—wait.”

Felix stared ahead, pretending he hadn’t heard.

Jeongin squinted. “You’re sick, dude.”

“Shut up and do your drills.”

“Pervert.”

“Say it again and I’ll leave your wet laundry outside.”

Jeongin mumbled a curse and walked away, and Felix quietly looked down at the rifle—at the faint fingerprint smudges near the barrel. He stared at them like they were sacred marks.

Later that evening, Jeongin was still pissed about the switch. He complained to the other boys in the dorm.

Felix didn’t care.

That was the first night he dreamt about you.

Not as an instructor.

But as something else.

Not something soft or sweet—he didn’t dare. You were someone he wanted to be like, yes. But more than that… you were someone he wanted to be seen by.

And all he got was a nod.

You were supposed to be there for three days. But the Chief liked your methods—especially the way you made three cadets cry and two of them vow to switch careers—so your stay was extended another week.

And Felix?

He celebrated.

Outwardly.

he absolutely threw his blanket in the air the moment he got back to his room. Jeongin groaned from the bunk above. “You are so weird for this woman. You’re going to make us fail psych eval.”

Felix, starry-eyed and immune to mockery, whispered, “Shut up. She’s so cool.”

You didn’t just train them. You transformed the atmosphere.

In the mornings, you taught mounted protocol to the female cadets—firm but not cold. Felix would pass the stables just to watch you help one of the girls with her footing, steadying the horse, explaining in that clipped tone of yours: “Confidence in the body transfers to confidence in the animal. Don’t hold it like a bomb. Sit like you own the world.”

At noon, you took the guys out to the hilly part of the field, where you taught them about old-school radio protocols and manual decryption of frequency-based comms. You handed out dusty walkie-talkies, some barely functioning, and showed them how to recalibrate them.

“Repeat after me,” you said, clicking your own device. “This is unit zero-zero-seven, requesting open channel. Do you copy?”

Felix copied every syllable. And every twitch of your brow.

He also started writing down your phrases in his notebook. His handwriting—already neat—became clinical. Exactly how you’d like it, he thought.

And yes.

At night, after lights out, Felix would scroll through police forums and enter vague searches into Google:

“Superintendent Y/N busan married?”

“Superintendent Y/N police gun choice? Glock 19? Beretta?”

One evening, you were making the rounds to check on their documentation logs. Felix was on a system in the corner of the IT lab. He didn’t hear your boots. Not until it was too late.

He saw your reflection in the dark screen. Swung around like a possessed crab and slammed the browser shut.

You arched a brow.

“Where’s your program log?”

“I—I—uhh…was just—”

You leaned over, typed a quick shortcut to open the recent task list. Nothing but Google searches. You stared at it.

Then stared at him.

Your gaze dropped to his name badge. “Felix, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re supposed to be running Java compilation tests.”

“...Yes, ma’am.”

You stepped back. “Get out. Run 20 laps around the ground.”

Felix jumped up, saluted by instinct, and scrambled out.

The next morning, physical training resumed. You were walking through rows of cadets—your hands behind your back, sunglasses perched low on your nose, boots crunching over dry dirt. The sun made the black of your shirt glow against your spine. Most of the other male cadets—useless hormonal idiots—tried to sneak a look at you when you turned.

Felix saw it. He hated it.

So the next time you stopped to explain the formation routine—using both arms to demonstrate arm syncs during combat response—he walked directly behind you, subtly blocking everyone else’s view of your back.

“What are you doing?” Jeongin whispered, three ranks to his right.

Felix just squinted ahead and whispered, “Security.”

When you spun to check their alignment, your shoulder passed near his. Felix didn’t breathe.

He just looked from above your shoulder, pretending to be incredibly focused on the grid layout you were sketching in the mud with a booted toe.

You ordered a running drill next. “Fifteen rows. Each five cadets. Synchronized runs. Ten laps.”

They groaned.

“I don’t care if you cry,” you said, striding in front of them like a shadow of wrath. “Run. All of you. If even one person is off-beat, everyone adds another lap.”

As they started running, Felix kept turning his head back every now and then—not to check the beat.

To make sure you were watching.

And you were. Sunglasses hiding your eyes. Clipboard under your arm.

Unmoving. Like a sentry.

He ran harder.

And Jeongin muttered under his breath, “You’ve got issues.”

Felix grinned mid-lap. “Yeah. Big ones.”

A week after you left the Busan Police Academy, life returned to normal.

Almost.

There was a strange void in the atmosphere. Like someone had turned the volume down on adrenaline. You weren’t even loud—but your silence had weight. Now, the air felt…lighter.

Felix hated it.

But what he loved—what made him literally sprint to the admin office the moment word spread—was the arrival of the Performance Report from your evaluation week.

Printed. Stamped. Signed by the Chief. Passed down with reverence like a prophecy.

Felix waited in line. Impatiently. Jeongin stood beside him, yawning.

“I swear to God if you run and lick the board again, I’m leaving you here.”

“I just wanna check something,” Felix muttered, practically vibrating.

Then the papers were up. Pinned to the glass like sacred scrolls.

He shoved past someone, ignoring the "Oi, manners!" and squinted—

"Overall Performance—Tactical & Technical (Week 2)" Instructor: Superintendent Y/N

First line. First name.

Cadet: Lee Felix. Evaluation: Tactical Improv. Fast Recovery. Clear Morals. Potential Under Pressure. Precise Shooting. Calm Decision Making. High Emotional Control. Final Note: “Exceptional application of all training parameters. He’ll make a good officer.”

REMARKS: RECOMMENDED FOR FAST TRACK CLEARANCE.

“…OH. MY. GOD” Felix whisper-screamed, clutching the wall for balance.

His jaw dropped. He turned back to Jeongin who just stared, baffled.

“YOU? Exceptional?” Jeongin sputtered. “You literally tripped on your own baton two days ago.”

“I—SHE—READ MY HEART.”

“Read your WHAT?”

Felix was grinning so hard it hurt. He stared at your writing again. The clean lines. The underline under “good officer.”

Others around him were confused too. Some frowned at his name.

“Wait, Felix? Wasn’t he…like, fine? Like average-fine?”

“He literally couldn’t load his own gun last month?”

“Did he bribe her? Did he cry?”

Felix didn’t hear any of it. He was staring at the word "exceptional" like it was engraved on his soul.

“Jeongin,” he whispered.

“…What.”

“I’m gonna frame this.”

“You’re gonna jail yourself in love.”

“Worth it.”

Felix folded the corner of the sheet like it was the edge of a love letter. That was the first time he believed—fully—that you might have noticed him.

That you might’ve seen something in him.

And that? That was the very beginning of all his madness.

“That was years before I even knew Chan” he says quietly. “I didn’t get close to you because he asked me to, in fact my job was to just check if you're doing okay as there might be threats from outside as your name and face is in that website. I was supposed to just stay far and not make contact but....”

You stare at him.

He doesn’t look back.

“I got to talk to you that way, met you even.....” he says, voice barely audible over the wind.

“I got.....greedy?” He looks at you slowly, as if checking how you'd react.

You let of a small laugh.

Was this good?

You hid your smile by biting down on your lip and turning your head, your eyes rolling with exaggerated disinterest. "Figures," you muttered, pushing off the wall with a sharp pivot. “Get back to your seat. You’re attracting flies.”

He blinked. "Wait. I don’t even get a kiss?"

You didn’t pause. “No.”

“Seriously? That was a confession!”

You sighed, turned halfway, and leaned in with one hand in your coat pocket. He stilled.

A quick peck on his cheek. Firm. Clean. Like a transaction.

“There,” you said flatly. “Now walk.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue but was too dazed to bother. He followed you with a quiet grin, steps matching yours lazily down the corridor until you both returned to your seats.

Just before slipping into the coach compartment, you paused. Pressed your palm lightly to the windowpane, squinting through the smudge of fingerprints and dusk-tinted scenery.

You watched the signs blur past.

“Three more hours,” you murmured.

Felix leaned in beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “To the station?”

You nodded once.

Suddenly, behind you, one of the passengers — a man slumped across a row of seats in his own world — shifted with a sharp snort, jerking violently in his sleep.

Felix flinched so hard, his hand flew to your arm and he instinctively hugged you.

You didn’t react.

You turned your face slowly to him, raising an unimpressed brow.

He backed off sheepishly, mumbling, “I thought he was—”

You raised a finger to your lips, motioning for silence. Then, exaggeratedly, you pretended to draw a pistol from your coat, aimed with two fingers toward the snoring man, and whispered, “Bang.”

Your hand recoiled with the imaginary shot, followed by a soft, dry mutter:

“Here you go.”

Felix broke into a soft chuckle. “My hero.”

You turned to leave again, ready to retreat to the quiet corner you'd claimed before, but then you felt him gently hold your elbow. You stilled.

“What now?” you asked without looking back.

He grins, and from his coat pocket, he pulls out a tiny imaginary box. Opens it with a flair. Mimes taking out a ring.

Then he goes to get down on one knee—

You grabbed him by the shoulder mid-motion.

“Don’t....” you said, firm but calm. “Be greedy.”

He blinked up at you.

“We’ll see later” you added, voice gentler this time.

Felix was already smiling as he stood back up, slipping the box shut with a soft snap and sliding it into his pocket.

You watched him walk away first, half-glowing with smugness, half-dizzy from the moment. He sat down without another word, shaking his head to himself.

You stared for a second longer, exhaled slowly, then turned on your heel and walked back to your seat with your arms still crossed.

No need to say more.

Not now.

You weren't going anywhere for the next three hours. And he knew better than to waste a second.

The train lurches and slows, mechanical screeches filling the air as the station approaches. Your fingers scroll over your phone screen, barely blinking. Messages line up in your inbox—some unimportant, some routine—but one from Seungmin catches your eye.

Seungmin: Noted.

That’s it.

Just one word. No emojis. No dot. No anything.

Typical Seungmin. You stare at the message for a long second, thumb hovering, then lock the screen without replying.

He knew what it meant. And so did you.

The station’s just outside the window now—dusty, old signage, lazy afternoon sun cutting long shadows across the platform. You know they’re not going to let you carry anything except yourself. Protocol, they said. Risk, they said. She’s the bait, they didn’t say, but you could hear it between every unspoken breath. You grab your duffle bag, packed with barely enough for a weekend and a hell of a lot of sarcasm, and hold it out behind you.

“Hold this” you mutter.

Felix—quiet, composed—takes it without a word. His hands graze yours for a moment too long, but you pretend not to notice. You step forward.

The train stops.

With a hiss, the doors part. The warm air outside hits your face instantly, humid and grimy like an unfamiliar tongue licking up your spine.

You step down.

One black boot, then the other.

Your eyes scan the crowd like you were born doing this. A boy selling tea. A girl with headphones and glitter socks. A man coughing with his whole chest. A stray dog limping between human legs.

And then—

“Y/N?”

You turn.

The man before you is tall, bald, looks like he shaves his head with a vengeance and probably works for someone who wears slippers with a cigar. Button-down shirt, dusty shoes. No smile.

“Yes?” you reply, short.

He nods. “Come.”

No introduction. No ID. No pleasantries.

You follow.

You don’t look behind you, but you know. You know Yeji and Hyunjin have already locked onto you with their eyes. That they’re at a distance—calculating, quietly moving, adjusting to the crowd like the ghosts they’ve trained to be. Somewhere behind them, Felix blends into the press of people. You don’t have to check. You just know.

The man leads you down a staircase, muttering something into a walkie-talkie hidden under his coat.

You followed the man through a cracked alley next to the station—quiet, too quiet, like the sound had been vacuumed out of the world. That sharp sixth sense you’d honed for years was screaming, your neck tingling as the shadows deepened and the street lights flickered above like they knew something you didn’t.

A black car sat parked at the alley’s end.

He opened the rear door. “Inside.”

No explanation. No name. No chance to make eye contact with anyone tailing you. You slid in.

Dark upholstery. Smelled new. Too new.

The door slammed behind you.

Three more cars. You spotted them just before the first one pulled ahead. Sleek. Silent. One in front, two behind. No lights. No plates. No sound but the faint crunch of gravel beneath their tires.

You didn’t even have time to memorize their make.

A cover drops over your head.

Black.

Tight.

Smells like gasoline and plastic and fear.

“Fuck” you think, just like that, quiet, unsaid, the syllable burning against the roof of your mouth. Your jaw clenches. Your molars grind.

Because you know what this is.

You were being diverted.

You're computing.

The route turns. And you could feel yourself being shifted to another vehicle. They were being careful to mislead any stalkers to a different location.

You count minutes like heartbeats. Seven. Ten. Thirteen. Then the car slows.

When it stops, no one speaks.

You hear boots crunch against wet dirt.

A hand grabs your arm, not gently.

You’re yanked out of the car.

cold wind punches into your neck beneath the hood, sharp and raw, and somewhere far off, you hear a dog barking. A door opens. Not the car—a building. Rusty hinges. The faint reek of stale piss and iron—a warehouse, maybe, or an abandoned storage shed.

You're marched inside. Five steps. Turn. Fifteen steps. Another turn.

Then—finally—the hood is pulled off.

Harsh yellow lights buzz overhead.

Cement floor. Steel walls. Mould-blackened corners.

And five others.

They don’t speak. They don’t move. Their faces are blurred in half-shadow, but their stillness is wrong. Militant. Controlled. Like they’re....part of the police?

Weird feeling.

The others had been dragged in too—three of them. One girl, two boys, you did not get to look at their faces.

There was a pat-down check up.

And then came him.

The door banged open and in walked a guy wearing the loudest pair of military-print sweatpants you’d ever seen. Oversized hoodie, undercut hair, face way too relaxed for the situation.

He clapped once. “Uh-uh. They’re one of us, dumbasses. What’s with the welcome-home-captivity vibe?”

The guards exchanged looks, then slowly stepped away. One of them grunted in annoyance, clearly disliking being told off by someone in joggers.

You raised a brow.

The guy’s gaze fell on you.

And his eyes lit up.

“Woo!” he let out, finger-gunning directly at your face. “It’s herrrrr.”

You instinctively tilted your chin, studying him, but he’d already walked over, casual, cocky, like he was escorting a date instead of an infiltrating undercover officer who may or may not snap his neck.

“I’m Seonghwa” he chirped. “You and those three are this year’s newest members. Congrats.”

You didn’t respond. Your jaw ticked, even as you followed the subtle pressure of his guiding hand. He was grinning, like this was a summer camp and not…whatever the hell this cult-for-criminals was.

“I’ll personally escort you to your room” he offered, like it was a kindness, though you clocked the glint in his eyes—curious, amused, impressed. “Feast’s happening soon. A gift follows.”

“A gift?” you asked, bland.

“You’ll see” he winked.

The hallway was long and windowless. Concrete walls painted black, lit by string lights and low lanterns that cast flickering shadows. San led you to a sleek door and handed you a brass key. Inside—more refined than you expected.

White walls. A plush chair. Carpet that felt clean beneath your boots. A long mirror.

Clothes?

You reached for the material slowly, checking the tags, the seams, even the lining.

The outfit, a tailored suit. White. Form-fitting. Sharp at the shoulders, cinched at the waist.

It didn’t look like you.

When you stepped out of the room, the noise hit you like static—laughs, chatter, the clinking of glasses.

The dining hall was massive. Lanterns swung from iron hooks above, and a long wooden table ran the center of the room. Candles dripped wax down into skull-shaped holders. Meat, bread, wine, and unidentifiable dishes lined the table like a royal offering.

“Aha! See her—THE STAR!” someone shouted.

You turned to see a boy lean over the table, two glasses in hand, dark hair swept back with reckless effort.

The room burst into cheers. Whooping. Applause.

You walked in, straight-backed, eyes cutting through the crowd, your white suit glowing under the firelight.

You took your seat. And they poured your wine.

You looked around at the dress code and understanding. the new ones wear white suits, old ones whatever the like.

The meat was raw.

It wasn’t served raw, but it might as well have been. You chewed it like paper, swallowed it like glass, and placed your fork down after exactly three bites. Your wine glass remained untouched, and your gaze drifted over the sea of flickering faces.

They were still laughing.

Still drinking.

Still chanting your name every once in a while. You. The star.

Across the table, seonghwa was nodding along to something a girl whispered in his ear. Something about his face still nagged at you. A familiarity… something about the edges. You kept your face unreadable, watching him casually toss grapes into his mouth.

“Yah, someone’s lookin’ fancy,” came a voice from your side.

You turned, and the chair next to you scraped back.

White suit. New guy like you. Smirk as wide as the knife you’d just mentally counted under the feast table.

Han Jisung.

You blinked once.

He blinked back. “Y/N, right? I remember you.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned in, casually elbowing your plate, and grinned, “No dance?”

“No” you said smoothly. “I’m taken.”

Jisung raised his eyebrows. “Really? You don’t want…”—he waved a hand down his own body—“this?”

You chuckled to blend in, shaking your head. He snorted, shrugged like he was used to rejections, and reached for the wine.

But you didn’t miss the way he looked at you. He’d recognized you, sure.

Because ten minutes later, everything changed.

The feast was cut short. seonghwa stood on a crate and whistled through his fingers.

“Rookies” he announced. “Follow me. The rest of you—bring your asses.”

The crowd moved like smoke—about 60 of them, you estimated. Most were dressed casually—loose shirts, boots, and smirks sharp enough to gut.

You were ushered to a large open chamber—grimy, ancient, something between a stadium and an execution yard. At the center was a ring, and behind it—cages.

Your stomach turned.

You spotted them instantly. The hostages.

And among them—

Hyunjin.

Blood on his temple, chained at the wrists. A child next to him—a girl, lips trembling. They were locked up, faces pale, eyes flicking between the crowds.

Fuck.

seonghwa walked back from a quiet conversation with a bald man in a sleeveless vest.

He clapped again.

“So!” he grinned. “Turns out, a few rats were sniffin’ around. Cops. We caught some in the mislead locations.”

He turned slowly to look at you all.

His voice dropped, low and venomous. “Which means… one of our precious rookies here is a little pig.”

“Now…” San motioned to the ring. “Let’s find out who. Shall we?”

And just like that, you were shoved.

You staggered into the ring, boots skidding against the sand-stained stone floor.

A box clattered open in the corner.

Knives. Eight of them.

seonghwa threw his hands up. “Kill the others. Survive. Make me proud.”

The crowd roared.

One of the other girls smirked at you, cracking her neck and sliding off her suit coat. She cracked her knuckles, sauntered toward you, all slow confidence.

You slid the knife up straight into her neck. One twist. One silence.

The cheers deafened.

You stood, blood now splattered across your white suit, breathing steady. Your knife glinted under the flames.

Jisung turned from another kill, wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked at you—saw the blood, the body, the ice in your eyes.

He whistled low. “Damn.”

You stepped forward, but not before turning to Hyunjin’s cage, where his head was rising, eyes squinting, recognizing you.

Shit.

Jisung rolled his shoulders. Looking hesitant if he should come at you.

You tilted your head, finger pointing from your chest down your blood-soaked front. “You don’t want this?”

He laughed. Loud. Giddy.

He was fast—faster than you expected—but predictable. His footwork left openings. You dropped low, swiped at his legs. He dodged, rolled.

You anticipated the roll. You knew the pattern.

And with a silent curse, you slammed your boot into his stomach, dragging him across the dirt, and sliced his kneecaps.

His hands shot to your waist, clawing for balance. That’s when he felt it.

The gun.

He froze.

And you saw it. Recognition bloom.

“You…” he rasped, bleeding through his teeth. “You’re the…”

Your fingers moved fast. Pulled the gun. Shoved it into his own coat pocket, slow and precise, just as his blood started to pool beneath him.

“You’re going down a dangerous path” he whispered, staring at you.

You leaned down, brushed his hair from his eyes.

“I’ve heard that,” you whispered, “since the day I took this job.”

Then—stab. Right to the throat.

He didn’t move again.

The crowd lost it.

Clapping. Screaming. A storm of adrenaline.

seonghwa leapt down from the platform, pacing toward you like a wolf. He whistled. “woahhhh, you’re strong.”

You didn’t respond.

He came closer, grinning. “But what if I say… you’re that strong because you’re a cop?”

You froze.

Then—another voice.

“Hey! This guy’s got a gun!”

All heads turned. The corpse.

seonghwa marched over, shoved Jisung’s coat open, yanked the weapon.

“Huh” he muttered. “So Jisung… was the rat.”

He walked back to you, patted your shoulder like a proud father.

“Well done, princess. You’re the only one left now.”

He turned toward the cages.

“Do the honors” he said.

Hyunjin’s door creaked open.

He stumbled forward, lip bleeding, wrists red and raw.

Your eyes met.

seonghwa leaned in. “Kill him.”

You looked at Hyunjin.

Then at seonghwa.

Your hand twitched at your side. But your eyes—your eyes didn’t blink.

Not yet.

Hyunjin stood unsteady in front of you, his knees weak, his mouth trembling. That look again. The one that said he knew you. Believed you.

And then seonghwa clapped again, too close, too loud.

“Wait, wait” he grinned, turning to the others. “Let’s not waste him just yet.”

He pointed at Hyunjin, who flinched.

“Extract info first” seonghwa said. “Maybe he knows where the other pigs are squealing.”

You gave a single nod. “Ten minutes.”

seonghwa smirked, tilting his head. “Mmm. Just ten?”

“That’s all I need,” you said, and turned toward Hyunjin.

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, crack.

Your foot swept behind his knee, dropping him.

Then, before he even processed the fall, your hands grazed his shoulders and—pop.

Hyunjin let out a scream that could’ve scraped stone.

Your eyes flicked to him just once. “Sorry.”

He groaned, collapsing forward onto his good shoulder. Still conscious. Still breathing. Still not screaming anymore. That, you were grateful for.

seonghwa whistled low. “Wooooahhhh.”

He burst into a laugh.

“Where the fuck did you learn that?” he said, his hands on his knees, eyes bright like a child at a circus. “Shit, I’m so glad you’re here.”

He turned to the others, gesturing. “Come on, we’ll go sweep the rest of the sites, maybe those other cops are still hanging around.”

Then, over his shoulder as he walked away: “You take care of this one, sweetheart.”

And they left.

Gone. Laughter echoing off the walls.

The moment they were out of sight, you moved.

“Get up” you muttered, grabbing Hyunjin under his good arm.

He hissed but didn’t resist. You held him steady, dragging his weight as you moved fast—through the side of the ring, behind the ropes, toward the cages.

You were unlocking them one by one when the third opened.

A little girl launched forward into Hyunjin’s arms.

she sobbed, and he barely caught her with his good arm.

“Shhh” you whispered, “we need to go.”

The last cage clicked open—and he froze.

Outside, engine.

A black car rolled quietly into the shadows.

The back door creaked, and a familiar voice drawled, “You took your time.”

Hyunjin blinked, confused. “Seungmin?”

Seungmin, lounging in the driver’s seat, raised an eyebrow. “Hi.”

Hyunjin squinted. “How… how are you here?”

Seungmin scoffed. “You think she gave me a real leave? I’ve been watching since the train. she had a tracker in her mouth and put it somewhere in the building.”

Hyunjin blinked. “That’s… creative.”

“Get in before your shoulder falls off.” Seungmin snapped, unlocking the back doors.

Hyunjin and the girl climbed in as you shut the car doors beside you, checking each lock. Your body was already burning, lungs heavy with adrenaline and leftover blood.

Seungmin stared at you through the rearview mirror. “You can’t go back in. Not now. Felix and Yeji will finish this.”

You clenched your jaw. “There are more inside—”

“I know” he said. “These are orders from Chan, he's uh—angry. This part is over for you.”

Behind you, as the engine started again, the burning compound disappeared into the black of the night.

The gunfire lit up the night. You send a message through your talkie.

mislead location#2

Felix ducked behind the sandbags, jaw clenched, ears ringing. The smell of metal, mud, and gunpowder clawed at his lungs. Beside him, Yeji reloaded.

Something was wrong.

Felix’s eyes darted to the horizon, where backup should have been. Nothing. His hand flew to his walkie.

“Unit Four to Base,” he barked. “Come in. We need support. Repeat, we—”

Nothing.

Static.

Just white, empty nothing.

Felix frowned. “Yeji, are you getting through?”

She shook her head. “They’re jamming us or something. I don’t know how, but—”

Then suddenly—crack—a shot rang too close.

Felix turned, just in time to see Yeji fall to the ground—hit, but not bleeding. No blood. Not yet. Her weapon gone.

Three men surrounded her, and in seconds, they had her pinned.

“Shit!” he yelled, scrambling up—but a warning shot knocked him back. He hit the ground hard, eyes wide, breath stolen.

His walkie buzzed again.

Still static.

His pulse was deafening. His hands shook.

He remembered—

“There are ten thousand channels on standard-issue police walkies,” you said coolly, pacing. “And yet, if you don’t know how to switch frequencies, you’ll die trying to call your partner for help.”

Jeongin had yawned.

“You think criminals stay on default? Grow a brain, rookie.”

“That’s why you don’t depend on one frequency. You scan. You switch. You memorize backdoors.”

His fingers moved on muscle memory.

He clicked open the comm interface, rewired the signal band. His eyes scanned the list of side frequencies you had drilled into their heads. you even made them write it a fifty times, he wrote a hundred times.

Channel 54A. Internal reroute. Backup pulse transmission.

He locked in.

And then—

click. A voice. Her voice.

“I’m safe, Felix. Hyunjin is with me. Go in. Get the hostages.”

His throat closed for a second.

He barely managed a whisper. “Yeji…”

He sprang to his feet.

As he ran, he saw her burst free. She’d dislocated her own thumb to slide out of the cuffs. She ducked behind a truck and waved. Felix veered toward her—but she caught his arm before he could move further.

“Wait.”

He paused.

Someone stepped out.

Not just some gang leader. No. Felix’s eyes widened.

He knew that face.

That voice. That smugness.

“Wait,” Felix whispered. “Isn’t that…?”

Seonghwa.

His cheif at the police academy. The same one who always claimed he was too busy to support field ops. Who never signed approvals. Who smiled a bit too much when paperwork got ‘lost.’

Felix’s heart turned to ice. “Holy shit.”

Yeji, panting, still pressing a hand to her ribs, looked at him. “What?”

Felix’s mouth moved before his mind could catch up.

He fumbled for his comm. “Mr. Bang—Mr.Bang, confirm. this man is out higher up, yes?”

“...He is” Chan’s voice snapped. “Get me visuals, now.”

The station lights buzzed quietly.

Seonghwa, now in chains, sat in the steel interrogation room, one hand bouncing in frustration on the metal table. His face had twisted into a scowl, his composure long gone.

Across from him, Hyunjin sat in a sling, arm casted, lip split. His breathing shallow, but rage boiling in his eyes.

Next to him, Felix leaned back in the chair, arms crossed, quiet. Watching.

Hyunjin snarled first. “You talk about freedom.”

Hyunjin slammed his hand on the table, making the cuffs rattle. “You had children in cages! And you called that freedom?!”

He stood up suddenly, searching the room—like he’d forgotten something.

Felix narrowed his eyes. “What are you looking for?”

Hyunjin hissed. “Her bat.”

Felix blinked. “You mean Y/N’s—”

Hyunjin didn’t respond.

Seonghwa finally spoke, coldly. “How the hell did you catch me?”

Felix leaned forward, voice calm.

“We had someone on the inside.”

Seonghwa laughed. “Oh yeah? Who? Which of your precious cops is mad enough to kill to get in?”

Felix glanced at Hyunjin, then back at Seonghwa.

“We have a psychopath” Hyunjin said softly. “But lucky for us… she’s on our side.”

Seonghwa's smile faltered.

Felix stood.

“So maybe you should be grateful you’re in this room.”

Hyunjin turned, pushing open the door.

“Because if she was here—” he added without turning back, “—you wouldn’t have a throat left to ask questions with.”

The door shut behind them.

And in the distance—sirens rose with the dawn.

The story swept across the country like wildfire.

“Undercover Operation Exposes Human Trafficking Ring”

“Superindent police officer, Takes down international drug network”

“Police Chief Implicated in Multi-State Corruption Scandal”

your photo circulated on news channels, all grainy from a raid bodycam, half your face in focus, smudged with blood, your shoulder bruised, and that unwavering stare that made headlines label you everything from hero to machine.

You weren’t watching the news when it aired.

You were at the precinct locker room, still in that spare uniform someone had tossed to you, hair damp from the cold shower, eyes blank from the post-mission haze. Your ribs ached. Your shoulder was still out of place until Chan helped you shove it back in earlier. And your knuckles were still swollen from… you weren’t even sure who anymore.

Felix had come in and silently sat beside you.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

For a moment, you just sat there, bruised and breathing.

In the background, someone switched the TV volume up. The press was going insane.

They talked about you like you were fiction.

Some called you reckless.

Some called you a martyr.

Some wondered how deep the corruption really went.

Some wanted to give you a medal.

Felix stood at the doorway, silent. You didn’t need to talk about what happened. You both had the blood to prove it.

Back to office.

Seungmin raises his brows at you over the cubicle divider. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see the way he tilts his head toward your monitor—then subtly toward the security feed on the corner screen.

You alright? it means.

You give a half-nod. Stop looking at me like that, it means back.

Hyunjin, further down the hallway, gives a short two-finger wave before going back to reviewing a set of crime scene photos with Yeji. You catch her glancing toward you, then giving Hyunjin a pointed look.

They’re whispering. You don’t need to hear them to know what they’re saying.

There she goes. Still showing up. Still working. Tainted, but here. Still cold. Still breathing.

Your identity—once just your name and credentials—now feels like a headline someone read once and forgot the facts of. Just the shape of it. Just the outline of guilt and suspicion.

You grimace.

A blink later, you’re back at your desk. The world is gray, dim through the half-light of surveillance screens and filtered windows.

But your phone buzzes.

Lix :

u look like u wanna stab someone want me to fake faint in the hallway so u can smile at something?

Your lips twitch.

You :

tempting. though watching you faint would give me anxiety not joy.

Lix :

then what would give you joy?

You stare at that message longer than you should. There’s a small part of you that wants to say you. But you don’t. You haven’t. Not yet.

So instead, you type:

You :

if you wore that stupid bomber jacket again the one that makes you look like a golden retriever attending a fashion show that might help

There’s a pause.

Lix:

first of all. rude. second of all. i’m wearing it right now. check cam 8

You open the feed. Sure enough—cam 8, warehouse corridor. Felix walks by, hands in his pockets, hair pulled back, win.

He is wearing it.

You let out a low breath, shoulders unclenching just slightly.

He knows what he’s doing.

You:

i still hate you

Lix :

liar you love me when i bring snacks

You :

you’re safe because you bring snacks and maybe because you don’t look at me like i’m broken

Lix :

bc you’re not i know what broken looks like it’s not you

You blink. The words sit heavily in your chest, warm and unwelcome, like a hand on a wound you’ve kept stitched shut.

You want to say thank you, but that feels too soft. Too much like a crack in the armor.

So instead you reply:

You :

stop flirting or i’ll actually smile and ruin my brand

Your shoulder hurts less

[lassieposting]

So like. I've seen plenty of posts discussing CatNap's death scene, the Prototype's involvement, and whether CatNap was betrayed by his mentor or willingly sacrificed himself, but there's one detail that nobody seems to be talking about. So imma bring it up, because it's relevant, it's important, to the point that we might actually only be seeing half the interaction between them.

Prototype is telepathic.

Or at least, he's something similar. It's strongly hinted at throughout his story:

Prototype manages to befriend Theo, despite the fact that he's kept locked in the labs under constant surveillance. Theo's artwork implies he believed Prototype lived under his bed. It also shows that he was - at least partially - aware of what Prototype looked like, as he drew an accurate representation of Prototype's mechanical arm. So how were they communicating? Likely via telepathy, with Prototype reaching out to Theo from the confines of his cell, and possibly projecting an image of himself for Theo to interact with. Theo feels safe with the fearsome-looking Prototype when they meet in person, which would suggest that Prototype is, by then, a familiar face.

Prototype's influence is clear in the video tapes, such as the instructions for moving a Bigger Bodies toy or the Emergency Alert video - he overrides the original content with new instructions like "RELEASE THE GIANT" or "OPEN THE DOORS. THE HOUR OF JOY IS NOW." And it's implied that this "tampering" came hand-in-hand with some kind of telepathic hold on the Playtime workers - they do release Kissy, against all common sense, despite the original instructions being visible beneath Prototype's override, and at the cost of their lives. It makes me think that the "tampering" is actually more of a side effect - that the control Prototype is projecting is so strong that he affects not only the minds of the workers he's targeting, but also any communication media within range - the messages on the VHS tapes are the orders he was pushing into their brains, flash-framed on film. Perhaps, if a worker had picked up a phone to call for help, they would only have heard a cacophony of voices insisting release the giant release the giant release the giant.

DogDay mentions that he and the other Smiling Critters - minus CatNap - "tried to resist [Prototype's] control". It's said in a way that suggests that Bigger Bodies who weren't fully on board with the Hour of Joy were... let's say "encouraged"...to participate, willing or no, via a helpful jolt of Assuming Direct Control. Given how docile she is most of the time, this could also be true of Kissy, who we see joining in with the massacre.

At the end of Chapter Three, the player joins Poppy on an elevator to go confront the Prototype in his lair. Which is weird, because...we know he's not in his lair. We've just seen him kill CatNap, and by this point we know he's likely been tailing us for a while. The Player would know, as they got onto that elevator, that Prototype can follow them down and trap them. But they say nothing to Poppy, their apparent ally. They don't warn her. Why? Maybe Prototype isn't letting them. If he could reach Theo in Playcare from the labs, deep in the bowels of the factory, it's not unreasonable to suggest that he's also in our head, subtly monitoring our thoughts, gently nudging away any desire to raise concerns with Poppy - who, as we know, wants Prototype dead.

So anyway: we know that Prototype has some variety of telepathy. And we know he has a preexisting connection with Theo - now CatNap.

Now, onto the actual death.

Lots of people have already covered the popular theories - that CatNap willingly offered himself to his god, and that CatNap believed the Prototype had come to save him and was cruelly betrayed. But honestly, on first watching, neither of those were the vibe I got. So I'm gonna throw my theories into the ring.

1) CatNap's death was a mercy kill

The first was that it was a mercy kill. CatNap is, at the end of the chapter, electrocuted to the point of collapse, and then horribly burned. There are no scientists left who can tend to the injuries of a Bigger Body creature. CatNap would be in horrifying pain, and if - as I've theorized here - Prototype all but raised CatNap, it could be that the death he provides is intended to put a quick end to CatNap's suffering. A mortally wounded apex predator will often become the target of groups of smaller, subordinate predators - like the swarming Critters in CatNap's territory - once they are dying and unable to defend themselves. Severing the spinal cord and targeting the brain would take away the pain, and make sure the death was as close to immediate as possible. If he'd wanted to hurt or punish CatNap, he could very easily have done so in a far more agonizing way - Miss Delight says that CatNap reports to Prototype, so they seem to be in relatively regular contact with each other and CatNap has few or no reservations about entering Prototype's territory to see him.

From this perspective, it also becomes interesting that Prototype reaches down to CatNap through a vent it's highly unlikely he could fit into, rather than fully appearing in front of us. Bearing in mind their mental connection, left open in the background of their minds, this could actually be seen as Prototype having an understandable and realistic caregiver panic response to CatNap's sudden, all-consuming agony - he wants to get to CatNap as quickly as possible, and he's picked a physically problematic route because it's faster.

2) CatNap's death was the Prototype fixing a problem he created

It's a sad truth that our children - or, in the Prototype's case, the young friend he assumed responsibility for - don't always grow into people we're proud of.

I've talked before about the Prototype's "parenting" as a positive influence on CatNap, and in several ways, it is - relative to the world they're trapped in.

CatNap is spared from the utter social isolation other experiments endure - he has Prototype to play and socialise with, which allows him to grow up with improved social skills and better ability to read people.

CatNap has a protector during the early years of the food shortage, once the toys begin turning on one another. Theo is shy and gentle, not naturally inclined to violence, so Prototype's protection probably shields him from becoming someone else's lunch at least once.

CatNap has someone to teach him to fend for himself. While Prototype's digestive system is vestigial - he doesn't need to eat to survive - he's an accomplished killer and it seems as though CatNap learned many of his hunting techniques from his mentor. It's likely that he would have learned to hunt the way young animals do - at first, Prototype hunts and kills all his food for him. Then Prototype brings back mostly-dead prey for CatNap to finish off. Then CatNap starts practicing his skills on small prey under Prototype's supervision, growing in confidence and competence until he no longer needs help, and then until he's fully self-sufficient.

But let's face it, Prototype is not exactly the world's most well-adjusted or morally upstanding individual. He's been imprisoned for decades. Tortured. Experimented on. He's deeply traumatised, his worldview irrevocably twisted in the name of survival. He's got a documented history of violence and as-yet-unquantified psychic abilities - the telepathy - that could be wreaking absolute havoc on his psyche. And CatNap is a young, impressionable mind who idolises him.

Now, we don't know how Prototype feels about the cult that's sprung up around him. It's entirely possible that he's thriving on it, that he's bought into his own mystique and begun to see himself as a god with the factory as his domain. @hrhowling came up with a fantastic theory along these lines, where CatNap's death is posed as a reward for faithful service - the opportunity to become part of his god and achieve immortality. A show of favour towards a loyal high priest. And if Prototype does appreciate the worship, honestly, this seems the most likely scenario to me.

But it's also just as possible that he's...not a fan.

It's a popular theory that "Ollie" is the Prototype, known to be a vocal mimic, using a child's voice to win the Player's trust. I vibe with this theory - Ollie's speech and tone is...not quite right, and there are multiple points where he sounds like his sentences are made up of different audio clips stitched together - stitched neatly, admittedly, but stitched nonetheless. That's very similar to the way we see Prototype stitching together words in different voices in his interview tape. Ollie's stitching is far less noticeable, but Prototype has had a long time to practice, and he's using the same voice - probably Theodore Grambell's, the child he's most familiar with - so it's not as obvious.

But if Ollie is the Prototype, that sheds a very different light on his character in general. Ollie is helping the Player. Ollie is known to Poppy and Kissy as an ally. Ollie opens up about CatNap, his history with the Prototype, and expresses obvious distaste around CatNap's religious zeal and tendency to kill anyone who opposes his mentor. If Ollie is the Prototype, it seems a lot more like he's a tired old soldier who's been made the unwilling messiah of a cult driven by isolation and insanity.

To add on to this, it's notable that Prototype doesn't seem to be hostile to the other experiments. In fact, his territory would likely be the safest place in the factory for the very small toys - with CatNap grown, he has no need to hunt or eat them, and although he's quite capable of killing anything in the factory, he seems to have no interest in attacking other Bigger Body apex predators. MLL openly hates and fears him, but Prototype has let her be for ten years, only coming to claim her once she's killed. He's openly benevolent to Huggy and CatNap. The only place we ever know him to have aimed his violence is at the scientists tormenting him and the children.

So yeah. Maybe he actually doesn't approve of CatNap's harcore religious leanings. Maybe he's disappointed at how their relationship has shifted over the years, from friendship to surrogate family to reluctant god and fanatical high priest. Maybe he's guiding and helping the Player in the hopes of finally putting an end to their collective imprisonment and misery. And when CatNap snaps - let's be honest, he does make it clear that the Player is intruding and gives them multiple warnings and opportunities to Get Out Of His Home Or Else - and tries to kill the Player, Prototype can't let that happen. He's forced to make a horrifying choice - the kid he loves the bones of, the only friend he had at his lowest points, or the instrument of his ultimate goal.

And we know the Prototype. He's willing to do terrible things in the name of what he believes is right. He massacred innocents along with the guilty during the Hour of Joy. He tells CatNap it's okay, he's done well, he can rest now...

And he does what has to be done.

3) CatNap's death was requested by CatNap

Let's be honest. CatNap is not doing well after that confrontation. He's probably mortally wounded, and he's facing a slow and agonizing death from - if not the player - his burns or his weakness or his inability to defend his own territory. I would not be surprised if the silent conversation between him and the Prototype involved CatNap asking his idol, his god, to please make the pain stop. To end it, quickly and cleanly. I think that would be a reasonable ask from anyone covered head to toe in terrible burns. And in this scenario, knowing there is no doctor that can treat, heal or gently euthanise CatNap, it would honestly be crueller for the Prototype to refuse him.

Anyway yeah I just. Think there's a lot of missing context added by remembering that Prototype is a telepath, and there is probably a conversation going on with CatNap before he dies. So this is my take on three different ways the death scene could be read.

[robfinancialtip]

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[mycardioblog]

Measuring resting blood pressure on the mercury unit with sound

Next to a through heart auscultation, blood pressure measurements are my next favorite thing! Here is one video with my lovely mercury unit.

5 measurements in total, I rested 1 minute between each, but I cut that out from the video. My blood pressure is always a bit elevated when I record, but I'm sure you won't mind that. ;) I also recorded a bit of mitral beats at the end with the lovely mercury bounce, since I love that too.

I also have other BP monitors and plenty of videos recorded with them.