#Integrated Navigation Systems

[healixhospitals24]

Innovations In ERCP Technology: Advancements And Future Trends

Step into the realm of medical marvels and technological breakthroughs as we delve into the exciting world of ERCP (Endoscopic Retrograde Cholangiopancreatography) technology. At Healix Hospitals, we're not just pioneers in healthcare; we're trailblazers in embracing cutting-edge innovations to enhance patient care and outcomes.

Join us on a journey through the advancements and future trends shaping the landscape of ERCP technology, where precision meets possibility, and healing knows no bounds.

Advancements in ERCP Technology

ERCP technology has witnessed remarkable advancements in recent years, revolutionizing the diagnosis and treatment of pancreatic and biliary disorders. Here's a glimpse into the innovative features and functionalities driving these breakthroughs:

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Did You Know?

High-definition digital imaging systems used in ERCP procedures can capture images with up to four times the resolution of standard-definition systems, providing healthcare professionals with a clearer view of the anatomical structures and abnormalities.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------InnovationDescriptionDigital Imaging SystemsHigh-definition imaging systems provide unparalleled clarity and detail, allowing for precise visualization of the pancreatic and biliary ducts.Therapeutic EndoscopesTherapeutic endoscopes equipped with advanced tools and accessories enable minimally invasive interventions such as stone removal, stent placement, and tissue sampling.Fluoroscopy IntegrationIntegration with fluoroscopy technology enhances procedural guidance and accuracy, facilitating real-time monitoring of contrast agents during ERCP procedures.Artificial Intelligence (AI) Assistance AI-driven algorithms assist in image interpretation, lesion detection, and procedural planning, augmenting the capabilities of healthcare professionals and improving diagnostic accuracy.

Future Trends in ERCP Technology

As technology continues to evolve, the future of ERCP holds even greater promise with emerging trends and innovations on the horizon. Here are some anticipated developments shaping the future of endoscopy:

Wireless Capsule Endoscopy

The advent of miniaturized wireless capsules equipped with advanced imaging sensors marks a significant leap forward in endoscopic diagnostics. These capsules offer a non-invasive alternative for visualizing the gastrointestinal tract, promising to transform diagnostic approaches and enhance patient experiences.

With an estimated market value projected to reach $1.8 billion by 2025, the demand for wireless capsule endoscopy is expected to surge as patients seek less invasive diagnostic procedures.

According to a report by Market Data Forecast, the global wireless capsule endoscopy market is anticipated to grow at a CAGR of 8.2% from 2020 to 2025.

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Did You Know?

Wireless capsule endoscopy allows for the visualization of areas of the gastrointestinal tract that are inaccessible with traditional endoscopic techniques, enabling early detection and intervention for gastrointestinal disorders.

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Robotics-Assisted Endoscopy

Robotics-assisted platforms are poised to redefine procedural capabilities in ERCP, offering enhanced dexterity and precision to healthcare professionals. These sophisticated systems enable complex maneuvers and interventions with unprecedented control and efficiency, paving the way for safer and more effective procedures.

With the global surgical robotics market expected to reach $15.01 billion by 2027, robotics-assisted endoscopy represents a burgeoning frontier in minimally invasive surgery. 

A study published in the Journal of Gastrointestinal Surgery reported a significant reduction in procedure times and complications with the use of robotics-assisted endoscopy compared to traditional methods.

Augmented Reality (AR) Navigation

Augmented Reality (AR) navigation systems hold immense potential in enhancing procedural planning and execution for ERCP interventions. By providing three-dimensional visualization and spatial mapping of anatomical structures, AR-based navigation offers unprecedented insights into the patient's anatomy, enabling healthcare professionals to navigate with precision and confidence.

With the global AR market expected to reach $198 billion by 2025, the integration of AR technology into endoscopic procedures represents a transformative shift towards more personalized and precise patient care.

A study published in the Journal of Hepato-Biliary-Pancreatic Sciences demonstrated the efficacy of AR-based navigation in improving the success rate of ERCP procedures and reducing the risk of complications.

Continue Reading: https://www.healixhospitals.com/blogs/innovations-in-ercp-technology:-advancements-and-future-trends

[amrutmnm]

Technological Innovations Driving Growth in the UAV Avionics Market

The UAV (Drone) Avionics Market is at the forefront of technological innovation, with significant growth projected in the coming years. Valued at USD 3.41 billion in 2024, the market is expected to expand to USD 5.40 billion by 2029, registering a robust CAGR of 9.6% during the forecast period. The rapid adoption of advanced avionics systems for navigation, communication, and autonomous operations has solidified drones as essential tools across industries ranging from defense and agriculture to logistics and infrastructure monitoring.

Advanced UAV avionics systems enable precision navigation, secure communication, and efficient mission execution, making drones indispensable for modern operations. This blog delves into the market dynamics, drivers, restraints, opportunities, and challenges shaping the growth trajectory of the UAV avionics market, alongside the latest trends in artificial intelligence (AI) integration and regulatory advancements.

Market Dynamics: UAV Avionics Driving Precision and Efficiency

The UAV avionics sector has witnessed a surge in demand, driven by advancements in technologies such as autopilot systems, navigation modules, and real-time data processing. Modern UAVs rely heavily on avionics systems to enhance operational capabilities, particularly in challenging environments. For example, drones equipped with advanced navigation avionics can operate autonomously in urban landscapes and remote terrains. This functionality has expanded their use in military reconnaissance, agricultural monitoring, infrastructure inspection, and more.

Moreover, UAV avionics have revolutionized industries with their ability to deliver precision operations. In agriculture, drones equipped with advanced sensors and communication modules are used for crop monitoring and yield optimization. Similarly, in construction, UAVs assist in inspecting sites with high accuracy, reducing human intervention and enhancing safety. The energy sector has also leveraged UAV avionics to inspect power lines, minimizing downtime and operational risks.

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Key Drivers of Growth in the UAV Avionics Market

One of the primary drivers of the UAV avionics market is the continuous innovation in autopilot and navigation systems. These systems enable drones to execute autonomous operations with unprecedented precision. Features like real-time obstacle avoidance, autonomous path planning, and GPS/GNSS integration have elevated the reliability of UAVs in diverse applications.

In defense, UAV avionics systems have become crucial for executing missions in GPS-denied environments. Autonomous reconnaissance missions and real-time data relay capabilities have made drones indispensable for military operations. Similarly, commercial industries such as logistics and surveillance are embracing UAVs for their ability to perform complex tasks autonomously, reducing costs and improving efficiency.

Another significant driver is the integration of artificial intelligence (AI) into UAV avionics. AI-powered systems allow drones to perform real-time decision-making, predictive maintenance, and adaptive flight control. For instance, drones equipped with AI-enhanced flight controllers can dynamically adjust to weather conditions, ensuring mission success without human intervention. This integration is particularly transformative in sectors such as defense, where AI-based avionics enhance mission capabilities.

Challenges in the UAV Avionics Market

Despite its promising growth, the UAV avionics market faces several challenges. The high cost associated with the development and integration of advanced avionics systems is a major restraint. Components such as inertial navigation systems, SATCOM modules, and encrypted communication systems require extensive research, testing, and certification, significantly increasing the cost of UAVs.

These costs can deter adoption, particularly among small and medium-sized enterprises or budget-conscious sectors like agriculture. For instance, integrating anti-jamming communication modules and AI-based flight controllers can increase the price of UAVs by 20-30%, making them less accessible for cost-sensitive industries.

Regulatory barriers also present a significant challenge. Stringent aviation safety standards and operational guidelines in controlled airspace require UAV avionics systems to undergo rigorous testing and certification. This not only delays product launches but also adds to development costs. For instance, meeting the technical requirements for Beyond Visual Line of Sight (BVLOS) operations often proves challenging for manufacturers.

Opportunities in AI Integration and Autonomous Operations

The integration of AI into UAV avionics systems represents a transformative opportunity for the market. AI-powered avionics enhance drone capabilities, enabling autonomous operations such as real-time decision-making and adaptive flight control.

In the defense sector, AI-based avionics improve mission efficiency by allowing drones to conduct autonomous surveillance and threat detection. Similarly, in commercial applications, AI-powered UAVs are revolutionizing industries like logistics and agriculture. For example, drones equipped with AI-driven sensors can identify crop health issues in real time, optimizing agricultural practices.

The growing demand for autonomous UAVs across industries underscores the potential of AI in expanding the application scope of drone avionics systems. This trend is expected to drive market growth, offering lucrative opportunities for manufacturers and solution providers.

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Regional Insights and Market Trends

The UAV avionics market is witnessing robust growth across key regions, including North America, Europe, and Asia-Pacific. North America leads the market due to significant investments in UAV technology, particularly in the defense and commercial sectors.

In Europe, advancements in AI integration and regulatory reforms are driving the adoption of UAV avionics systems. Meanwhile, the Asia-Pacific region is emerging as a lucrative market, fueled by increasing demand for drones in agriculture, logistics, and infrastructure monitoring.

Key trends shaping the market include the adoption of AI-powered systems, advancements in autopilot and navigation technologies, and the integration of advanced sensors for real-time data processing. Additionally, the growing focus on BVLOS operations is expected to drive innovation in UAV avionics systems.

Future Outlook and Conclusion

The UAV (Drone) Avionics Market is poised for significant growth, driven by advancements in technology and increasing demand across industries. The integration of AI, combined with innovations in navigation and communication systems, is set to redefine UAV capabilities, expanding their application scope.

While challenges such as high costs and regulatory barriers persist, the market offers immense potential for growth. Manufacturers and solution providers investing in AI integration and autonomous systems are well-positioned to capitalize on emerging opportunities.

As industries continue to embrace UAV technology for its efficiency and precision, the UAV avionics market is expected to play a pivotal role in shaping the future of drone operations.

[caraudioexpertaustralia0]

Headunit With Carplay For Daewoo Matiz/ Chevrolet Spark/ Beat | 2010 | 9inch

Headunit With Carplay For Daewoo Matiz/ Chevrolet Spark/ Beat | 2010 | 9inch

[kayhanaudio2]

Kayhan Audio Car Stereo with SatNav for HYUNDAI i40 (2010–2017) Version 6 boasts an 8" touchscreen that seamlessly integrates with your vehicle. It offers advanced GPS navigation, Bluetooth connectivity, and smartphone integration for easy access to music, apps, and hands-free calls, enhancing your driving experience with style and convenience. Website:

[mssishipi]

life of parasites — pjs

Seven years ago, a parasite fell from the sky and rewrote the boundaries of biology, blurring the line between host and invader. Park Jongseong, now exists in the in-between, neither fully human nor entirely parasite, a hybrid organism shaped by adaptation and survival. Hunted by those who fear what they cannot categorize, he searches for meaning in the world—and finds it in you.

content tags/warnings: sci-fi— bio thriller, parasite hybrid pjs, parasite hybrid reader, they fight when they first met. body horror, graphic violence, injury and blood, death/near-death experiences, militarization, post-traumatic themes, mild animal endangerment. explicit content (smut): unprotected sex, fingering, cunilingus, multiple sex position (their refractory period is broken, they keep going and going), double penetration, tentacles (?), monster fucking. READER DISCRETION IS ADVICED. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! WC: 23.1K

note: the idea of monster and parasites in the story is inspired by the kdrama and anime: parasyte. but the biology, and how they merged was slightly different and some of it was my own writing.

Human psychology is deeply rooted in a survival mechanism that instinctively reacts with fear toward the unknown.

This fear, often manifesting as hostility, arises when individuals encounter phenomena that defy their understanding. When faced with the unfamiliar—particularly that which cannot be categorized within existing frameworks—the response is often defensive aggression. The unfamiliar is perceived as a threat, and in the absence of comprehension, elimination becomes the perceived solution.

Approximately seven years ago, Earth began experiencing a biological incursion in the form of a parasitic organism of unknown origin. This entity operates by infecting human hosts, initiating a fatal transformation process. The host is systematically destroyed at a cellular and cognitive level, as the parasite integrates with and ultimately overrides the nervous system and bodily structure.

Upon successful assimilation, the parasite reconstitutes the human form into a highly adaptive biomechanical entity capable of extreme morphogenesis. These entities exhibit advanced shapeshifting capabilities, able to reconfigure their structure into a variety of forms and tools, limited only by mass and matter conservation principles.

Neurologically, the parasite erases the host's personality and emotional spectrum, replacing it with a singular directive: to propagate through predation and infiltration. These organisms display a rudimentary form of consciousness, retaining fragments of the host's memories for navigational or social camouflage but are devoid of empathy or emotional regulation. Their cognitive processes are entirely geared toward strategic murder and survival.

Park Jongseong is different.

He adjusted his glasses, eyes fixed on the monitor displaying his own cellular data. Streams of biological activity lit up the screen—cells dividing, mutating, adapting. He was lucky to have access to advanced medical equipment. After all, he was a doctor.

Humans are naturally afraid of what they don't understand. It's part of how the brain reacts to threats—if something doesn't fit into what's familiar, the instinct is fear, often followed by violence. That's how humanity responds to the unknown: eliminate it.

Jongseong had become the unknown.

He didn't know what he was anymore. His thoughts still felt like his own. He still felt emotion, empathy, fear, curiosity. Yet something deep inside had changed. His body was no longer entirely human. Something else lived in his blood.

But with Jongseong, something went wrong—or maybe something went right.

The parasite had merged with him, not replaced him. His cells had changed, yes—they were stronger, more adaptive. He could feel the shift in his physiology: faster reflexes, enhanced senses, the strange ability to alter parts of his body at will. Yet his mind remained intact. His identity remained intact.

He was both parasite and human. A hybrid. An anomaly.

From a biological standpoint, it shouldn't be possible. The parasite is known to override the host completely—shutting down the brain, rewriting the nervous system, restructuring tissue on a molecular level. But in Park Jongseong's case, the process didn't go as expected. His consciousness remained. His emotions remained. He wasn't fully human anymore, but he wasn't fully parasite either.

And that made him dangerous—to both sides.

Creatures like him were being hunted by the government. Classified as biohazards. The official statement warned the public daily:

"Be careful around your friends, relatives, family—anyone could be infected. Parasites look just like us, until they kill."

Murder cases connected to parasitic activity filled the news. Victims were often found mutilated beyond recognition, their internal organs rearranged, their skin marked with unfamiliar growths. Fear spread faster than the infection itself. Jongseong watched the reports from his house, barely breathing. Every passing day made it harder to stay hidden.

If the government found him, they wouldn't ask questions. They'd dissect him alive—tear his mutated body apart in the name of research and national security.

"How do you identify a parasite?"

That was the question echoed by media and scientists. For humans, the method was crude but effective: parasites can't fully mimic human hair. A simple hair sample under a microscope reveals the truth—parasitic tissue lacks keratin structure, instead made of a flexible protein-carbon lattice designed to replicate appearance.

But parasites had their own way of detecting each other. A subtle biological signal—an acoustic resonance picked up only through the inner ear. Like a hidden frequency, only recognizable to those with the altered cochlear structure. Jongseong had experienced it more than once. He would walk past someone, hear that strange, low echo in his skull—and feel a sudden, icy stillness in his blood.

He wasn't alone. Parasites were organizing. At first, they were random killers. Now, they were moving in packs—coordinated, methodical. Adapting. Evolving. And so is he.

"That'll be 700 won," the cashier muttered, not bothering to meet his eyes.

Jongseong kept his head down, slipping the coins onto the counter. No conversation. No eye contact. He took the plastic bag with a silent nod, his fingers tightening around the thin handles before he turned and stepped back into the cold night.

Even with the parasite inside him, he still felt hunger—raw, physical. His body demanded energy like any other, though now his metabolism ran hotter, faster. He still craved food.

He still felt the ache of sadness, the longing to return to something normal. Something human.

But that life was gone.

The night air of Seoul stung against his skin, the cold seeping through his coat. He moved with the crowd, head low, blending in with the blur of footsteps, voices, and passing cars. Every sound echoed. The parasite had enhanced his senses, and sometimes the world was simply too loud.

Then he felt it, a low, familiar vibration in his inner ear—a biological resonance only detectable by parasite-modified auditory systems. His breath caught, and a pulse of instinctual fear ran through him. He looked around carefully, eyes scanning faces, shadows, movement. One of them was nearby.

His pace faltered. That's when he saw you.

You stood out—not because of your appearance, but because of what you did. In the middle of the crosswalk, your hand casually brushed your ear. A subtle motion, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to him it screamed recognition.

You were a parasite.

His brows drew together. Something was off. Parasites usually acted in groups—hunting together, assimilating their targets with military precision. If you were one of them, you should've engaged him.

But you didn't. You kept walking, fast and purposeful. Almost like... you were running away.

Jongseong stayed still for a moment, the bag of food hanging from his hand, forgotten. His heartbeat was heavy in his ears, half fear, and half curiosity. Why would a parasite avoid confrontation?

Jongseong moved. Not fast, not slow—just enough to stay behind you without drawing attention. He weaved through the crowd with quiet precision, his eyes fixed on the back of your coat. The city noise drowned under the low pulse still humming in his inner ear. It wasn't strong. Just enough to confirm you were still nearby. Still parasite.

The further you walked, the thinner the crowd became. The bright shops faded behind them, replaced by rusted gates, shuttered storefronts, and flickering neon signs. This was the forgotten edge of the city. The place people passed through quickly. The place no one paid attention to.

You turned down a narrow alley.

Jongseong hesitated at the entrance. The cold bit harder here, funneled between brick and concrete. His fingers curled, feeling the familiar tension in his muscles—his body silently preparing to shift if needed. Bone could become blade in less than a second now. But he held it back.

He stepped in. The alley stretched narrow, damp, littered with the scent of oil, metal, and old rain. Pipes hissed from the walls. Ahead, your footsteps had stopped. You were waiting.

When he turned the final corner, he found you standing in front of a rusted service door leading into a forgotten subway access station.

You didn't move. Neither did he.

"If you're looking for another kin," you snarled without turning, "then get the fuck out and leave me alone. I'm not one of them."

Your voice was sharp making Jongseong's body tensed instantly. The shift in your tone, the unnatural dilation of your pupils, set off every instinct in him. His hand inched slightly to the side, fingers twitching, ready to reconfigure.

Then it happened. Too fast to follow with human eyes.

Your right shoulder warped violently—tissue splitting and reshaping into something jagged, organic, and grotesque. It extended outward, not as a limb but as a weapon—wing-like in structure, but edged with hooked thorns.

You lunged, Jongseong barely reacted in time, his arm snapping up, skin splitting as a skin liked carapace laced with tendon grew along his forearm—absorbing the blow with a sickening crack of thorn against hardened flesh.

He staggered back, eyes narrowed, breathing sharp.

"You kept your mind," he growled, muscles tensed, his cells humming beneath his skin, ready to shift again. "But you're still dangerous."

Your shoulder pulsed with unnatural motion, the wing-like appendage twitching as it began to fold back. "I don't want to be part of your kin," you hissed, your voice jagged with fury. "Leave me the fuck alone. I am not a monster like you!"

Jongseong's eyes widened. He barely had time to respond before you surged forward. The air tore around you as your body shifted mid-motion—bone spiking from your forearm like a serrated blade. You slashed.

He ducked, sparks flying as your weapon scraped against the metal wall. He twisted, arm reforming into hardened muscle and armor-like plating, launching a counterstrike aimed at your ribs.

You blocked with an organic shield that burst from your side—scaled and ridged like insect chitin. The impact sent both of you skidding back across the damp concrete.

Your eyes met again. Rage. Confusion. Pain.

Jongseong lunged first this time, his limbs reshaping with practiced speed—flesh snapping, tendons stretching. A blade grew from his wrist like a fang of obsidian, and he swung it toward your shoulder.

You caught it, barehanded.

Your arm, now half-shifted and armored, trembled with force as it held his blade in place. But what caught him wasn't your strength—it was your face. You weren't snarling anymore. You were breathing hard. Your eyes... they were terrified.

Your reaction wasn't instinctual. It wasn't predatory. You had hesitated. Controlled your form. Redirected the attack instead of going for the kill. Just like him.

Jongseong pulled back, staggering a step. His breathing slowed. "You're... like me."

You stood still, chest rising and falling. The bone blade on your forearm quivered, then receded slowly, melting back beneath your skin.

"Don't say that," you whispered, voice cracking. "Don't compare me to you."

But the truth was there—in the way your limbs didn't shift fully, in the way your face still held emotion, conscience, even after a violent clash. You hadn't killed him when you had the chance. You chose not to.

"I'm a hybrid," Jongseong whispered, "I'm not a monster. I'm not human either. I assume you are too."

You didn't answer right away. Your eyes flicked toward the tunnel, where the distant clicking echoed like something crawling just beyond the light. Then, slowly, you turned back to him. Your jaw clenched, the muscles in your cheek twitching like you were holding something in.

"I'm a human." It sounded more like a plea than a statement. "I was—" you paused, blinking hard, "—I was a person. I had a name. A home. I worked a job. I went to cafés and hated Mondays. I had a cat."

Jongseong didn't move.

"I wasn't this," you went on, your voice rising. "I didn't ask for it. I woke up one day and everything was... different. My skin felt wrong. I couldn't stop hearing things. Smelling things. My body... it started moving on its own. Changing. Splitting open."

Your breathing quickened. "And now I can feel it, all the time. In my bones. In my mind. Whispering. Pulling that doesn't belong to me."

Your eyes met his—wide, wet, terrified. "I don't want to be what you are."

Jongseong lowered his gaze for a moment. He understood that look. He'd seen it in the mirror more than once.

"I didn't want this either," he said quietly. He took a slow, cautious step forward, then crouched to your level, his voice soft—human.

"I was a doctor," he said, almost with a tired smile. "Worked long shifts. Rarely slept. I used to stress-eat... corn, of all things. Still do. I don't know why. Guess the parasite didn't kill that part of me."

You blinked, confused by the strange confession. But it grounded you, if only for a moment.

"I think about who I used to be all the time," he continued. "That guy who thought medicine could fix anything. Who didn't believe in monsters—just diseases, mutations, pathology." He paused, watching your face. "Then I became the thing we used to study. And I realized something... I'm still here. Somewhere beneath all of this."

His fingers lightly tapped his chest.

Your gaze dropped, lashes trembling as you stared at the space between your knees, the damp concrete still stained from your earlier strike. You didn't say anything right away. Your breathing was shallow—measured, like you were trying not to fall apart.

"I used to love the rain," you said quietly, almost to yourself. "Now it just smells like metal and rust and... blood."

Jongseong didn't interrupt. He stayed crouched, steady, watching you.

"I haven't slept in two weeks. Not really. I keep waking up in the middle of the night with my hands turned into something else. Blades. Claws. Once, it was... wings." You gave a bitter laugh, dry and hollow. "I think they were wings. They tore the ceiling fan clean off."

"I keep thinking if I ignore it, if I just pretend hard enough, it'll go away. But it's always there. Under my skin. In my head."

Jongseong's voice came calm, anchored. "You're not imagining it. It's real. And it's not going away."

Your hands clenched into fists. "Then what's the point of fighting it?"

He didn't answer immediately. He sat down fully, folding his arms over his knees, not trying to lecture you but to just exist��beside you.

"I fight it because I still remember what it felt like to make people better," he said. "Because I don't want to lose that part of me. Even if it's buried under everything else." He glanced at you. "Because maybe... if I keep holding onto it, I can be something in between. Not human, not parasite. Something new."

You shook your head. "That sounds like a lie people tell themselves to feel less afraid."

"Maybe it is," he admitted. "But it keeps me sane."

Another silence settled in. Then, a small voice escaped you—quiet, brittle. "I used to sing. Just... badly. In the car. In the shower. Everywhere. And now when I try, nothing comes out. Like my voice doesn't belong to me anymore."

Jongseong looked at you. "That part's still there. Buried, but not gone."

You blinked rapidly, jaw tightening. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you carried a strange weight—grief, recognition, something neither of you could name but both felt. The bond of shared monstrosity. Of shared humanity refusing to die.

Then, softly, Jongseong added, "We don't have to be monsters, even if that's what we've become. We get to choose."

You were quiet for a moment, staring down at the cracks in the pavement. Your voice came small, almost like you were afraid the answer would make it more real.

"How long have you been... like this?"

Jongseong's gaze drifted for a second, remembering. "Two and a half years," he said quietly.

You looked up at him, your voice trembling. "Two months. That's how long it's been for me."

He nodded, listening.

"I ran away from home when I realized what was happening to me," you continued. "I couldn't stay. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I couldn't even trust myself." You exhaled shakily, brushing your palm across your face as if trying to wipe the memory away.

"I ran into a parasite once," you said. "Fully changed. No humanity left. Said he'd been like that for two years."

"What did he do?" Jongseong asked, already suspecting the answer.

"When he felt that I wasn't like him... he didn't speak. He just attacked. Like I was an error. A mutation. Something that needed to be erased."

Jongseong's jaw tightened. "You barely survived."

You nodded. "He tore my side open. I didn't even realize I could heal until after." The memory made you shudder.

"I thought maybe I could hide. Blend in. Pretend I was still normal. But that encounter changed everything. I knew then... there was no going back."

Jongseong looked at you, really looked, and said gently, "You've made it this far on your own. That counts for something."

You laughed bitterly. "Does it?"

"It does," he said. "Because most wouldn't have."

"The parasite in us... it doesn't understand mercy. Or hesitation. The fact that you've held on this long, that you chose not to give in—that means you're still you."

Your eyes flicked to him, unsure. "And if I stop choosing?"

"Then I'll stop you," he said, not as a threat, but as a promise. You blinked, searching his face for cruelty and finding only empathy.

It was strange, in a quiet way—comforting—to be near someone like you. Someone who understood. That's how you would describe it. A sense of relief wrapped in unease. You were still hiding, but not really. Not anymore.

You learned his name is Park Jongseong. He told you in passing, but you held onto it. Jongseong, meaning "collecting stars." It made you smile softly, secretly. How fitting, you thought, for someone piecing himself back together from fragments of something once human.

He gestured toward a small kit laid out between you. "Try to relax. I'm going to insert a needle—just a quick sample," he said, already prepping the syringe.

You stared at him, arching a brow, half laughing. "You know I merged my body with blades, right? A needle isn't exactly nightmare fuel, Dr. Park Jongseong."

He let out a quiet breath of amusement, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle, reluctant smile. It was the first expression that looked genuinely human since you'd met him. Still, he moved with the calm, clinical precision of someone who'd done this thousands of times. His hands didn't shake, and his voice stayed even.

You extended your arm, the skin unusually smooth where it had once morphed—no visible scars.

He carefully inserted the needle into your arm. The sensation was oddly muted—your pain receptors dulled, altered by the parasite. Your blood didn't flow quite like before; it was slightly denser and darker.

"This should be enough," Jongseong murmured, capping the vial. "I'll isolate the DNA structure, run it against my own. I want to see how your immune system adapted. If your T-cells underwent the same mutations."

You looked at him curiously. "You think we mutated differently?"

"I think we merged differently," he said, eyes flicking to his portable scanner. "The parasite doesn't always follow the same pattern. In most hosts, it hijacks the immune system completely—overrides all genetic repair functions, takes full control. But in us..."

"It coexists," you said softly, finishing his thought.

He nodded. "Exactly. It integrates rather than eliminates. Your T-cells should be producing chimeric proteins—part human, part parasite. Like mine."

You tilted your head, intrigued despite yourself. "You ever seen that happen before?"

He shook his head. "No. Just us."

You both sat in silence for a moment, the quiet hum of his scanner whirring softly as it began processing. Data streamed across the small screen, lines of genetic code scrolling faster than most could read.

"It's weird," you said. "I hated this thing inside me. Still do. But sitting here... I feel like I'm finally studying it. Like it's not just happening to me anymore. I'm taking it back."

Jongseong looked up from the scanner. "Exactly. That's what I've been doing for two years. Trying to understand it."

You watched him work. There was a quiet intensity to the way he moved, so focused, almost surgical. His fingers danced over the scanner's interface, eyes tracking streams of data with an ease. But your gaze wasn't on the screen.

You studied him. His nose was too pointed, almost sculpted. His jaw, sharp like it had been carved with purpose. The light caught on the angles of his face, shadows tracing across his skin like ink. His raven-black hair fell slightly over his brow, just messy enough to look deliberate, and yet... it suited him perfectly.

And his eyes, sharp, eagle-like. At first glance, they looked cold. Angry, even. The kind of gaze that could cut. But as you kept watching, you saw through it. There was no rage behind them. Only exhaustion and softness.

"I can feel you staring," he said suddenly, not looking up from the scanner.

You blinked, caught off guard. "You have a strangely symmetrical face."

He smirked faintly, still focused on the readout. "Years of stress must have evened me out."

"I think you're too pretty to be a walking biohazard," you added dryly.

That made him glance at you, a flicker of amusement breaking through the wall of control. "That's not usually the first thing people say when they see me split my arm open."

You tilted your head. "It's the second thing."

He huffed a quiet laugh. Just for a moment, you saw it—the man beneath the monster. The one who used to save lives, who still wanted to, even if he didn't say it aloud.

"I used to keep my reflection covered," you admitted, your voice softening. "Couldn't look at my own eyes. I was afraid one day they'd stop looking like mine."

He didn't respond right away. Just stared down at the glowing genetic map on the screen, jaw tight. Then he said, "Your eyes still look human to me."

Your cheeks flushed, the blood rising unbidden. A strange irony, considering how much your blood had changed, but it felt too human. 

After the blood draw, he insisted on running a full assessment—"purely diagnostic," he said, slipping back into the old habits of a physician. His voice turned more analytical. But his touch remained cautious, and gentle.

You sat on the metal examination table, legs swinging slightly, eyes drifting over the cluttered shelves and half-finished notes pinned across the wall. He moved in the background, scanning a new set of neural data. But your attention wasn't on the screen.

"Do you feel lonely in here?" you asked softly, not looking at him.

He didn't answer immediately. Just continued working for a few seconds, then said, "I don't notice anymore."

You didn't believe him. You don't think he did either.

After another minute passed, your voice returned, gentler. "What happened? When you first realized you were like this? Did you just... stop being a doctor?"

Jongseong paused, then turned slightly, leaning back against the counter. The light from the scanner flickered behind him, "I was attacked by a gang," he said flatly. "Back alley. They thought I had money. I lost count after the twentieth cut."

You stared at him, stunned.

"I had thirty-five knife wounds across my torso, chest, and abdomen," he continued, "deep lacerations. Organ damage. Multiple perforations. I was dying. I think... I was dead."

You swallowed hard, eyes fixed on him.

"I assume the parasite entered my body when I hit the threshold," he said. "Critical condition. Immune system collapsed. Internal bleeding. It's my theory that the parasite thrives more when the host is on the edge—when the system is weak enough to take, but not too far gone to recover."

His gaze lowered to your arm where the sample had been drawn. "My theory is... I wasn't strong enough to resist it. That's why I didn't die like the others. The parasite didn't need to fight me. It just filled in what was already broken." 

"So, you think it chose you because you were weak?"

He met your eyes again. "I think it needed someone weak. It needed space to grow."

A pause. His voice softened. "But maybe... maybe that's also why we didn't become them. Because we didn't fight it like a war. We... merged."

You shifted slightly, the sterile metal of the table cold under your fingertips. "You think that's why I'm still here, too?"

Jongseong nodded. "Your neural scans still show strong activity in the amygdala, the hippocampus. Emotional processing, memory retention. That's rare in infected hosts. Most show degeneration within a week of full takeover."

"And mine?"

He turned the screen slightly to show you. "Yours are still human. Intact. Maybe even more responsive than average."

You blinked. "So I'm... emotionally stronger?"

He gave a faint, crooked smile. "Or just more stubborn."

You laughed under your breath, soft eyes lingering on him, the curve of your smile not wide, but real. For a moment, Jongseong couldn't look away.

There was something in your expression that unsettled him more than any mutation, more than any parasite or hybrid anomaly. It was the trace of comfort. The ghost of peace in a body that shouldn't have had room for it.

On another day, beneath the soft whir of outdated HVAC vents and the mechanical rhythm of genetic sequencing equipment, your voice stirred.

"What happens to the parasite inside us?" you asked. "Where does it go?"

He didn't answer at first. Jongseong stood across the room, bare-chested, his skin partially illuminated by the sterile blue glow of the diagnostic interface. He was facing a mirror bolted to the wall—cracked slightly near the corner, the silver peeling at the edges. He hadn't looked into it for a long time. Not really.

But today, he was watching himself. And in the reflection, he saw you, standing behind him, the question still hovering in the air. He held your gaze for a second through the mirror, then turned back to his own reflection.

"I don't know," he said eventually. His voice was calm, but not detached. He was thinking—hard. "At least, in my case, I don't feel anything inside anymore. Not like those early days, when it felt like something was pushing... crawling beneath my skin. That pressure's gone."

He paused, lifting his hand, flexing his fingers slowly—watching the tendons shift under his skin.

"It's like... I consumed it," he said quietly. "Or maybe my body did. My cells stopped resisting. Stopped treating it as foreign. They absorbed it."

"You think your immune system... adapted?"

"Yes," he said, nodding faintly. "I've run thousands of blood scans. The parasite's original RNA is still there, but it's no longer dominant. It's dormant. Integrated. Like mitochondria."

You raised your brow. "You're saying it's symbiotic."

"More than that," he replied. "It's part of my physiology. My T-cells don't fight it. They use it. They've evolved—specialized to incorporate its functions. Shape-shifting, cellular regeneration, neural acceleration. My body didn't reject the parasite."

The parasite didn't dominate him. It became part of him.

You exhaled slowly, your voice soft, almost like you were speaking to yourself. "You're still human, after all..."

He didn't respond, his gaze lingered on you.

You looked down at your hands, turning one over, flexing your fingers. "You and the parasite... you didn't fight each other. You merged." You hesitated, the word strange on your tongue. "I don't even know if merge is the right term. That makes it sound clean. Voluntary."

Jongseong turned to face you fully now, taking a slow step closer. "It wasn't clean," he said. "And it sure as hell wasn't voluntary."

You looked up at him again.

"It was pain. Constant. Days of fevers, hallucinations, muscles tearing themselves apart. My nervous system was rewriting itself in real-time. I could feel my own memories slipping... then coming back sharper. Warped, like they'd been filtered through something else."

He tapped his temple once. "I didn't think I was going to survive it. I shouldn't have. But something inside me didn't break. It adapted. And when the parasite realized it couldn't overwrite me, it... integrated. Not by choice. By necessity."

Your brows furrowed slightly. "You're saying it didn't want you like that?"

"The parasite wants dominance," Jongseong said. "Control. But when it senses it can't win, it changes strategy. Tries to preserve itself through compromise. It's not a thinking organism, not in the way we are—but it learns."

You nodded slowly, eyes drifting to the cracked mirror behind him. "Then maybe it's not about merging or fighting. Maybe it's about outlasting it."

He studied you carefully, the muscles in his jaw flexing just slightly before he spoke.

"Exactly. If you can hold on long enough, if you can stay yourself through the pain... you don't lose. You evolve."

You looked down again, thinking of all the moments you thought you were slipping. All the nights your body changed without your permission. All the times you'd woken up shaking, afraid of your own skin.

And yet... you were still here.

You looked down at your hands, flexing your fingers slowly. The skin looked normal now. "My hand hurts sometimes," you admitted, voice quiet. "It's like... a pressure building under the bone. I can control my shifting, but sometimes it feels like something else is doing it for me."

Your eyes lingered on your arm as if it might betray you in the next breath.

"I feel like I'm not me."

"That's normal," he said. "You're still only two months in. Your body's not fully stabilized yet. It takes time. The neural pathways between your conscious mind and the parasite's reactive systems are still syncing."

You glanced up at him. "That sounds way too clinical for my hand turns into a blade without asking."

He smirked faintly. "Point is—you'll get used to it. Eventually, the signals align. You won't have to fight for control. You'll just be in control."

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. "But what if I don't?"

His smile faded, but his expression didn't turn cold. "Remember what I said when we first met?" he asked.

You nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as the memory stirred. Jongseong gave a soft tired smile. "I'll stop you."

You stared at him, reading the weight behind the words. "And you'd really do it?" you asked.

"If it came to that," he said, without hesitation. "If you lost yourself completely—if there was no coming back—then yeah. I would."

"But not because I see you as a threat," he added. "Because I'd want someone to do the same for me."

"I don't want to become something I'd have to be stopped from," you whispered.

"Then don't," he said simply.

Another day blurred into a week, and somehow, it became routine.

You and Jongseong were always near each other now. You simply showed up, and he never asked you to leave.

Every morning, without fail, you arrived at his doorstep. Sometimes barefoot, sometimes holding a plastic bag of random things you'd picked up—food, spare clothes, old electronics scavenged from forgotten corners of the city. Always with that same wide smile and a casual wave, like the world hadn't tried to erase you.

His home sat far from the crowded parts of Seoul, nestled in the quiet sprawl of the outer districts—secluded enough that no one asked questions, yet comfortable in a way that surprised you. It wasn't sterile or abandoned. It was... lived in. Warm wood tones, clean tile, books stacked in corners, a faint smell of roasted coffee in the mornings.

You didn't expect someone like him to have soft blankets and expensive sheets. But then again, he had been a doctor. Years of relentless work had filled his bank account even as it slowly emptied him. He rarely touched the money now, except to keep the house running and the lab functional. The rest stayed untouched, gathering dust, like a forgotten version of himself.

Still, his kitchen was well-stocked. His bed was always made. And now, somehow, you had become part of that space.

One quiet afternoon, sunlight filtered through the wide windows, casting long golden shadows across the hardwood floor. You stood barefoot in his living room, playfully holding your arm out as it began to shift.

Jongseong watched from the couch, sipping lukewarm tea, his eyes narrowed in equal parts curiosity and caution.

"It's my first time encountering someone who can shape their hand into wings," he said.

You smirked and raised your hand, flesh trembling, tendons coiling and restructuring. The skin along your forearm peeled open in seamless, silent motion, splitting into more organic. A full wing unfurled—sleek and wide, nearly as tall as you. Its edges were curved like a crescent, the shape aerodynamic but jagged, ringed with short, blade-like protrusions.

It was the color of your skin, yet it glinted faintly in the light.

"Most parasites use their heads," Jongseong murmured, leaning forward slightly. "They split open like flower petals—exposing core structures for attack or communication."

He stood and stepped closer, gaze fixed on your transformed arm. "But this... this is different. It's not just offensive. It's built for movement. Flight, maybe. Or at least gliding. Your body's adapting beyond the base strain."

You watched his fascination with a faint grin. He spoke like a scientist.

"Does your head still hurt?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes.

You hesitated for a moment, then shook your head. "Not anymore," you said softly. "I started doing what you told me. Focusing on breathing. Slowing everything down when it starts building up."

He nodded, approving. "The headaches come from pressure. When the nervous system tries to regulate a function it doesn't fully understand. But when you center your breathing, you give the brain a stable pattern—something to anchor the mutation against."

You laughed a little. "You sound like a meditation app."

"Doctor first," he replied, raising a brow. "Monster second."

You folded the wing back into your arm slowly, watching as the skin sealed over again, leaving no sign it had ever been anything else. Jongseong handed you a towel to wipe the sweat off your hands—it wasn't painful anymore, but it still took effort.

"Do you ever get tired of analyzing me?" you teased, dabbing your brow.

"Not yet," he said. "You're the only other hybrid I've ever met. Every reaction you have, every adaptation—it all tells me more about how this thing works."

You leaned back against the kitchen counter, looking at him with warmth. "So I'm your favorite test subject?"

He smiled faintly. "You're the only one who smiles back."

You started living around him—and it wasn't planned. It just... happened.

There was no formal moment when it became your place too. You simply never left. You came in, stayed for a while, and then stayed a little longer. Your bag ended up in the corner of his hallway. A change of clothes appeared on the back of his chair. Your toothbrush found its way into a cup next to his. No one said anything.

His laboratory is tucked beneath the basement. Stainless steel counters were cluttered with vials, blood samples, biofeedback equipment, and an old centrifuge that rattled every time it spun. Some walls were covered with whiteboards, sketched with frantic genetic maps, neural networks, protein structures, and lines of code that only made partial sense to you.

You stood in the doorway for a long time watching him. Despite not wearing a coat or a stethoscope anymore, he was still a doctor. He spent hours down there, alone, dissecting the mystery of what you both had become. Studying the hybrid genome, comparing tissue reactions, tracking metabolic rates, rebuilding broken sequences.

He never said it, but you knew he wasn't doing it for science.

He was doing it to keep himself sane.

So, you stayed. And while he worked, you started moving through the rest of the house. Dust had gathered in the corners of rooms he didn't use. Shelves were layered with months of settled particles, and forgotten books lay unopened beneath it. So you cleaned. One room at a time.

You cooked, mostly for yourself at first. But eventually, you started making enough for two. He always ate. Silently, usually. But he ate. Sometimes with a quiet compliment, sometimes with a small smile.

Later, you found the backyard—overgrown, wild, and tired. The flower beds were choked by weeds, the soil cracked from neglect. You didn't ask permission. You just started clearing it out. Pulling weeds. Watering the roots that still had life left in them. Then you bought seeds, colorful ones: snapdragons, asters, cosmos. Something bright. Something that still dared to bloom.

He noticed, of course. But he didn't stop you.

Sometimes, at night, when the house was still and the garden smelled faintly of wet soil, you found yourself staring at the ceiling of the guest room—Jongseong's oversized hoodie draped around your shoulders, warm with his scent—and wondered:

Is this what being human still feels like?

You asked yourself the question over and over, unsure of the answer. You still laughed. You still dreamed. You still loved food, flowers, music. You still worried.

Your mind drifted to things you hadn't let yourself think about in weeks. Your mother. Your cat. Your home.

The lie you told when you disappeared—telling your family you'd run off with someone. You'd sent one message. Just one. And never replied again.

Do they hate me for it? you wondered. Do they think I'm alive? Do they sit at the dinner table and leave your place empty, hoping?

The thought made you smile—but it was the kind of smile that didn't reach your eyes.

You snorted under your breath, turning onto your side.

Because now, in some twisted, literal sense, you were living with a guy. A guy who wasn't exactly human anymore. A guy who slept only four hours a night and spent the rest of his time trying to outsmart biology. A guy whose hands could become blades. Whose eyes still softened when he thought you weren't watching.

A guy who hadn't kicked you out. Who never would.

"You can shift your hands without blades?"

Your eyes widened as you stared at Jongseong, the question tumbling from your lips. The very idea felt foreign—impossible, even. Your own shifting had always come with sharp edges, bone-splitting pain, and the quiet terror that you might lose control if you shaped too far.

Jongseong glanced down at his hands, calm and controlled. Then, with a quiet exhale, he lifted one hand and extended it toward you, palm up. "Watch," he said simply.

His dark eyes shifted—pupils dilating slightly, the irises deepening in color until they almost looked black, consuming the natural brown. You knew what that meant. It was a physiological marker—hybrid activation. Your eyes did the same when you shifted. His were sharp, but not hostile, focused, but unthreatening.

The structure of his hand started to ripple not violently, not like yours usually did. No sharp angles, no sudden protrusions of bone or blade. The skin thinned and stretched, flowing in a fluid-like motion that reminded you of melting wax. It wasn't grotesque—it was graceful.

His fingers elongated and curved slightly. From the base of his palm, tendrils began to unfurl—slender, flexible, organic. Not quite like vines, not quite like tentacles, but something in-between. Soft ridges lined their surfaces. They pulsed faintly with life, reacting to the air, to temperature, to you.

They didn't glint like blades. They didn't threaten. They moved with purpose.

Your breath caught as you watched, caught between horror and awe.

"How...?" you whispered.

Jongseong didn't smile, but there was a quiet light in his eyes. "The parasite doesn't only build weapons. It builds tools—if you teach it to."

You stepped closer, cautiously, drawn to the strange, mesmerizing movement of his altered hand. "I thought it only knew how to kill."

"So did I," he said. "At first. But then I started thinking like it. Observing. Not just resisting. It reacts to survival instinct, yes—but it also responds to intention. Will."

He slowly closed his hand, the tendrils retracting fluidly, vanishing back into his skin as the flesh reformed and returned to normal.

You blinked, letting out a slow breath. "Wow. That's impressive but... completely useless," you said, your voice laced with sarcasm.

Jongseong's eyes returned to their usual deep brown, pupils shrinking, the hybrid dilation fading. He looked up at you, a beat of silence passing then he laughed.

It was soft, unguarded. A sound you hadn't heard often from him, but when it came, it felt genuine, surprisingly warm. "Well, thanks," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Glad to know my non-lethal biological innovation gets such rave reviews."

You shrugged, trying not to smile. "Sorry, Dr. Frankenstein. I just can't think of a practical use for creepy space noodles."

"Tactile sensory extensions," he corrected with mock offense. "They can be used to detect surface tension, pressure shifts, chemical traces—"

"So basically... weird science-fingers."

Jongseong gave you a long, theatrical sigh, one hand dragging down his face in mock despair, though the amused curve of his mouth betrayed him.

"You know what? Fuck it," he muttered, turning back to his workstation, but not before you caught the upward twitch of his lips.

Another month drifted by.

You woke, cooked, trained, experimented, and sometimes just existed with Jongseong in quiet companionship. The world outside still cracked and groaned with danger, but within the walls of his house, it was a different season.

And outside, life was starting to bloom.

The garden you once cleared had transformed. Where dry soil had stretched beneath tired weeds, color now flourished. The seeds you planted with no real hope had taken root. Soft petals in pinks, purples, and golds opened under the late spring sun, nodding gently with every breeze. You had come to love the quiet act of watering them in the morning, a grounding ritual. Something beautifully, stubbornly normal.

This morning, as dew still clung to the flowerbed leaves and your fingers dripped with the cool mist from the watering can, a small sound broke the usual silence.

A tiny cry. High-pitched. Fragile. You turned, instinctively alert. But it wasn't danger waiting for you in the corner of the fence.

It was a kitten. A small, orange-furred ball curled beneath the bushes—wide green eyes blinking up at you, damp fur clinging to its sides. It looked no older than a few weeks, its tiny ribs shifting with every shaky breath.

"Awww," you murmured, your voice softening as you crouched slowly to its level.

The kitten tilted its head but didn't run. You extended a hand carefully, fingers open, palm low.

"Hey, sweetheart... Where's your mommy?" you whispered.

It answered with a soft meow, barely more than a squeak, and nudged its head forward until it touched your fingers. Warmth bloomed in your chest, before you realized what you were doing, you scooped it gently into your arms, pressing it to your chest.

You didn't hesitate. You brought it inside.

When Jongseong stepped out of the lab hours later, adjusting the settings on his neural scanner, he stopped in the middle of the hallway.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch with a towel-wrapped bundle in your lap. The orange kitten, freshly cleaned and fed, purred softly as it nuzzled your hand.

"You brought home a cat," he said flatly, blinking.

You looked up at him, eyes wide with innocent pride. "I named him Jongjong."

His expression flickered. "Jong... jong?"

You nodded with complete seriousness. "Because he's small. And soft. And a little grumpy."

Jongseong blinked again, then exhaled through his nose, half a laugh, half disbelief. "I can't decide if I'm offended or flattered."

"Oh, definitely flattered," you said with a grin. "He's the cutest thing I've seen since I moved in."

The kitten let out a mew, as if to confirm the sentiment. Jongseong stepped closer, crouching beside the couch to get a better look. The kitten stared back at him, unblinking, then gave a dramatic yawn and immediately fell asleep on your lap.

"He trusts you," Jongseong said, softer now.

You looked down at the little creature and ran your thumb gently between its ears. "He doesn't know what I am."

Jongseong was quiet for a moment. "Maybe that's the point."

You glanced at him.

"Maybe he just sees what's real," he added. "And not what we're afraid we've become."

You didn't answer right away. You just watched Jongjong breathe, tiny chest rising and falling against your arm, and felt the quiet weight of peace settle in the room like sunlight through the window.

Jongseong had spent years alone his house, surrounded by machines and memories. He thought solitude was necessary, that isolation kept him safe. That by keeping others out, he could contain the thing growing inside him, the part of him that wasn't entirely human anymore.

That was why, when you first asked him if he ever felt lonely, he hadn't known how to answer.

Now, he had an answer.

Yes.

Because since you arrived, he'd started to remember what it felt like not to be alone. And that contrast made the emptiness he'd grown used to feel sharper, heavier in retrospect. The silence he once embraced had been suffocating. But he hadn't noticed until it began to lift.

You filled the space with little things—sounds, gestures, life. The clink of ceramic mugs in the morning. The quiet murmur of your voice as you read out diagnostic data. The rustle of your clothes as you passed him in the hallway, always brushing just a little too close, like your gravity had started to pull on his.

He never told you that he started waking up before his alarm—not for research, but to hear you moving through the house. The sound of water boiling. The soft click of the stove. The faint hum of your voice when you thought no one could hear.

He never mentioned how he started leaving notes near your table. Little reminders. Jokes hidden inside formulas. Once, a crude sketch of a protein chain that somehow resembled a flower. You'd found it, looked at him with one raised brow, and said nothing, but your smile had lingered for hours.

Maybe you already knew.

Because some nights, when the house fell silent again—when the tunnel lights above the basement flickered and the lab's hum faded into a deeper hush—you would sit beside him on the couch, not asking questions, not filling the air with unnecessary words. Just being there. Shoulder to shoulder. Warm. Quiet.

And the silence didn't feel empty anymore.

"Peek-a-boo!"

Jongseong spun around and froze.

Your face had split clean down the middle, skin peeled open like flower petals under pressure, revealing the intricate folds of your brain, glistening and wet. Thorned tendrils coiled from within the exposed cavity, twitching slightly as if sensing the air. Despite the grotesque transformation, one half of your mouth was still smiling, playful, unbothered, as if this was just another joke between the two of you.

And somehow, impossibly, Jongseong found himself staring—not with fear, but with a strange, quiet awe.

Even like this warped, twisted, exposed, he still thought you were beautiful.

Terrifying, yes.

But beautiful.

Jongseong let out a sigh and pressed his lips to the rim of his coffee mug, hiding the curve of his smile behind it. He didn't laugh—barely. It wasn't that it wasn't disturbing. It was. You looked like something torn from a biology textbook on alien evolution.

With a twitch of muscle and membrane, your face knit itself back together, seamlessly folding in. The thorns retracted, the skin closed, the tremors stopped. You bounced on the balls of your feet, practically glowing with excitement.

"I learned that yesterday!" you said, beaming. "Can you do that too?!"

You looked at him like a child begging for a party trick, eyes wide, shining with that strange joy that came with discovering just how far the body could stretch before breaking.

Jongseong tilted his head, smile lingering at the edges of his lips. He set his coffee down on the lab table and stood slowly. "It's not exactly the same," he murmured, voice low and calm, "but... sure."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Then his skin split—not down the middle like yours, but in five clean diagonal lines across his face. The motion was quiet, each line peeled open slightly, like vents adjusting to pressure. From the top of his forehead, the bone shifted and stretched, revealing a sliver of cerebral tissue beneath a thin veil of skin—pale, veined, faintly glowing. A single blade unfolded with a smooth, mechanical grace, jutting forward from the frontal bone, not sharp enough to kill, but certainly enough to threaten.

"That's... beautiful," you whispered.

He let the mutation retract slowly, each fracture sealing with precision. No blood. No pain. Just practiced control.

"I thought we were past the point of calling brain blades 'beautiful,'" he teased, reaching for his coffee again.

You shrugged. "I think we're past the point of pretending we're not fascinated with each other."

That silenced him for a second. You stepped in a little closer. Not touching—just close enough to share breath. Close enough to see your reflection in his eyes. "Is that why you looked at me like that?" you asked, voice quieter now. "When I split open?"

Jongseong didn't answer immediately. He studied your face—not the skin, not the features, but the you beneath it. The remnants of humanity still clinging to something that should've been lost. The way your voice still held inflection, still carried joy. The way your smile wasn't entirely biological, it came from memory, not muscle.

"Yes," he said finally. "Because no one's ever shown me something monstrous... and looked so alive doing it."

You didn't move. Neither did he.

You stood there, close enough that you could hear the soft intake of his breath, the quiet thrum of his altered heart beneath his ribs, beating in a rhythm that no longer matched human biology... yet somehow still made your chest ache.

You reached up slowly, not asking permission, not speaking, just brushing your fingertips along the faint lines that remained on his cheek. The skin was smooth, impossibly warm, as if something still lived just beneath the surface, twitching, waiting. He didn't flinch. If anything, he leaned into your touch, just a fraction subtle enough to be instinct, but intentional enough to mean something.

"You're always so careful," you whispered, your voice barely more than breath.

Jongseong's eyes met yours. "If I'm not, I might hurt you."

You smiled faintly. "Maybe I don't mind."

That earned a small, broken sound from him. He reached up, slowly, carefully, and took your hand in his. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist.

"I don't know what this is," you said softly, searching his face. "I don't know if it's real or just chemical—just mutation convincing us we're closer than we are."

His fingers laced between yours.

"Maybe it is chemical," he said. "But if that's true, then so is every heartbeat. Every kiss. Every touch humans have ever shared. Maybe we're just... another version of it now."

You stared at him for a long moment. Not a word passed between you. Then you leaned forward slowly, testing the air between your mouths like it was charged and he met you halfway.

It wasn't a desperate kiss. It wasn't rushed, or hungry, or tangled in panic. It was precise.

His lips were warm—almost too warm. His body still carried that inhuman heat, like the parasite burned deeper than blood. But you kissed him anyway, because in that heat, you felt something real. Something yours.

He drew you in gently, hand sliding behind your neck. You felt your body respond, you tilted your head, lips parting slightly, angling the kiss deeper, fuller. He tasted like cheap coffee and the metallic hint of sterile air, but it didn't matter.

"I used to think I'd die without ever feeling something like this again," he murmured.

You ran your fingers along his jaw, still touched by the faint lines of his previous transformation. "I thought I had already."

He smiled against your skin. "Guess we were both wrong."

Then his mouth was on yours again, this time deeper, more certain. Not rushed, but hungry. His hand slid down your spine, fingers curling at your waist as he drew you in until there was nothing but heat between you.

You gasped softly against his lips, the sound spilling from you before you could stop it. Your hands moved up, wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He took that moment, his tongue slipped past your lips gliding against yours.

His hands were on your thighs, firm but gentle, and you responded without hesitation. In one motion, you jumped, legs wrapping around his waist, your bodies moving together. He didn't break the kiss—not even for a second—as he carried you with careful steps.

And then you felt it: the shift beneath your back, the familiar give of fabric and old springs. The soft mattress beneath you.

You exhaled as your spine met the bed, his weight settling over you. His lips moved from yours, dragging downward, slower along the edge of your jaw, then to the tender skin just below your ear, and further down to the place where your pulse fluttered.

"Jongseong," you whispered, your voice shaky, half-lost in the sensation, as his mouth lingered at your neck. You felt the sharp heat of his breath, then the sudden sting of teeth—not enough to break skin, just to claim it.

He groaned against your throat, the sound guttural, vibrating against your skin as his hips pressed down, grinding against yours with a rhythm that sent sparks through your nerves.

"Do parasites get this horny?" he murmured. You laughed, high and breathy, your hips tilting up to meet his. The movement drew a sharp moan from both of you as friction met heat, and the space between you disappeared again.

"Maybe it's just us," you said, fingers digging into his back. "Maybe we're the broken ones who feel too much."

His forehead pressed to yours, his lips hovering just above your mouth as he whispered, "Then I never want to be fixed."

He shifted his weight, sitting back just enough to reach for the hem of your shirt. You lifted your arms without hesitation, eager, your skin already humming with anticipation. The fabric peeled away easily, and the moment the cold air kissed your bare skin, a shiver ran through you.

Jongseong's gaze darkened.

"Shit..." he murmured under his breath, almost like he couldn't help it. Then his mouth was on yours again—hotter now, more desperate. His hands braced your hips as you reached between your bodies, finding the waistband of his pants and slipping your fingers underneath. You cupped him through the fabric, palm slow and the sound he made into your mouth was something deep. His hips jolted, twitching into your hand, hungry for more.

Your bra was the next to go, tossed carelessly across the room. The moment it was gone, his hands returned to your body. He paused, looking down at you. His fingers traced the lines of your waist, thumbs brushing the curve of your ribs, his breath shaking as though the sight of you unraveled something inside him.

He looked into your eyes—asking, without words.

And you answered. "Please... touch me more," you whispered, his mouth lowered, finding the curve of your breast, lips brushing the delicate skin before closing around your nipple. His tongue moved slow at first, teasing the areola in gentle circles, and then with more pressure—suckling, tasting, devouring.

Your back arched off the mattress, every nerve lit in a low, burning ache that made your breath catch in your throat. A breathy sigh slipped past your lips as you tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him there, needing more.

"God—Jongseong..." you moaned.

He responded with a groan of his own, vibrations rumbling against your skin as his hands slid down again. His mouth moved across your chest, his tongue leaving trails of heat as he worshipped every inch he could reach.

Beneath it all was something that had nothing to do with instinct. You weren't two creatures responding to any programming. You were two broken people learning how to feel again, how to love without shame—even if your bodies weren't built like they used to be.

"Remove it," you whispered, fingers curling in the fabric at his waist.

His mouth left your breast with a soft pop, his breath warm against your skin. He met your gaze and then rose onto his knees, hands moving quickly to strip the last layers away. Shirt, pants, boxers—gone in seconds, discarded to the shadows around the bed.

Your breath caught. Your eyes dropped, landing on his body, honed, powerful, beautiful in a way that bordered on unnatural. And then your gaze found his cock: thick, flushed, already aching for you. The sight sent heat spiraling through your core, a pulse deep between your thighs.

Your mouth watered.

You sat up, hands reaching for him, fingertips tentative at first, then bolder—wrapping around his length, feeling the weight of him, the twitch beneath your touch. Your movements were a little clumsy, a little hungry.

Your thumb grazed over the slick at the tip, smearing it down the shaft with a slow drag that made his breath hitch.

He was so hard. So warm. You could feel his pulse there, alive in your palm.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face. And God, how could someone look so divine?

The dim lights above caught on his sweat-damp hair, his chest rising and falling with every uneven breath. His lips were parted, his eyes hooded but fixed on you like he was watching a miracle unfold. Like you were the miracle.

You stare at him back, and it hits you. He wasn't human—not anymore. Because no human was this breathtaking. No man could look so effortlessly beautiful, even when his body was wrapped in scars, mutations, and power.

Ethereal, you thought.

You arched your back slightly as you leaned down, breath skimming along his length, and you kept your eyes locked on his. The second your tongue flicked out to lick the tip—slow, teasing—he let out a low, guttural sound that made your whole body throb with need.

His hands gripped the edge of the mattress, muscles tightening.

You ran your tongue along the underside of his cock, your lips ghosting over the sensitive skin, teasing him.  You loved the way he watched you.

"Fuck..." he whispered, voice hoarse.

You smiled against him, mouth opening wider as you took him in again—inch by inch, savoring the feel, the taste, the heat. Your fingers stroked what your lips couldn't reach, working in tandem as your pace gradually deepened, your body moving with quiet, desperate rhythm.

His hands found your face, thumbs gently cradling your cheeks as he looked down at you with that subtle, crooked smile—soft and filled with adoration. His gaze was half-lidded, dark with desire, but calm, too.

You hummed around his cock, the vibration making his stomach tense and his breath falter. You continued your rhythm, your head bobbing as your tongue worked him. Each motion earned a different sound from him, deeper now, breathless and ragged, his self-control rapidly fraying.

"Stop for a while," he breathed, voice tight, hand sliding to your jaw as he gently pulled you back.

You let him go, a thin string of saliva still connecting your lips to his tip, glistening between you. He didn't look away, his thumb brushed the slick trail from your mouth, and with a smirk, he pressed it between your lips.

You closed your mouth around it instinctively, eyes locked with his.

"Fuck," he whispered, as if the sight of you like that physically hurt. "You're so goddamn hot."

His hand slid from your cheek to your side. He guided you back down to the mattress, kissing you softly between each motion, your cheek, your shoulder, the center of your chest—as his fingers hooked the waistband of your pants and pulled them down, taking your underwear with them.

Cool air hit your thighs, and you shivered—but not from the temperature.

His breath hitched audibly as the scent of your arousal flooded the space between you. His cock twitched visibly, a strangled groan catching in his throat as his eyes dropped to the heat between your legs. And when he saw you—really saw you—his hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he gently, but insistently, pushed them apart.

There you were. Glistening. Dripping. Your pussy visibly clenching, aching around nothing. Open to him.

"Haah..." he moaned. "You're perfect."

"Jongseong," you whined, hips tilting upward, searching for friction, for touch, for him. "Please... touch me already."

He leaned down, his mouth met your clit in one hot, wet stroke. You cried out at the contact, your back arching, fingers flying to his hair, gripping tight. He groaned against you, vibrating straight through your core.

His tongue moved with hunger, circling your clit, then flattening against it, then flicking with just enough pressure to make you gasp. His hands held your thighs open, possessive and steady, his mouth working you like he was starved for you.

Then he dipped lower.

His tongue slid down through your folds, gathering your slick, then pressing against your entrance—probing, pushing, entering.

You moaned, loud and breathless, as his tongue fucked into you, warm and firm and impossibly deep. It was intimate and wild, like he wasn't just tasting you—he was making out with your cunt. Every slurp echoed in your ears, every flick sent sparks crawling up your spine.

You could feel his tongue twisting inside you, exploring every inch, curling upward, coaxing you open in ways no one ever had. His mouth moved between your clit and your core, switching seamlessly, building pressure until you were panting, writhing beneath him.

"Are you gonna cum, my love?" Jongseong murmured, lifting his head just slightly to look at you.

My love.

The words hit deeper than his fingers ever could. Your chest fluttered, warmth blooming beneath your ribs. You couldn't answer with words—only a frantic nod, your fingers tightening in his hair, mussing it, holding him

His mouth returned to your cunt, tongue working your clit with firm, relentless pressure. He licked harder, faster, each stroke pushing you higher, your body already teetering on the edge.

You were twitching, panting, the heat spiraling out from your core in waves. You'd forgotten what it was like to feel so alive, so overwhelmed in the best possible way—like every nerve had come back to life.

You shattered with a cry, orgasm tearing through you like fire.

But Jongseong didn't stop.

Even as your thighs trembled, even as your body jolted with sensitivity, he kept his tongue swirling over your clit. And then, as if he knew just how to break you open all over again, he pushed two fingers into you, his middle and ring finger, long and strong and perfectly angled.

He curled them inside you, then began to thrust, steady and deep, knuckles brushing your entrance on every stroke.

"Ahhh! Jongseong!" You gasped, sitting up involuntarily, hips bucking against his face. Your body screamed with overstimulation, but it was too good to stop. Too much and not enough, all at once.

Back when you were still "normal," an orgasm like that would've left you limp and done. But now? Now you felt supercharged, every cell vibrating, your skin buzzing with more instead of fatigue.

You needed more and so did he.

The same fire burned beneath Jongseong's skin—evident in the way his hands gripped you tighter, in the flush blooming across his cheeks, in the heat radiating from his body like a furnace stoked too long.

He pulled himself up, chest heaving, and kissed you hard. Your tongues tangled instantly, messy and desperate, your panting breaths shared between kisses.

His fingers never stopped, still inside you, still thrusting, now with an animalistic rhythm that had you whining into his mouth. Each stroke sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your core, your thighs twitching around his hips.

He swallowed every sound, every moan, and you could feel the satisfaction in the way he kissed you.

"More," you breathed against his lips.

His gaze darkened, his fingers thrusting deeper. "Then I'll give you everything."

He kissed you again, slower this time. You could feel his cock, hot and heavy, pressed against your thigh, throbbing with the need to be inside you.

He slowly slipped his fingers from you, your body twitching at the sudden emptiness, and shifted forward, positioning himself between your legs. His hand wrapped around his length, stroking himself once, then guiding the tip down between your folds. He didn't rush—he dragged the head of his cock through your slick, coating himself in the warmth of your arousal.

You whimpered, legs spreading wider, instinctively offering yourself to him, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

"Put it in," you whispered, desperate, lifting your hips to meet him. "Please..."

But he held you still, fingers tight on your hips. "Not yet," he murmured, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock. "I want to feel you beg for it."

You moaned softly, hips twitching, the heat between your thighs unbearable now.

He finally pressed forward, just the tip breaching you and both of you cried out in unison. It wasn't just the physical sensation. It was the shock of connection.

"God—your pussy's sucking me in," Jongseong groaned, his head tilting back slightly, neck tense, jaw clenched. "Oh, fuck..."

When he pushed deeper, you choked on a moan, head dropping back into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets. Inch by inch, he filled you completely, the stretch perfect, overwhelming. You could feel every vein, every pulse, your body clenching desperately around him as he reached places you forgot were there—almost brushing your cervix, almost too deep, but just right.

Jongseong leaned into you, pressing his body against yours, skin to skin, chest to chest. His arms wrapped around you. He hugged you—his full weight over you. His face buried in your neck, breath warm against your pulse as he finally began to move.

Slow thrusts, measured and deep. Every time he pushed inside you, it felt like a wave crashing over your soul—bringing back color, sound, breath. You clung to him, your arms around his back, legs locking around his waist.

"I feel so alive," Jongseong whispered against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin as he kissed it.

The room was filled with heat. The sound of breath, of skin meeting skin echoed through the space only the two of you could hear. Outside, the world moved—wind howling through the tunnels, distant animal sounds sharp on the air, senses heightened by your altered bodies.

But none of it mattered.

The only scent in the air was arousal—yours and his. The only sounds were gasps, moans, curses whispered into sweat-slick skin.

"Nghh... Jongseong..." you cried, voice cracking as you pulled him closer, fingers digging into his back like you could drag him deeper inside you.

His rhythm shifted, harder now. More forceful. And then he angled his hips just right—and hit you there.

Your scream tore through the room as his cock slammed into your g-spot, stars bursting behind your eyes. You clenched around him, tight and involuntary, your body no longer yours—only his, only this.

"Fuck," he cursed, head dropping into your shoulder as your walls fluttered around him. "You feel like heaven."

"Harder... please," you begged, your voice a broken whisper. "Want it harder."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath uneven, eyes blazing with raw intensity. "Yeah? This not enough for you?" he rasped.

You could only shake your head, tears brimming at the edges of your lashes from how good it felt. His hand reached up, fingers gently sweeping the damp strands of hair from your face. Then he kissed you again. Pouring every ounce of feeling into it, swallowing your moans as he slammed into you with brutal precision.

Each thrust shook your entire body. He moved faster now—faster than any human could. "Want more?" he growled against your lips. "You want to be filled, baby?"

You nodded desperately, too far gone to speak, your hips rising to meet every thrust, chasing the edge you could feel surging again. He groaned into your mouth, losing himself completely, fucking you.

When your orgasm hit, it tore through you, your whole body tensing, twitching, legs locking around his waist as you came hard, gasping his name.

And he felt the every pulsing wave, every clench of your slick, desperate walls around his cock—and he came with a broken sound, burying himself to the hilt as his release surged into you, thick and hot. You could feel him throbbing inside you, filling you deep, but he didn't stop.

Jongseong kept moving. His thrusts slowed but stayed deep, grinding into you. Your eyes rolled back, heat still pulsing violently through every inch of your body.

And for him—it was more than pleasure. He felt something inside himself realigning. Cells reorganizing, adapting again, responding not to survival... but to you. His body recognized yours, welcomed it.

The usual limits of human bodies didn't apply to either of you anymore. You should have been spent. Exhausted. But your broken refractory periods meant nothing now. The hunger didn't fade—it simply deepened.

He shifted without warning, flipping you effortlessly beneath him—then pulling you back, guiding you to straddle him instead. He collapsed onto his back, chest slick with sweat, arms open.

You took it. You climbed over him, breathless, body still buzzing, and sank down onto him in one smooth motion. A choked sound escaped both of you. You were so sensitive, your walls gripping him tight, but your need, your craving was louder.

You started bouncing, fast and messy, hips slapping against his thighs. "Fuck—yes, just like that," Jongseong growled, hands locking around your waist. His hips bucked up into you, matching your rhythm.

You braced your hands on his chest, fingers curling into his skin as your body began to spiral again. Your thighs trembled, knees shaking as your orgasm crept up again. You could barely breathe, barely think, only ride.

Jongseong shifted beneath you, planting his feet firmly into the mattress for leverage—and thrust up into you with such force you cried out, nearly collapsing over him. He fucked you through your orgasm, each thrust dragging the climax out longer, deeper, until your whole body convulsed, your cries echoing off the walls.

"Ahh—want more," you slurred, voice ragged, utterly cock-drunk.

Jongseong didn't speak. His breath came in hot, heavy bursts as he kept thrusting up into you. His hand reached up, slipping two fingers between your lips—quieting you. You moaned around them, muffled, your tongue swirling instinctively.

He watched you, eyes half-lidded, wild with lust. "You can't get enough, huh?"

Your moans vibrated around his fingers, still buried in your mouth, muffling your cries as your body kept bouncing on his cock, fast and needy.

You clenched around him again, and another guttural groan tore from his lips.

Jongseong slid his fingers from your mouth, glistening with your spit. He brought them to his lips and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. The simple act made your pulse spike, your rhythm falter for a beat before you recovered.

Your hands slid back to brace against his knees, your back arching sharply. The change in angle made him slip deeper inside you, and you both gasped—his cock visibly outlined beneath your skin, filling you to the hilt. You saw the way his chest stuttered with each breath, eyes tracing every inch of your exposed body.

Then Jongseong laid back, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better view of you. His gaze locked with yours, you gasped softly when you notice the change in his appearance.

His pupils had gone completely black, pure darkness, blown wide.

Something else wrapped around your waist—slick, warm, textured like stretched skin, soft and strong at once. Your eyes widened as you looked down to see tendrils—tentacle-like extensions—curling from his body, wrapping around your midsection, your hips, your thighs.

"Jongseong..." you breathed.

He smirked and thrust into you hard enough to make your vision blur.

You cried out, body jolting, and then you felt another tendril—longer, thinner—slide between your legs. It pressed against your clit, stroking with an eerie, perfect pressure.

Your whole body keened.

"Oh—fuck!" you moaned, louder than before, your voice cracking as the sensation detonated through your core. It was too much. It was perfect.

Jongseong's other hand gripped your hips tighter, his fingers now stretching with inhuman dexterity, more of him wrapping around you, holding you. His cock kept thrusting up into you, the tendril at your clit stroking in sync, teasing the edge of your next orgasm.

Your breath hitched, your mind unraveling, the next orgasm building fast and hot, just out of reach.

"Need more?" Jongseong teased. More tendrils slithered around your body, responding to his command, flickering against your nipples—tight, wet licks of pressure that made you arch and whine, your chest thrusting forward instinctively. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, your head falling back, lips parted in wordless pleasure.

Your mind was far too hazy at this point, soaked in ecstasy and sensation.

Then you felt something soft and cool brushing the tight ring of your ass.

You flinched, hips jerking instinctively, but the tendrils around your thighs clamped tighter, anchoring you. Keeping you still. Keeping you open.

"Shh," Jongseong whispered against your neck, his voice patient, tender even as his body dominated yours completely.

The tendril at your ass was thinner than the rest, careful as it pressed inward—probing, stretching, sliding slowly. You gasped, muscles tightening, overwhelmed by the double penetration. His cock still thrust into your soaked cunt, fast and deep, while the tendril began to move inside you, teasing your second entrance.

You were so full, stuffed, surrounded, owned and every part of your body lit with fire.

"Why are you not talking?" Jongseong whispered, lifting his gaze to yours.

His eyes were fully dilated, pure black, wild and beautiful. You stared at him, mouth open, gasping—because God, he looked so hot. That face. That voice. That control.

The tendril inside your ass began to thicken, stretching you further, matching the rhythm of his cock as your body struggled to keep up. Your legs shook violently, your core fluttering as another orgasm surged too quickly to contain.

You were crying out, words lost to moans and breathless gasps. Jongseong thrust harder, faster; his hands, his cock, his tendrils working in unison. Every inch of you was stimulated. You were locked in his arms, caged in his grip, the hybrid strength in him overpowering but not brutal.

"I can feel you," he groaned. "All of you. You're squeezing me so tight, fuck—don't stop. Cum for me again."

And you did, you shattered, screaming his name, your entire body shaking as pleasure tore through you in electric waves. Your cunt clenched violently around his cock, your ass pulsing around the tendril still buried deep, and everything inside you collapsed into white heat.

Jongseong held you through it, driving into you with steady, desperate rhythm, chasing his own high, his body burning beneath yours, jaw clenched as he thrust one final time and groaned as he came deep inside you again.

Your head rested against his shoulder, your breath shaky in his ear. Slowly, the inhuman tendrils that had wrapped around you began to withdraw, pulling back into his arms, retreating beneath the skin.

His human hands replaced the tendrils, sliding around your back, palms soft as they cradled you. Then his lips pressed to your forehead, he brushed the hair from your face, fingers gliding through it carefully, over and over. The small, unconscious motion soothed something deep inside you.

The affection made you smile. You let your body melt into his, sinking deeper into the curve of his neck, where his scent surrounded you.

"Love you," you whispered in confession, your voice barely there . You felt the subtle shift in his chest, the rise of a soft laugh beneath your palm as he smiled against your hair. “I don’t want to regret any day I didn’t say that,” you continued. “Even if what I feel is just parasitological reaction, even if it’s some rewritten instinct pretending to be love—I don’t care. I love you.”

His hand pressed gently against the curve of your spine. "I love you," he whispered back, and the way he said it—so simply, made your heart throb.

You lifted your head slightly to look at him, eyes still half-lidded, dazed from pleasure and affection. You took in the mess of him: sweat-slick skin, tousled hair, the soft flush across his cheeks.

Beautiful, you thought again.

You smiled, lazy and warm. “More?”

Jongseong’s lips curved slowly into that familiar, crooked smirk.

The morning crept in quietly.

No alarms, no machines humming, no scans running downstairs in the lab. Just the soft amber light of dawn leaking through the half-closed curtains, casting warm streaks across the floor and the tangled mess of sheets.

You stirred first.

Jongseong’s arm was still wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep. His warmth radiated through the blankets, his breath steady against the back of your neck. You could feel his hand resting against your stomach.

You didn’t move right away.

You let yourself lie there, blinking slowly at the ceiling, muscles pleasantly sore, body still humming in a low, contented way. You could still feel the echo of last night in your bones, in your skin. The way he touched you. The way he looked at you.

You turned slowly in his arms to face him.

He was awake. His eyes were open, soft with sleep but focused entirely on you. The moment your gaze met his, his lips curved into a small smile, tired but intimate.

“Morning,” he said, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Hey,” you whispered. “How long were you watching me?”

“A while,” he admitted. “You twitch when you dream.”

You groaned, burying your face briefly in his chest. “Great. Bet I looked terrifying.”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your cheek. “No. You looked... peaceful.”

You shifted, resting your chin on his chest to look at him properly. “You sleep?”

His hand brushed up your back in a lazy, soothing arc. “I do. When you’re here.”

That silenced you for a moment. “You always say things like that,” you murmured, “like you don’t expect this to last.”

Jongseong was quiet for a long breath. His fingers slid into your hair, combing it gently, thoughtfully. “I don’t take it for granted,” he said. “Not when everything about what we are could change tomorrow.”

You watched his face, trying to read between the words. “Do you think it will?”

He met your gaze. “Maybe. Our biology’s still in flux. Your last scan showed increased neural conductivity in your spinal column. Mine too. Whatever’s happening to us—it isn’t done yet.”

You nodded slowly, tracing the skin of his shoulder with your fingertip. “Do you think we’ll stop being us?”

He caught your hand and pressed it against his chest, over the steady beat of his heart. “I don’t know. But if I do change... I want to remember this. You. This moment.”

You leaned in, forehead resting against his. “Then let’s make more of them.”

His arm tightened around you, pulling you close until your nose brushed his. “Deal,” he whispered.

“Pathology of Parasites.”

You glanced up from your spot on the floor beside Jongseong’s lab table, brows lifted as you read the scribbled title on the datapad he'd just tossed aside.

“Wow,” you said, lips curving. “Very romantic.”

Jongseong looked up from his microscope, clearly unamused. “It was a working title.”

You held back a laugh as you pulled the datapad closer, scrolling through the contents—notes, schematics, overlapping neural maps. Some of it made sense, some of it looked like nonsense equations written in a fever dream. But it was his—every word a window into how his mind worked. Clinical. Focused. Relentless. And yet… there were margin notes scrawled in a different tone—curious, reflective.

One read: Subject B demonstrates emotional regulation post-mutation. Possibly adaptive. Possibly… intentional?

You knew Subject B was you.

“You study me a lot,” you said softly, setting the pad down beside you. 

Jongseong looked at you for a long moment, eyes steady, warm. “I don’t study you,” he corrected. “I try to understand you.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s somehow worse.”

He snorted. “Maybe. But you’re fascinating.”

You turned your head to rest it against the side of the table, eyes drifting upward to where he sat, perched in his rolling lab chair, hunched slightly over some slide under the scope.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked. “Being a normal doctor?”

His jaw tensed, and he leaned back slowly, pulling away from the microscope. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “I miss helping people and knowing what I was fixing. Now... I’m just making guesses. Mapping new anatomy no one’s ever named. Studying nervous systems that grow new endings when I’m not looking. It’s not medicine anymore. It’s—”

“—exploration,” you finished.

He glanced at you again, his lips twitching slightly. “That’s one way to put it.”

You reached up and tugged at the end of his sleeve. “Come down here.”

“What, now?”

“Yes, now.”

He hesitated only a second before pushing the chair back and sliding to the floor beside you. You leaned against him immediately, head settling on his shoulder, your knees brushing his thigh.

“You ever think,” you murmured, “if we weren’t like this… if we were just two strangers in a city... we would’ve passed each other without a second glance?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then: “Maybe.”

You looked up at him. “Do you like that idea?”

He met your gaze, something soft flickering behind his eyes. “No.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Because if we were normal,” he said, “I wouldn’t have seen you split your face open like a flower. Or sprout wings. Or smile after turning into something terrifying. I wouldn’t have seen all the parts of you that are beautiful because they’re impossible.”

Your throat tightened. “You always say the nicest horrifying things.”

“I mean every one of them.”

You turned toward him fully now, your legs folding under you, fingers brushing against the back of his hand. “Do you think we’d still fall in love?” you asked.

He paused. “I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe we’d never look close enough.”

You nodded slowly, fingers tracing invisible lines over the back of his hand. “Then I’m glad it happened like this.”

He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through yours. “Even if it hurts?” he asked.

You looked up at him, smiling just a little. “Especially because it hurts.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and grounding. “You know what I think?”

“Hm?”

“I think our pathology isn’t just parasitic. It’s poetic.”

You laughed under your breath. “Are you writing love poems in medical terms now?”

He smirked. “Only when I’m inspired.”

You leaned in and kissed him. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about heat or need—but about knowing and choosing.

When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead against his.

“I like this version of you,” you whispered. “The one who smiles when I mess with your research notes.”

He chuckled, his voice low in your ear. “And I like this version of you—the one who pretends not to be touched when I leave you notes shaped like protein chains.”

“You thought I didn’t notice?”

“I was hoping you did.”

You smiled. The datapad beside you still read Pathology of Parasites, but under it, someone had added in smaller handwriting—And the ones who survive them together.

The weather was quiet—eerily so.

Outside, the garden swayed gently under a pale morning sky. The another flowers you'd planted weeks ago had begun to bloom in earnest, soft bursts of color dancing in the breeze. Petals fluttered open toward the sun.

Inside, the air was still. Calm. The kind of stillness that didn't last.

Jongseong sat hunched at his lab desk, deep in a web of data. The neural scanner whirred quietly beside him, tracking changes in his cellular rhythms. Graphs rose and fell on the screen. Numbers blurred into pattern. His brow furrowed, fingers flying over the touchscreen, eyes sharp with focus.

The sound of wheels.

Faint at first. Too faint for most ears.

But not his. Jongseong body tensed instinctively.

Wheels. Two vehicles. Tires on gravel. He closed his eyes for a second, counting. One... two… four sets of footsteps. Three kilometers. Getting closer.

Jongseong rose from his seat with calculated calm, brushing a hand back through his hair, then pulled off his glasses and set them on the desk. His movements were controlled, but fast. He strode to the reinforced lab door, locking it with practiced ease before tugging a small, folded rug from under the emergency shelf. He draped it over the entry seam, concealing the frame as if it were just a storage hatch, then adjusted a nearby cabinet to further obscure it.

Once satisfied, he stepped back, exhaled sharply, and turned toward the stairs.

By the time he reached the living room, you were already there.

You stood at the edge of the hallway, barefoot on the wooden floor, arms wrapped around Jongjong. The little orange cat was tense in your grip, ears back, tail stiff, sensing the same wrongness that you did. Your eyes met Jongseong’s—and they were wide with fear.

“Who are they?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I heard—cars, and footsteps. They're close.”

Your brow furrowed, panic rising, but Jongseong was already moving toward you. His expression was calm, but you could see the tightness in his jaw. He cupped your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye. “Shhh… don’t be afraid,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “I don’t know who they are. But I’ll protect you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding once, clutching Jongjong closer to your chest.

The knock came sharply. Jongseong froze, he took a slow breath, then stepped forward, unlocking the front door with careful precision, standing just beyond the threshold was a man in a dark-gray uniform, flanked by two others. Another figure stood beside the nearest vehicle, partially obscured.

The man at the door wore a clean, crisp jacket with a silver emblem pinned near the collar. His expression was unreadable, polished. Government.

“Good morning, Dr. Park Jongseong,” the man said evenly. “I’m Lee Heeseung. Task Force Division Five. Anti-Parasite Intelligence Unit.”

Jongseong’s eyes flicked down briefly to the ID badge clipped at the man’s belt, then back up to his face. His features didn’t move.

“I wasn’t aware I was still listed under my former title,” he replied coolly.

Heeseung’s lips twitched into something close to a smirk. “Well, it’s been what… two years since you resigned after your incident. You can imagine it took some digging to find this place.”

He gestured loosely toward the landscape—gravel winding through old pine, the isolation of the hills, the unmarked road that led to nowhere. “Your house is… subtle,” he added. “Almost like you didn’t want to be found.”

Jongseong didn’t miss a beat. “I didn’t know that was illegal.”

“It’s not,” Heeseung replied, smile sharpening slightly. “Not yet. But you know how we work—we keep tabs on anyone with a profile like yours. Especially those who survived and then disappeared without a trace.”

“I resigned because I was hospitalized with thirty-five internal injuries,” Jongseong said evenly. “I’m sure you read the files, didn’t you? Spent a few late nights combing through the classified parts?”

Heeseung gave a quiet chuckle. “I skimmed the highlights. They don’t make many survive cases like yours, so you’re... of interest.” His eyes flicked past Jongseong’s shoulder—and landed on you.

You stood near the far end of the hallway, half-visible in the doorway, Jongjong cradled in your arms. You tried to stay still, neutral, but the weight of his gaze made your grip tighten. The kitten stirred with a faint mewl as you forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Heeseung’s head tilted slightly. “Girlfriend?”

There was something in his tone—probing, too casual to be genuine.

“Quite a familiar face,” he added. “I think we flagged her name once. Ran away from home, wasn’t it?”

You swallowed, every muscle in your body tensed beneath your skin.

Jongseong stepped forward, subtly blocking the doorway with his body to cover you. “We’re getting married,” he said flatly.

Heeseung’s brows lifted a fraction, but the smirk never left his face. “Well. Congratulations, then.” His tone made it sound like anything but a blessing.

Jongseong’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

Heeseung’s smile faded slightly. Not gone but tempered. “There’s been parasite movement in this region,” he said. “We’ve been tracking electromagnetic fluctuations coming from your grid. Spike patterns. Irregular heat signatures. Even some satellite interference.”

He paused, studying Jongseong's face for a flicker of reaction that never came. “Nothing conclusive,” Heeseung added, “but... interesting. Enough to warrant a visit.”

Jongseong didn’t flinch. “Congratulations,” he said dryly. “You found a retired doctor with backup power.”

“Maybe.” Heeseung tilted his head slightly. “Or maybe we found a man who’s been hiding something more than outdated diagnostics.”

Jongseong stepped back half a pace—not in retreat, but to take a stronger stance. The door remained open behind him, but his presence filled the threshold like a barricade.

“If you had proof,” he said, voice low, “you wouldn’t be here asking questions.”

Heeseung’s smirk returned. “That’s true. For now.” His eyes flicked to the hallway again—just a second too long, settling on the space where you'd stood before he arrived. His gaze lingered, speculative.

“Thing is,” he continued, tone softening just enough to unsettle, “it’s only a matter of time. Sooner or later, all hosts lose containment. Doesn’t matter how strong they are. Or how careful.”

Jongseong’s jaw flexed. “And if they don’t?” he asked.

Heeseung’s eyes gleamed with the hint of something darker—curiosity, maybe. “Then they become something else. And that’s when they’re really interesting.”

Heeseung stepped back. His smile returned as he reached into his coat and pulled out a small card, placing it gently on the railing beside the door.

“If you ever decide you want to talk,” he said. “I’d be happy to listen.”

Jongseong didn’t respond. He didn’t take the card. Just watched.

Heeseung turned away, nodding once to the officers near the car. As he walked down the steps, his voice carried over his shoulder:

“Take care of your fiancée, Doctor."

The car doors shut with a dull clunk, and the engines rolled back to life.

Jongseong waited until the sound faded completely before closing the door. Not slamming it, just quiet.

The room was still again.

The echo of car engines faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick silence of the woods. But the unease didn’t leave with them. It settled in the corners of the room, in the shadows of the hallway, in the hush of the air itself.

Jongseong stood unmoving for a long moment, staring at the door. Then, slowly, he backed away, step by step, until he reached you.

His voice was low. Bitter. Tired.

“Government’s so fucking fake,” he whispered under his breath. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest.

Your body responded before your brain could catch up. Your arms encircled him, clutching Jongjong between you, the little cat still tense, mewing softly with each shift of breath.

You could feel Jongseong’s heart beating faster than usual. Not panic—but calculation. Instinct already grinding into motion.

Your own chest ached with the weight of it. “They’ll raid us,” you said, your voice strained. “You know that, right? It’s just a matter of time.”

“I know,” he murmured into your hair. 

He was already thinking, you could feel it in him—muscle memory kicking in, mind running down contingency plans, routes, caches, what to take, what to leave behind. But for one more second, he just held you there, breathing in the moment. Then he pulled back, hands firm but gentle on your shoulders.

“We need to move. Fast.”

You nodded, eyes wide but steady. “Where?”

“There’s a site. Old observatory, two hours east. No power grid, no satellite interference. It’s buried in forest. Abandoned for years.” He was already turning, heading toward the concealed panel in the hallway, the one that led down into the lab. “I used to store backup gear there. We can set up a new node. No one should find us.”

You followed him, Jongjong tucked against your chest, your footsteps light and quick on the floor. Down in the lab, the air was cooler—sterile, humming with faint electricity. But this time, the room didn’t feel like safety. It felt like a ticking clock.

Jongseong moved with swift. He was already pulling storage drives from the mainframe, detaching power cells, collecting physical records. “Grab your scans,” he said without looking. “The ones from last week. The DNA strand with the tertiary mutation—we can’t leave that behind.”

You rushed to the desk, locating the labeled folders, the encrypted drives. “Do we take the entire core?”

“No. Too heavy. Just the segments I isolated in Case File Delta-11. Everything else, we burn.”

You paused, breath caught. “Burn?”

He turned, locking eyes with you. “If they come here, they’re not just looking for us. They’re looking for proof. If they find it, we lose everything.”

You swallowed hard and nodded.

He returned to packing—the slow dismantling of a life that had once felt permanent. The garden. The house. The bed. The scent of tea in the morning and soft footsteps on wood. All of it, now just a risk.

“You’re doing okay?” he asked suddenly.

You looked at him, startled by the question. “What?”

He paused. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m trying not to fall apart,” you said honestly.

Jongseong walked to you, took your hand, laced his fingers through yours. “Then fall apart later. Right now, we survive.”

You blinked fast, refusing to cry, and nodded.

For the next hour, the house came alive with motion You cleared out the bedroom, pulling your few clothes into a duffel bag. Jongseong moved through the kitchen, the basement, the lab—grabbing rations, medical supplies, essential tech. Caches were unlocked from beneath floorboards. Batteries charged.

Jongjong mewed at your heels, sensitive to the sudden shift. You scooped him into a small reinforced carrier, latching the top shut gently as you whispered, “It’s okay, baby. We’re not leaving you.”

When everything was ready—what little they could carry—the rest was rigged.

Jongseong stood by the lab console, thumb hovering over a small interface.

“Are you sure?” you asked softly.

He looked around the room. The whiteboards, the shelves, the soft glow of monitors that had flickered through endless nights of quiet obsession. “I loved this place,” he said. “But it was never meant to last.”

Then he pressed his thumb to the screen. The countdown began: 120 seconds.

He turned to you.

“Let’s go.”

The two of you moved quickly through the trees, boots crunching against the uneven trail that led away from the house. The duffel bags strapped over your shoulders weighed heavy, and Jongjong’s carrier bumped gently against your side as you kept pace with Jongseong. Every breath burned in your chest, lungs tight from urgency, but you didn’t slow.

The road wasn’t far. Behind you, the first hint of black smoke coiled upward into the sky—thin at first, then thicker, darker, alive with the scent of something ending. Chemicals. Plastic. Burnt paper. Memories.

You glanced back once, just once, and saw the roof of the house begin to buckle in the distance, flames licking hungrily through the glass of the greenhouse.

The safehouse was gone.

You turned your face forward again, biting down hard on the grief rising in your throat.

Then, just as you and Jongseong stepped out from the treeline onto the narrow, cracked road, you heard it—engines. Multiple.

Too close.

Jongseong’s hand shot out instinctively, halting you in your tracks as headlights cut across the road ahead. Then another flash of light from behind. The hum of electric motors shifted into full roar as a wall of vehicles emerged from the forest—sleek, matte black, no visible insignia.

One car. Then two. Then four. They encircled you with military precision.

“Fuck,” Jongseong breathed.

Your heart kicked into a sprint.

The tires screeched as the cars completed the circle, trapping you both in the center. Doors slammed. Boots hit gravel. From the trees, two more massive transport trucks rumbled into view—large, reinforced, bearing symbols you didn’t recognize.

Your pulse rang in your ears. Jongjong whimpered inside his carrier.

Around you, agents moved into formation—helmets, rifles, armor too advanced for local law enforcement. These weren’t just military. This was containment.

You felt Jongseong’s hand slip into yours, grounding. His grip was steady, but the tension radiating from him was unmistakable.

They’d come fast. Too fast. Someone had been watching long before Heeseung ever stepped onto the porch. The visit had been a test—a warning disguised as politeness. And now, the real answer had arrived.

Jongseong stood still beside you, his body calm but coiled like a spring. Eyes scanning every angle—counting rifles, reading stance, calculating distance.

“We don’t run,” he said quietly, his voice low and measured.

You nodded, barely. Your mouth had gone dry. Every muscle in your body was buzzing with restrained panic, but his steadiness held you together. Barely.

Then the voice came, amplified by a mounted speaker from one of the armored vehicles ahead.

“Park Jongseong. Parasite host that evolved with retained intelligence. Subject Code 1072. You are surrounded. Surrender peacefully.”

Parasite. Host.

You felt something clench in your chest. They thought Jongseong was gone. That he was nothing but a skin-walker—a parasite wearing his face. They thought he had taken Jongseong’s memories. Not kept them.

And if that’s what they thought of him… what did they think you were? You were both still yourselves. Still human in the ways that mattered. Conscious. Feeling. Choosing. How could they not see that?

It was easier to reduce you to subjects—to codes and categories. It was easier to eliminate anomalies than to understand them.

You flinched as the quiet clicks of safety switches echoed around you. One by one. Like a metronome of dread. The hiss of containment coils charging up, the faint hum of EMP disruptors warming beneath the truck chassis. Cold, impersonal tools built to restrain monsters.

This is it. This is how it ends.

You choked back a cry, your vision blurring with panic, heart jackhammering in your chest.

A hand, warm and steady, wrapped around yours.  You looked up instinctively, drawn by that calm pull, and saw Jongseong’s face turned toward you. No fear in his expression.

Only you.

His thumb brushed gently across your skin—once, twice, the motion grounding. His eyes held yours, soft and unwavering, and in them was a message louder than the voice still barking orders from the trucks:

We’ll be alright.

No matter what happened next. Whether they fought, ran, or burned it all down—he would not leave you. Not now. Not after everything.

You swallowed hard, pressing your forehead briefly to his shoulder.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” he said. “I’m not a host. I’m not a parasite."

But they weren’t listening. Before the next breath, the soldiers moved.

Shadows broke from the perimeter—six of them, black-clad, rifles raised, moving with ruthless efficiency. You barely had time to react before they were on you, splitting you apart.

“Jongseong!” you screamed, voice raw, panic lacing. You twisted violently in their grip, but they were trained for this. One of them was already behind you, and then—Cold metal—pressed hard against the back of your skull. 

“Do not touch her!” Jongseong roared, voice losing all calm. “I came out here on my own. I’m trying to handle this peacefully—hear me out first!”

“What a nerve for a parasite.”

Heeseung stepped forward from the rear of one of the vehicles, casual as ever, a tablet under one arm and a sleek black coat whipping slightly in the breeze. His expression was between amused and disappointed.

“You know what fascinates me about your kind?” he asked. “You think memory makes you human. That because you remember who you were, that gives you the right to pretend you still are.”

Heeseung smiled thinly, but his eyes were sharp and gleaming. “You’re not a miracle, Park Jongseong. You’re a malfunction. A parasite too stubborn to wipe clean. An error in the code.”

“You’re wrong,” Jongseong said, voice low and shaking with barely-contained rage. “I’m not pretending. I am still me.”

“Oh?” Heeseung lifted an eyebrow, then glanced at you, pinned and trembling. “Then why does your biology say otherwise?”

“This,” Heeseung continued, “is not human. And it never will be again.”

He stepped closer to you now, far too close, gaze crawling over you. His hand reached for your face.

You flinched and Jongseong snapped. “Don’t touch her!” he bellowed. His body tensed, pulsing with barely contained energy, the hybrid signature humming just beneath his skin.

But the soldiers were faster this time. Before he could fully shift, they surged forward, slamming him to the ground with blunt, brutal force. A shriek tore from your throat as metal restraints clamped around his wrists, locking into his nerves with a cruel hiss. Another device—a containment collar—was pressed to the base of his neck and activated with a low whine. It snapped shut, injecting something through the skin.

"No!" you screamed, trying to lunge toward him, but two soldiers seized you by the arms and yanked you back. From the corner of your eye, you saw them dragging Jongseong toward one of the trucks. His head lolled forward, jaw clenched, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. But his eyes—his eyes—were still locked on you.

“My cat,” you whispered hoarsely, panic rising in your throat as you clutched the carrier tighter to your chest. The soldiers didn’t stop—they reached for it too.

"Please don’t hurt Jongjong,” you begged, voice cracking as the straps were torn from your hands, the warm weight of the carrier suddenly gone. “Please.”

The truck doors slammed behind Jongseong. Heeseung approached you, boots slow on the gravel, his expression unreadable. You expected amusement, or cold detachment. Instead, he looked… fascinated.

He stopped just in front of you, gaze flicking over your face, then lower, he reached out and plucked a strand of your hair.

You jerked back, but he already had it between his gloved fingers, holding it against the light.

It twitched. A subtle motion, almost imperceptible. The strand pulsed—flexed—like something living beneath the keratin. A ripple of parasite-altered structure, responsive to stress. Adaptable.

Just like Jongseong’s. 

“Fascinating,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. You stood rigid, breath shallow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of fear.

He didn’t need you to speak. He already knew. You moved differently too.

Not like the ones they captured in the early waves—parasites that tore through their hosts in hours, leaving nothing behind but mindless hunger. Those were feral. Primitive. No self-awareness, no identity. They moved in twisted packs, bonded by instinct and survival programming alone.

You showed restraint. Expression. Emotion. A parasite that retained host memories wasn’t unheard of, but this level of cognitive mimicry? This illusion of selfhood? It was advanced. Dangerous.

Heeseung’s gaze flicked toward the truck where Jongseong was being restrained, injected, monitored. Still conscious, still resisting. Still looking at you.

The way you’d screamed for him. The way he’d fought back. The way your bodies moved in sync when threatened, like one half of the same adaptive system.

Heeseung’s brow furrowed faintly as his mind worked. Two parasites. Two separate hosts. And yet—shared behavior, matched speech patterns, mirrored stress responses.

Coordination. There was no record of parasite hosts operating this way.

No. These two were different.

They operated like a bonded system—distinct, but synchronized. Reflexively connected. Conscious units that didn't just act... they adapted. They evolved in tandem.

Like they remembered how to be human.

Heeseung turned from you without another word and walked briskly toward the rear vehicle.

The heavy doors of the transport truck slammed shut behind him with a hollow thud, sealing away the forest light. Inside, the air was sterile and close—metal floors, reinforced paneling, containment restraints bolted to the walls.

Jongseong sat chained at the wrists and ankles to a steel platform welded to the floor. A neural-suppression collar wrapped around the base of his neck, blinking with slow, pulsing red light—designed to keep his nervous system dormant. His breathing was shallow, restrained by the collar’s influence, but his eyes…

His eyes were alert. Fixed on a spot on the floor in front of him, still burning with thought.

The soldier at the rear finished checking the restraints, nodded once to Heeseung, then stepped out, leaving the two of them alone as the engine rumbled to life.

The truck began to move.

Heeseung sat across from him, there was a moment of silence before Jongseong spoke.

“Where did you put her cat?”

He didn’t look up—just stared at the floor, wrists loose in the restraints, posture deceptively relaxed.

Heeseung blinked, caught off-guard by the question. Not a threat. Not a plea. Just calm, focused concern. That tone again. Human, not host mimicry.

“She was worried,” Jongseong continued. “Even when they put a gun to her head. She didn’t cry for herself.”

“Your first question,” he said at last, “after all this—after being tranquilized, collared, contained—is about a cat?”

Jongseong’s jaw shifted slightly. “He’s all she has left."

Heeseung leaned back in his seat, watching him, trying to see where the parasite ended and the man began. “You say that like you care.”

“I do,” Jongseong said simply.

“You’re not supposed to,” Heeseung said flatly. “Parasites don’t care. They consume. They replicate. They preserve function only long enough to blend in and feed. Emotions aren’t in the architecture.”

Jongseong finally lifted his eyes. And when he did, the calm in them unnerved even Heeseung. “Maybe your data’s outdated.”

Heeseung didn’t answer right away.

The collar blinked again—another suppression pulse. Jongseong winced slightly, just a flicker. But the control was slipping.

“Why her?” Heeseung asked, narrowing his eyes. “Why protect her? Why bond?”

Jongseong tilted his head. “You think that’s the parasite, don’t you? A mimicry of love?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” he replied quietly. “It’s something stronger than that. Something your experiments can’t replicate.”

Heeseung watched him for a moment longer, then pulled a tablet from his coat. He tapped the screen once, bringing up a live feed.

On it—your containment cell.

You were seated on a cold bench, hands cuffed, staring at the wall with red-rimmed eyes. Jongjong’s carrier sat in the far corner, intact. The kitten was curled up inside, asleep, breathing shallow but steady.

“She’s safe. For now,” Heeseung said. “As long as you cooperate.”

Jongseong didn’t speak. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just kept his eyes on the screen showing your containment room. The only motion came from his fingers—subtle, rhythmic tension in the knuckles as they flexed against the cuffs around his wrists.

The low rumble of the truck filled the silence between them as the vehicle rolled down the cracked road. The steel walls vibrated faintly with every turn, every bump. The hum of the suppression collar echoed with each pulse, a soft, almost inaudible thrum designed to keep the nervous system in check.

Heeseung sat opposite him, tablet resting on one knee, but he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore.

He was watching him. Heeseung had spent years studying parasite behavior. He’d seen the aftermath of outbreaks, the scorched ruins of cities where hosts turned feral. He’d dissected bodies whose minds had been consumed, hijacked by instinct. He knew how the infection behaved. The timeline. The neurological decay.

Heeseung leaned forward slightly, watching every twitch of the man’s jaw, every micro-movement in the corners of his eyes. There was no vacant, drone-like stillness. No flickering dissonance between body and mind. Jongseong moved with control. With memory.

“Two years,” Heeseung said quietly. “Since your incident.”

Still, no reply.

“No symptoms of degeneration. No neural collapse. No regression to instinctive behavior. Not even a shift unless provoked.”

Heeseung’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Parasites don’t do that.”

“You should’ve lost cognitive function by now,” Heeseung muttered, as if to himself. “Or at least shown instability. But you’re not twitching, not fragmenting. You’re still here.”

Jongseong didn’t answer.

Heeseung studied him harder now. “You responded to pain. But you didn’t lash out. You defended her first. Like you weren’t the one being contained.”

He stood slowly, pacing a step across the cramped transport cabin. “You aren’t fighting for survival like the others. You’re fighting for her. And the cat.” He said the last part with disbelief.

“And even now—with everything shut down inside you—you’re not asking how to escape.” He tapped a knuckle lightly against the wall. “You’re asking about a cat.”

Heeseung exhaled slowly, almost reluctantly, he muttered the thought that had been coiling in the back of his mind since he first saw the two of you together:

“…What if we didn’t catch a parasite?”

Across from him, Jongseong finally lifted his eyes. “You didn’t,” Jongseong said quietly.

His voice was calm. Too calm. It made Heeseung’s spine tighten.

“You didn’t catch a parasite,” he repeated. “You caught me.”

Heeseung turned toward him, narrowing his eyes, the flicker of doubt still not strong enough to override years of indoctrinated procedure. “So what are you then? The host pretending to be alive? Or the thing that took his name?”

“I’m not pretending,” Jongseong said, sitting straighter despite the restraints. “I never stopped being me.”

Heeseung folded his arms, cautious. “Parasites can adapt to memory. Form neural imprints. Replay emotions. It doesn’t mean they feel them.”

“I remember my mother’s voice,” Jongseong said. “The smell of mint in my lab. The first time I stitched a wound clean."

He leaned forward just slightly, eyes locked with Heeseung’s. “Tell me. What kind of parasite chooses restraint?”

Heeseung didn’t answer.

“I should have attacked when you put the collar on,” Jongseong continued. “When you touched her. When you threatened a cat. But I didn’t. Because I still have choice. I still have will. And if I wasn’t me... you’d all be dead.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened. “That’s not proof of humanity. It’s control.”

“It’s both,” Jongseong said. “That’s what you can’t see. You’ve been fighting a war against an infection—but you never stopped to consider that maybe, some of us… integrated.”

He let the word hang.

“Not overwritten. Not consumed. Not mindless.”

“Integrated,” Heeseung repeated slowly, voice skeptical. “As in… coexistence?”

Jongseong nodded once. “Symbiosis. On a level your science hasn’t reached yet. Our cells merged. Our minds remained intact. Not corrupted."

The idea clawed at the edge of his discipline. It wasn’t just unorthodox—it was heretical in the field of parasite containment.

“This isn’t a theory we can test,” Heeseung muttered, as much to himself as to Jongseong. “There’s no model for what you’re describing. No neural map that explains how host and parasite can both retain identity—”

“Because you’ve never looked,” Jongseong cut in. “You see symptoms. You don’t see survival. You isolate, contain, and kill before you understand.”

Heeseung stopped, and look at him again. “Why her?” he asked again, softer this time. “Why protect her like that?”

Jongseong’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because I love her. Not because the parasite remembers it. Because I do."

Heeseung was silent, the silence between them thickened.

“If you're going to cut us open, then leave her out of it. I’ve already run my bloodwork. The cells in our systems—they’re nearly identical. If you need a subject, take me.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You’re admitting you’re infected.”

“I’m saying I know more about what’s happening inside me than you ever will,” Jongseong said. “I’ve seen the mutation pathways. I’ve watched how the parasite interacts with host DNA. It doesn’t consume. Not in our case. It synchronizes. Rewrites with us, not over us.”

“You expect me to believe this is some kind of... biological partnership?”

“I don’t care if you believe it,” Jongseong said coolly. “I care if you let her live.”

Heeseung stood motionless, his fingers tightening slightly over the edge of his tablet. His mind clearly spinning, trying to stitch logic back together with a theory that had no precedent, no documented case, no rules.

Then a sudden bang was heard at the front of the transport.

The front of the transport jolted sideways, metal groaning as something massive rammed into the vehicle’s outer shell. Jongseong’s head snapped up, his body jerking violently against the restraints. The suppression collar flared with a pulse of light as it tried to regulate the surge in his nervous system.

But instinct was already rising. From deep in his bones, something ancient and sharpened stirred.

Warning sirens shrieked from the cockpit, pulsing red light flooding the interior. A violent, inhuman screech tore through the walls of the transport, piercing and layered with a sound that no natural throat could make.

Heeseung spun toward the back, eyes wide, gun already in hand as static exploded over the comms.

“—under attack—Sector Four breached—multiple signatures—non-registered forms—”

Then: silence. The comm cut out with a sharp burst of static.

Another impact—closer now.

The left panel of the truck ripped open, jagged claws punching through the hull. The interior sparked, wires torn from the wall. Screams erupted outside, brief, panicked, human—and were immediately silenced.

Gunfire flared, distant and fast. Then stopped. The truck screeched to a halt. Everything inside shuddered.

Jongseong’s breathing slowed. His pupils dilated. A sharp ringing started in his ear, piercing and constant. A signal. An echo. He knew that sound. The ferals were here.

Heeseung backed toward the wall, cursing under his breath, eyes darting toward the ruptured seams of the truck. “Shit—ferals. We’re not the only ones who tracked your signal.”

The vehicle hissed, locking down in emergency containment mode, blast doors grinding into place—but it wouldn’t hold.

It never held against evolved ferals.

A voice crackled in over the emergency channel, panicked and distorted.

“They’re cutting through the outer convoy—unit integrity compromised—blades—gods, their heads—!”

Heeseung turned toward the hatch with frantic precision, slamming a hand against the biometric reader. It blinked red.

Denied. Lockdown protocol in effect.

He snarled and spun toward one of the soldiers just as they dropped in from the front cabin, blood on their chest armor.

“What the hell are they doing here?!” Heeseung barked, breath ragged.

The soldier stumbled forward, panting. “We were being tracked. They're grouped, coordinated. They sensed the suppression signals. We were too focused on the subject—on capturing him—we didn’t see them grouping up!”

Heeseung’s face twisted, horror blooming beneath the sweat on his brow. He hit the external door override and shoved it open.

The wind roared in—along with the sharp scent of blood and ozone. He stepped out onto the highway and stopped cold.

The road was carnage.

Vehicles overturned. Trucks in flames. Smoke coiling into the sky. The asphalt was smeared with streaks of red. Civilian cars had been caught in the chaos, crumpled in the crash zone, some still running. The sound of alarms blared faintly beneath the screams.

And all around them—parasites. Dozens of them.

Moving in brutal synchronicity. Their heads had split open, revealing rows of blade-like bone and twitching sensory tissue, extending into curved, serrated weapons. Limbs bent at impossible angles. Some crawled low, others leapt over crushed vehicles.

One slammed a containment soldier into a guardrail, slicing through armor like foil. Another dragged someone beneath a flipped transport, the sound that followed barely human.

“Fuck!” Heeseung shouted. “We’re on a highway! Civilians are here!”

He watched as one parasite tore through a family vehicle. And suddenly, Heeseung understood the truth he’d ignored for too long:

While the government hunted for anomalies, the real parasites were already evolving—together.

 "Jongseong!" Your voice cut through the gunfire, the sirens, the screeching metal—and Jongseong’s body reacted instantly.

His head snapped up, muscles tensing, eyes blown wide with instinct. The suppression collar hissed against his neck, trying to contain the surge of parasitic activity pulsing beneath his skin, but it was failing—overloaded by the ambient energy from the ferals outside. He pulled against the restraints, harder than before, the reinforced cuffs groaning.

Heeseung spun, eyes wide, curse caught in his throat as he raised his pistol again and fired into a cluster of parasites tearing through the defensive line.

Shots rang out, shells clinking against the scorched metal floor. Smoke billowed from one of the downed trucks. The soldiers had formed a defensive circle around the transport, rifles raised, trying desperately to hold position. Their formation was tight focused on protecting the anomaly inside.

But they didn’t see you. Your form moved like a blur—inhumanly fast—leaping across the crushed hood of a nearby vehicle. Metal dented under your weight as you sprang upward, hair whipped by the wind, eyes burning.

“How the hell—” one soldier stammered. “How did she escape containment?”

Another parasite lunged toward you, its jaw split wide in three directions, blade-arms drawn back to strike—but you twisted mid-air, your arm morphing as it flared into a winged shield, catching the creature mid-swipe and launching it backward with a bone-cracking crash.

You landed hard on the ground, crouched and panting, blood spattered on your cheek but your eyes were locked forward.

“Get away from him!” you screamed, your voice tore through the cacophony.

More soldiers had arrived—reinforcements spilling onto the blood-slick highway, shouting over their comms, rifles raised, movements tight and confused. But they couldn’t keep formation. They couldn’t keep up.

The parasites were everywhere crawling over the wreckage, tearing through armor. Heads split in jagged, serrated formations. Limbs bent backward, adapted for slicing, climbing, killing.

Heeseung stood in the center, spinning in place, trying to process it all.

Too fast. Too many. His team was trained for containment, not war.

“Sector is compromised—” a soldier barked through the radio before his voice was swallowed in static and a wet, bone-snapping crunch nearby.

All around him, his men were falling. One circle formation collapsed entirely, parasites tearing through the armored bodies within seconds. Another squad tried to regroup behind the burning transport, but were picked off before they even knelt.

Heeseung turned, frantic, searching for something to ground the moment. His eyes locked on you again.

You were in the open now—half-covered in smoke and ash, crouched behind a twisted heap of steel. Your breath was ragged, chest heaving, your once-formed wing-arm flickering with strain. Bone pushed through skin, not cleanly. It was raw. Exhausted. Overused.

You lifted your hand again but it refused to hold shape. Too many eyes.

The soldiers had seen you, so had the parasites.

And now everyone was targeting you. They didn’t care if you were like them or not—they only knew you weren’t theirs.

Gunfire cracked again, a warning shot grazing the steel beside your head. You ducked, eyes wide, hand burning as it twisted, half-shifting into something between claw and shield.

“Jongseong!” you cried out, breath shattering on his name. You didn’t know if he could hear you, but he felt you.

Body twisting against the chains as the parasite beneath his skin surged upward. The steel groaned. Jongseong’s wrists ripped free from the restraints in a burst of heat and sound. Sparks rained down as his hands—half-shifted now, gleaming with dark, fluid armor—tore the collar from his neck with a violent crack, tossing it against the wall where it exploded in a flash of white.

One leap carried him from the open truck, landing on shattered pavement just a few meters from you. Smoke curled from his shoulders. The wreckage of the convoy burned behind him. But he wasn’t looking at the fire.

He was looking at you.

“Stay back!” one of the soldiers shouted, stepping into his path.

Another raised a weapon and then they shot him.

The crack of the rifle echoed.

A high-velocity round tore into Jongseong’s back, slamming into the base of his spine, his arms dropped slightly.

And that’s when something inside you snapped.

The sound of the bullet, the sight of him being hit—again—sent a wave through your chest that wasn’t fear.

"No!" Something inside you responded. Your ears rang—not from the gunshot, but from a deeper frequency. Like pressure under water, like something old and waiting inside your blood suddenly woke up.

Heeseung saw the shift too late.

“No! Hold your fire!” he shouted, voice cracking as he pushed through the chaos, waving his arm wildly at the squad still taking aim. “Cease fire—stand down!”

Jongseong’s body hit the pavement hard, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat. The bullet had struck at the base of his spine—the most sensitive part of his body, where parasite and host tissue merged deepest. His limbs trembled, nerves crackling like snapped wires. The world around him blurred.

Sound fractured. Vision swam. But even through the fog, his body moved.

He forced one arm forward, dragging himself across the cracked asphalt, blood trailing behind him. Grit tore into his palms. Every movement lit his back. He had to reach you.

His breath hitched, when he looked up and saw you.

You were standing amidst the ruin, body trembling, chest rising, your head is split. Down the center, your skull had begun to peel open, petals of bone and skin folding back in a horrifying symmetry.

Inside, the interior of your skull pulsed with living tissue—luminous, intricate, organic architecture sculpted into motion. The folds moved, shimmering with pale bioluminescence beneath layers of exposed membrane. Thorned tendrils extended into the air, twitching like antennae, reaching in all directions—reading everything.

You weren’t looking at anyone. You were looking at everything.

And anything that moved was a target.

Jongseong watched, breath stuttering in his throat as he pushed himself to his feet, limping, wounded, bleeding, but still moving toward you.

“No…” he whispered, his voice frayed with pain. “Please—look at me.”

But your head remained split open, the sensory limbs on full alert, searching, flinching, vibrating with threat-perception. You were caught in something deeper than instinct. Something merged. Not fully parasite. Not fully human.

Hybrid rage.

He saw your hands flex—one already reshaped into a half-scythe, twitching.

His steps faltered. You didn’t recognize movement anymore. Only motion. Only danger.

And that’s when a memory crashed through him.

“If I stop choosing?” you asked him, voice fragile, small in the silence of your shared bed. “If I lose myself?”

He cupped your face and smiled faintly, "remember what I said when we first met?"

"I’ll stop you,” he said. 

Jongseong staggered closer, lifting a hand.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, blood dripping from his fingers. “It’s me, remember? You asked me to stop you. But I know you’re still in there.”

Your tendrils twitched, one sweeping dangerously near his face. Another moved to your back—coiling instinctively, ready to strike anything that came close.

He didn’t move faster. He moved slower. One step at a time. No aggression. No sudden gestures. Just presence.

Your exposed mind pulsed again, recognition flickering across the movement sensors.

The rage inside you paused.

Jongseong was right there, wounded and reaching. His hand stretched toward you, fingers trembling, eyes full of you.

You saw him. He saw you.

For a moment, the chaos faded beneath the ringing in your head. The rage had cracked open, flared, and then wavered. The kill-reflex that had overtaken you flickered like a faulty circuit. Jongseong was there—his body broken, bleeding, limping toward you, arms out like he wasn’t afraid. And you weren’t afraid either.

He was calling you back. You could feel it in the weight of his gaze, in the tremble of his voice, in the way he said your name like it still belonged to a person, not a monster.

But the world never gave you time to breathe.

“Target in range!” came the voice, sharp and too close.

A soldier burst through the smoke to the left of the wreckage, rifle raised, armor streaked with ash. He’d broken rank. His orders were panic now, and his eyes were locked not on you—but on Jongseong.

He didn’t see the moment between you.

He saw a parasite protecting another parasite. He pulled the trigger.

And the world snapped back into motion.

Your body reacted faster than thought. Your limbs twisted with violent precision, burning pain ripping through your shoulders as tendrils re-flared wide. The trajectory of the bullet was instant, and so was your movement. You lunged—not toward the soldier, but toward Jongseong. 

The shot rang out.

It hit you in the side of the head. The force snapped your body mid-leap, the angle of your descent faltering as the impact twisted your momentum. You crumpled in the air, before collapsing into Jongseong’s arms.

He didn’t process it at first. His mind refused to.

He had just seen your face—your eyes, focused and full of something fierce. You’d moved to shield him. You had chosen. And now your weight was in his arms, limp, warm, and wrong.

Jongseong’s eyes widened, his pupils blown wide as your body hit him. You slid into his chest, your limbs folding over him.

“No—” The word broke from him. Your blood was already pooling in his lap, hot and thick, soaking through the front of his shirt.

Your head lolled against his shoulder, and for one breathless, agonizing moment, he thought it was over. That whatever part of you had held on through mutation and fear had finally let go.

Then, you moved.

Your fingers twitched against his chest, searching weakly, as though your body still knew him. As though your nerves had memorized where he was. His hand flew to your cheek, cradling your face, feeling the fresh, searing heat of the wound just above your brow, where the bullet had grazed—not pierced—just grazed, carving a shallow line along the temple instead of burrowing deep.

It hadn’t gone through.

It hadn’t gone through.

“Hey—hey,” Jongseong whispered, his voice trembling as his thumb brushed away the blood streaking down the side of your face. “Stay with me. Look at me. Come on, open your eyes.”

You stirred faintly in his arms, eyes fluttering open halfway. Blurry. Unfocused. One pupil dilated, the other slow to respond. Your breathing came shallow, uneven. But you were still there.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, slurred. “You were in the way.”

Tears welled in Jongseong’s eyes, stinging hot. “You think I care about that?” he said, a bitter laugh breaking through his grief. “You shouldn’t be protecting me. I’m supposed to protect you. That was the deal. That was the whole damn deal.”

Your mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile. “We keep switching places.”

He let out a breath—part sob, part laugh—and pulled you tighter against him, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get out of this. Just don’t close your eyes, okay?”

Around you, the world was still burning.

The smoke curled through the air, lit red by fire and violence. Parasites clashed with soldiers. Screams rose and fell. Metal groaned as the transport vehicles burned. But inside this circle, there was only the two of you.

Jongseong cradled your body close, arms trembling, holding you. You were breathing but just barely, and each breath was a battle. Your eyes were open, unfocused, but searching only for him.

“I said hold your fucking gun!” Heeseung’s voice tore through the smoke, sharp and furious. He stormed forward, boots crunching glass and debris.

But halfway there, he froze. A small, unmistakable sound pierced the tension.

"Meow."

Heeseung blinked, momentarily disarmed.

Out from behind a crushed tire, padding softly on tiny feet, came the orange kitten. Its fur was matted with soot, but it was unharmed. It limped slightly, dazed but determined, weaving its way across the field of bodies and broken machines. It meowed again, louder this time, heading straight toward the two figures curled together on the ground.

Heeseung watched, stunned.

The kitten crawled into the small space between your arms and Jongseong’s chest, nudging at your hand until your fingers curled faintly around its fur. A soft sound escaped your lips—almost a sob. Jongseong let out a broken breath, head bowed low, tears trailing silently down his blood-streaked face.

Heeseung had seen hundreds of parasite cases. Dissections. Failures. Living corpses. He’d seen what it looked like when something wore a human face like a mask.

They weren’t mimicking emotion.

They were feeling it.

And suddenly, something cracked in him. Maybe it was the way Jongseong hadn’t fought back. Maybe it was the way you had shielded him without hesitation. Or maybe it was the cat—meowing stubbornly like it belonged in this hell, like it belonged to someone who mattered.

Heeseung turned away. “Take them to the hospital,” he said gruffly. "Now.”

The remaining soldiers hesitated. He turned his head slightly, eyes hard. “They are just normal beings. You hear me?”

The sun was bright—too bright, almost unreal after everything. You lay on your back in the grass, eyes half-lidded, your arm stretched above your head as your fingers tried to catch the warmth. The heat soaked into your skin that reminded your body it was still alive.

The breeze danced lightly across your face, carrying the scent of earth and new flowers. Birds chirped somewhere distant, lazy and indifferent to what the world had gone through.

For once, it was quiet.

Jongseong dropped down beside you, his breath soft as he settled into the grass. His shoulder brushed against yours.

“You’re happy?” he asked, you turned toward him, giggling gently as you scooted closer, resting your head against his arm until your nose touched the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes closing. “The house you bought has neighbors. Real ones. I hear them laughing sometimes through the trees.”

You let your hand slide down into the grass, brushing over a patch of tiny purple flowers that had just begun to open. “The flowers are blooming again,” you added.

You felt his arm slide under your neck, pulling you gently into him. The warmth of his chest against your back. The sound of his heart, steady and strong.

“You’re blooming again too,” he said quietly, lips brushing the top of your hair. You smiled, tucking yourself in closer, your fingers playing absently with the hem of his shirt. 

“I talked to my mother,” you said after a pause, voice barely more than a breath.

Jongseong tensed slightly behind you, just surprise. His fingers paused mid-stroke along your arm.

“They cried,” you continued, your voice catching somewhere between joy and guilt. “Not because I ran… but because I was alive. Still me. I don’t think they fully understand what I’ve become, but they—believed me. That was enough.”

“That’s more than most people get,” he said softly. “More than I thought either of us would get.”

You turned just enough to look up at him over your shoulder, your cheek still resting on his chest. “They asked about you too, you know.”

He smiled faintly. “What’d you tell them?”

“That you were the reason I came back. That you weren’t a monster. That you were the most human thing left in the world.”

He didn’t answer that. Just held you tighter.

The breeze passed again, ruffling his hair, and for a few long moments, you stayed like that.

“I… got a job offer.”

You blinked, lifting your head slightly. “A job?”

He nodded. “From the Anti-Parasite Intelligence Unit.”

You sat up just a bit, your brow furrowing as you turned toward him. “Huh? That doesn’t even make sense—they tried to kill us. You think they won’t dissect you the moment you scan wrong on their monitors?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Not this time. Heeseung vouched for me.”

You stared at him. “The guy who raided your house and locked me in a steel box?”

Jongseong gave a small shrug, like he was still trying to believe it himself. “He said watching us changed something. That they need people who understand—not just destroy. Someone who’s walked both sides.”

You exhaled slowly, processing that. “And… do you trust him?”

“No,” he said honestly. “But I trust myself.”

You looked at him, eyes soft but filled with worry. “I don’t want to lose this. What we have. What we made.”

“You won’t,” he said, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “I won’t let them take that. I just… I want to be part of shaping what comes next. So no one else has to live like we did.”

You were quiet for a moment, then reached up and ran your fingers through his hair.

“So…” you murmured with a crooked smile, “I’ll just be the one staying home? Waiting for you to come back from your mysterious, morally ambiguous government job?”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

You shrugged, teasing. “I don’t know. I was hoping for something a little more… exciting.”

Jongseong’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing between yours gently. “Then marry me,” he said.

You blinked. “W-What?”

He turned slightly onto his side to face you, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand. His voice didn’t shake. His eyes didn’t stray.

“Marry me,” he repeated, lips still brushing your skin. “Not because it’s perfect. Not because we’re normal. But because we survived. Because I want to spend every day I have left choosing you again.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You sat up slowly, stunned, the words echoing louder now in the silence between you. The wind quieted. Even the trees seemed to hush.

“You’re serious,” you whispered.

He sat up with you, his face close now, eyes full of something more vulnerable than fear. “I don’t know how long this peace will last. But I know I want to build something with you. Something that no one can take from us. Not science. Not governments. Not even time.”

You laughed. “You idiot,” you said, tears in your eyes. “You didn’t even bring a ring.”

He smiled. “You’d say no if I did?”

You shook your head, laughing again through the tears. “No.”

Then quieter, as your hand pressed to his chest, you whispered:

“Yes.” 

And when he kissed you this time, it was full of sunlight and the sound of blooming things.

“Pathology of Parasites.”

The words glowed dimly on the top corner of Jongseong’s datapad screen, the title of a document he’d first created over two years ago. 

Rows of categorized data: genome sequencing, mutation rates, cellular instability markers. Diagrams of parasite-host binding sites. Bone marrow compatibility. Immune rejection cycles. Timelines of when the parasite first entered his nervous system. His own handwriting, still neat back then, filled the digital margins—observations in shorthand, notes from sleepless nights.

Date: March 4 Neurological sensitivity peaked at 3:21 AM. No external triggers. Breathing accelerated. Controlled. Note: Dreamed in third person again. Strange.

But the pages had changed with time.

What began as cold, methodical data shifted the moment you entered his life. Your name didn’t appear at first. Then it did.

A single line:

“Second anomaly encountered. Maintains emotional awareness.”

Then another:

“Unconfirmed bond pattern. Same cellular merging. Same control.”

But eventually, it wasn’t numbers anymore. He'd begun sketching you—rough outlines in the corner of the file margins. Not parasite diagrams. Just you. The curve of your jaw when you smiled. The ripple of your morphing wing when light hit it just right. The split of your skull the first time you showed him what you really were—and how he still found you beautiful.

More files were added. Pages documenting the moments no microscope could capture:

“She laughed while watering the flowers today. Her breathing pattern returned to baseline immediately afterward. Possibly tied to emotional regulation.”

“Her T-cells adapted faster than mine. She smells like copper and summer rain when she’s shifting. No documented reason. Just… her.”

The datapad buzzed faintly beneath his fingertips. He sat in the quiet of his study, your silhouette just visible through the open window—standing in the garden, laughing at Jongjong as the cat tried to chase a butterfly it would never catch.

Jongseong looked down at the title again.

Pathology of Parasites.

He stared at it for a long time. Then, slowly, he raised a finger and tapped on the word Pathology.

He highlighted it, then deleted it to typed something else.

“Life of Parasites.”

[nasa]

All-Star Moments in Space Communications and Navigation

How do we get information from missions exploring the cosmos back to humans on Earth? Our space communications and navigation networks – the Near Space Network and the Deep Space Network – bring back science and exploration data daily.

Here are a few of our favorite moments from 2024.

1. Hip-Hop to Deep Space

The stars above and on Earth aligned as lyrics from the song “The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly)” by hip-hop artist Missy Elliott were beamed to Venus via NASA’s Deep Space Network. Using a 34-meter (112-foot) wide Deep Space Station 13 (DSS-13) radio dish antenna, located at the network’s Goldstone Deep Space Communications Complex in California, the song was sent at 10:05 a.m. PDT on Friday, July 12 and traveled about 158 million miles from Earth to Venus — the artist’s favorite planet. Coincidentally, the DSS-13 that sent the transmission is also nicknamed Venus!

NASA's PACE mission transmitting data to Earth through NASA's Near Space Network.

2. Lemme Upgrade You

Our Near Space Network, which supports communications for space-based missions within 1.2 million miles of Earth, is constantly enhancing its capabilities to support science and exploration missions. Last year, the network implemented DTN (Delay/Disruption Tolerant Networking), which provides robust protection of data traveling from extreme distances. NASA’s PACE (Plankton, Aerosol, Cloud, ocean Ecosystem) mission is the first operational science mission to leverage the network’s DTN capabilities. Since PACE’s launch, over 17 million bundles of data have been transmitted by the satellite and received by the network’s ground station.

A collage of the pet photos sent over laser links from Earth to LCRD and finally to ILLUMA-T (Integrated LCRD Low Earth Orbit User Modem and Amplifier Terminal) on the International Space Station. Animals submitted include cats, dogs, birds, chickens, cows, snakes, and pigs.

3. Who Doesn’t Love Pets?

Last year, we transmitted hundreds of pet photos and videos to the International Space Station, showcasing how laser communications can send more data at once than traditional methods. Imagery of cherished pets gathered from NASA astronauts and agency employees flowed from the mission ops center to the optical ground stations and then to the in-space Laser Communications Relay Demonstration (LCRD), which relayed the signal to a payload on the space station. This activity demonstrated how laser communications and high-rate DTN can benefit human spaceflight missions.

4K video footage was routed from the PC-12 aircraft to an optical ground station in Cleveland. From there, it was sent over an Earth-based network to NASA’s White Sands Test Facility in Las Cruces, New Mexico. The signals were then sent to NASA’s Laser Communications Relay Demonstration spacecraft and relayed to the ILLUMA-T payload on the International Space Station.

4. Now Streaming

A team of engineers transmitted 4K video footage from an aircraft to the International Space Station and back using laser communication signals. Historically, we have relied on radio waves to send information to and from space. Laser communications use infrared light to transmit 10 to 100 times more data than radio frequency systems. The flight tests were part of an agency initiative to stream high-bandwidth video and other data from deep space, enabling future human missions beyond low-Earth orbit.

The Near Space Network provides missions within 1.2 million miles of Earth with communications and navigation services.

5. New Year, New Relationships

At the very end of 2024, the Near Space Network announced multiple contract awards to enhance the network’s services portfolio. The network, which uses a blend of government and commercial assets to get data to and from spacecraft, will be able to support more missions observing our Earth and exploring the cosmos. These commercial assets, alongside the existing network, will also play a critical role in our Artemis campaign, which calls for long-term exploration of the Moon.

On Monday, Oct. 14, 2024, at 12:06 p.m. EDT, a SpaceX Falcon Heavy rocket carrying NASA’s Europa Clipper spacecraft lifts off from Launch Complex 39A at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida.

6. 3, 2, 1, Blast Off!

Together, the Near Space Network and the Deep Space Network supported the launch of Europa Clipper. The Near Space Network provided communications and navigation services to SpaceX’s Falcon Heavy rocket, which launched this Jupiter-bound mission into space! After vehicle separation, the Deep Space Network acquired Europa Clipper’s signal and began full mission support. This is another example of how these networks work together seamlessly to ensure critical mission success.

Engineer Adam Gannon works on the development of Cognitive Engine-1 in the Cognitive Communications Lab at NASA’s Glenn Research Center.

7. Make Way for Next-Gen Tech

Our Technology Education Satellite program organizes collaborative missions that pair university students with researchers to evaluate how new technologies work on small satellites, also known as CubeSats. In 2024, cognitive communications technology, designed to enable autonomous space communications systems, was successfully tested in space on the Technology Educational Satellite 11 mission. Autonomous systems use technology reactive to their environment to implement updates during a spaceflight mission without needing human interaction post-launch.

A first: All six radio frequency antennas at the Madrid Deep Space Communication Complex, part of NASA’s Deep Space Network (DSN), carried out a test to receive data from the agency’s Voyager 1 spacecraft at the same time.

8. Six Are Better Than One

On April 20, 2024, all six radio frequency antennas at the Madrid Deep Space Communication Complex, part of our Deep Space Network, carried out a test to receive data from the agency’s Voyager 1 spacecraft at the same time. Combining the antennas’ receiving power, or arraying, lets the network collect the very faint signals from faraway spacecraft.

Here’s to another year connecting Earth and space.  

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[whenmemorydies]

White supremacist capitalist patriarchy and season 4 of The Bear

I hear folks who are absolutely pissed that it looks like season 4 of The Bear ended with a petulant Carmy who got knocked off his pedestal, running cos now he doesn't know what to do with himself. I hear the anger. I also viscerally raged as I binge watched last night. For me, a lot of this had to do with the idea that this white man who is so used to being excellent, now has to deal with maybe not being excellent. But instead of dealing, it looks like he's vanishing. Like his dad did. Repeating old patterns.

But on a very rough night's sleep worth of reflection, I've come to the conclusion that this is probably a legerdemain. Let me explain.

Carmy is part of a system - white supremacist capitalist patriarchy to be exact. And that system ascribes roles and expectations on everyone that gets subjected to it. Including white folks. I've talked about Carmy's racialisation here but the TLDR of it is that Carmy is part of the Italian-American community that has been assimilated into whiteness over time in America. As a white man he sits at the top of a racial hieriarchy with a history and current reality of horrendous violence and control. He grew up and worked in cultures that valorised a toxic, violent, white masculinity that expected him to perform excellence, dominate and control everything around him as a result.

The rest of us - particularly racialised women (I'm a non-Black, diasporic woman of colour so I can't speak to Syd's specific experience but I think this holds true for all WOC) - we are never expected to dominate. We are often expected to be excellent because of the time and resources invested in us by our parents and communities and because of white supremacist capitalist patriarchy's insistence that mediocrity is a luxury that only white folks get to enjoy without being penalised. This garbage catch-22 is most starkly articulated by Syd during her nightmare in 4x08 Green:

Syd: And then, you're gonna take a perfect little sliver of chive, put that all on top, and it'll be great. And of course, if your dish fails, its no worry at all, no trouble, really. You'll just be a complete waste of space and a failure and a disappointment to anybody who's devoted any time or energy to you.

So how does a white man like Carmy - who was never socialised to be of service in community, who was raised throughout childhood and his career to smoke others, to prove that he could smoke others ("fuck you, watch this") - how does that white man navigate a world where he's no longer the best? Where he's no longer in control?

If that white man was integrated and mature? Well he wouldn't have been trying to dominate in the first place. But for argument's sake and in this context, if this hypothetical white man was those things - integrated and mature - maybe, he might take a step back and let others lead.

But Carmy isn't integrated. He's not there yet. Realistically, he does have to unlearn a lifetime of abuse, socialisation, racialisation and his own dysfunctional coping strategies so that he doesn't keep hurting people. He does have to figure out who he is without all of this bullshit. Honestly, as infuriating as this was to watch...I get it?

The frustration is that we, the viewers, have seen all the characteristics that Carmy identifies in Syd in that fight from 4x10, in him too. In 4x10, Carmy tells Syd:

You are considerate. You...You allow yourself to feel things, right? You allow yourself to care. You are a natural leader and teacher.

Across this show, we have seen Carmy be considerate of others, most significantly of the BIPOC people in his life (bringing all the crew at The Beef over with him to The Bear, giving his chef's knife to Tina, making Sydney The Bear's captain), we have seen him deeply feel (see Carmy's long overdue confrontation of his abuser, Chef David Fields in 3x10), we have seen him care (see Carmy's incessant checking in with Syd throughout this show), and we've seen him lead and teach his team (see Carmy walking the crew through how to make chicken piccata in season 1).

We know that Carmy is good. We know that he's deserving of Syd's love and that she is more than deserving of his. We know that folks can chew gum and walk at the same fucking time and so we - I mean most definitely me - yell at the TV screen (and on this platform lol): WHAT THE FUCK MAN? GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND BE THERE FOR SYDNEY, THE OTHER HALF OF YOUR HEART!!!!

But Carmy, and a lot of other straight, white men (and white women, quite frankly), probably don't know this about themselves. They probably don't know that its not being a soft shitty bitch when you're considerate of others, that you can feel hurt and pain and survive it, that you can care about others and have that be a strength, and that you can lead quietly and consistently without swinging your dick and trying to smoke motherfuckers.

I mean, America. Look at who the majority of white voters - that's white men and white women - elected to lead your country, for fucks sake.

This is white supremacy culture at work. This is the Berzatto's intergenerational, racialised trauma at work. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy facilitates the conditions for white people to not know themselves in their wholeness. To not know who they are in relation to others and the world. In fact, it invites everyone into this condition (via assimilation). So how do you resist it?

Integration time

How will Carmy fix it? How will he integrate?

Carmy will need to learn about himself. In 4x09 Tonnato, Donna tells him that she doesn't know him and he doesn't know her. This is true.

There is work to be done here in terms of understanding his lineage and the history that makes up Carmy's very skin and bones. But he has already begun doing this: Carmy knowing about tonnato because of his culinary training and imparting that cultural knowledge to his Italian-American mother because she's lost that knowledge or never had it to begin with made me tear up because THIS is the work of integration. Of reclaiming your history. Of resisting assimilation. It fucking hit me in the chest, right in my displaced, diasporic heart.

If Carmy was paying attention, he would have also seen Richie doing this throughout season 2. Recall his basement chat with Carmy in 2x01:

Richie: You know, um, I'm trying really hard to be on board with all this new shit, cousin. I'm, uh, I'm reading a lot. I'm trying to learn about who am I to my history.

Likewise, Sydney spent all of season 2 studying and integrating her past trauma into effective leadership for her team. I know for certain that we are going to learn and see more about Sydney's history in season 5 (if the show gets picked up again) and how this has influenced her professionally and personally.

But then what? What will Carmy do after he's undertaken that work?

This is where Luca's plotline is crucial and not just as a vehicle for us to gush over him and Marcus (which, yes, I gushed. I'm still gushing. They're adorable, supportive of one another and an indecently attractive couple).

Recall the conversation between Luca and Tina in 4x08 Green:

Luca: Pressure.

Tina: How do you get rid of it?

Luca: I think you get to a point where you don't want to. Like, at first the pressure sucks, right? Its the pressure that makes you feel shitty at what you do. And actually, thats just the pressure getting in the way. You learn to live with it. And then, next thing you know, you thrive on it. And before you know it, you can't fucking wait to get rocked. Like, you want that pressure, you need that pressure to be able to perform.

Tina: *looks dubious* (me and you both my Queen lmao)

Luca: So, then, the challenge actually becomes, can you live without that pressure?

Tina: Can you?

Luca: I guess not. 'Cause I'm back here working for Carmy again, so...I'm probably not the person to ask, but you let me know if you find out, Chef.

What Luca is describing, a state of not being able to wait to get rocked? That might be fine every now and then for motivation's sake. But what Luca is describing is a state of mind that folks are expected to be in for the duration of their working lives. He's telling Tina how to survive if she wants to remain working in this system. Wanting to get rocked, learning to live with getting rocked sounds the tagline for any ad selling white supremacist capitalist patriarchy to the masses: With our centuries-old system, you too can learn how to tolerate getting fucked, regularly!

Problem is, we are humans, not replicants (shout out to Richie and Phillip K Dick), and we don't take kindly to being fucked every day of our working lives. The Bear knows this too. Recall Mikey answering Tina's question about whether he likes his work, in 3x06 Napkins: "I definitely do not like never not being fucked."

So the question is, once you become accustomed to this way of life, like Carmy has, like Luca was, like many of us are, can you conceive of a different world? A different way of being?

I know Luca tells Tina in the above convo that he isn't there yet but truthfully, he is. Luca comes back to Chicago to "address things and not run away from things" as he tells Marcus in 4x08 Green. Those things involve his family, namely his sister. He's there to address something to do with his roots. In doing so, he says its made him appreciate the city. He, like Richie, is doing the work of learning about who he is to his history.

To give himself the space to do this, he's come to The Bear to work as a stage - one of the lowest level staff in the hierarchy of a restaurant. This is someone who once worked as a sous at Ever - ranked the best restaurant in the world at one point. He's using the skills he has acquired in the course of his pretty decorated career to support others who have not yet had the same opportunities as him.

Luca is at The Bear, doing the quiet, consistent work I've previously talked about: that work that creates the safe space for inspiration, creativity and dreams to thrive. This is the work of being in community. Luca is in community with Marcus, with Tina, with Gary, with Carmy, with Sydney. He is - without ego - supporting and mentoring Tina and Marcus. Luca is resisting (whether consciously or unconsciously) a white supremacist capitalist patriarchal system that would ordinarily demand that he dominate The Bear's kitchen. In doing so, he's being a good culinary ancestor. Next season, should we get it, it will be Carmy's turn: to come back integrated, sure in himself and without ego, to be there to support (in any way she requires it) Sydney.

And by the way, for the record:

In a world where Black women were the single biggest voting block consistently and overwhelmingly using their generations-long-fought right to vote to protect America from itself the zenith of white supremacist capitalist patriarchy - fascism - in 2016, 2020 and 2024, this statement from Carmy:

[A]ny chance of any kind of good in this building, it started when you walked in. And any possibility of it surviving? Its with you.

….is as much about the salvation of The Original Beef of Chicagoland's soul by Sydney, as it is about the United States of America’s by Black women.

[cecilyfaithastrology]

⚱️🏵Part #2🏵⚱️

**Isis through houses**

🏺House 1: healing and regeneration that is deeply connected to your sense of self and your interactions with the environment around you. You may be perceived as someone who possesses a natural ability to bring comfort and support to those around you, and you might have a strong inclination to care for yourself as well, prioritizing self-care in times of stress. 

🏺House 2: highlights the importance of spiritual values and a connection to the divine in shaping your understanding of wealth and prosperity. You might be drawn to practices that enhance your sense of self-worth and abundance, such as affirmations or creative visualizations, aligning your inner world with your outer reality. The Isis energy in the 2nd House can bring healing and transformation to your relationship with money and possessions, leading to a stronger sense of resilience and inner wealth. 

🏺House 3: suggests that your capacity for nurturing and protection is expressed through your communication, relationships with siblings, early learning experiences, and engagement with your immediate environment. You may have a natural gift for offering support and comfort through your words and actions, and you may be driven to bring about healing and transformation in your local community. 

🏺House 4: Isis in the 4th House can signify a journey of finding inner peace and security by addressing and integrating emotional foundations and ancestral influences. This placement encourages you to create a sanctuary within your home and within yourself, reflecting the restorative and protective energy of Isis in your most intimate sphere. 

🏺House 5: Isis in the 5th House suggests a powerful connection to the life-giving and restorative energies of the goddess within the realms of creative expression, romance, and the exploration of joy and pleasure. This placement encourages individuals to channel these energies into creating a life that is both fulfilling and regenerative.

🏺House 6: 6th House encourages you to approach your daily life with a spirit of service and a commitment to restoring balance and harmony in both yourself and those around you. This placement can also highlight the importance of spiritual values in your work and daily routines, aligning your actions with your sense of purpose and compassion.

🏺House 7: This placement shows You may be a mediator in conflicts, seeking to restore balance and understanding within your partnerships. You are a nurturing and supportive partner, seeking to heal and bring harmony to your relationships.You might find that your relationships play a key role in your own personal growth and spiritual evolution, mirroring Isis's journey of piecing together Osiris.u might be interested in exploring the deeper dynamics of relationships, perhaps through therapy or other forms of healing work. 

🏺House 8:Isis in the 8th House suggests a journey of profound self-discovery and transformation through navigating the depths of emotional intimacy, embracing the cycles of life, death, and rebirth, and finding restoration and wholeness in the face of life's challenges. This placement can point to a desire to nurture and heal deep emotional wounds within intimate relationships or through the shared resources and assets of partnerships. They might be drawn to explore the psychological depths of themselves and others, fostering profound connections and achieving a sense of spiritual completion through union.The 8th House also deals with secrets, hidden knowledge, and the occult. With Isis here, individuals might be inclined to delve into these realms, seeking to uncover hidden truths and bring about healing or transformation through their investigations. 

🏺House 9: may have a deep drive to explore various belief systems and seek spiritual truths, potentially drawing from ancient wisdom or esoteric teachings. Their personal philosophy and ideologies may be infused with a protective and restorative element, reflecting a desire to bring balance and healing to the world. This placement can encourage a lifelong love of learning and a commitment to personal growth, perhaps through travel, cross-cultural experiences, or immersing oneself in spiritual practices. Ultimately, Isis in the 9th House suggests a journey of seeking profound meaning and spiritual expansion, where the individual's inherent nurturing and protective qualities are channeled through the realms of intellect, philosophy, and the exploration of life's greater mysteries.

🏺House 10: suggests that your life's work is infused with the goddess's ability to restore wholeness and bring about positive change. You may be driven to achieve success and leave a lasting legacy through your ability to nurture, heal, and transform, not just in your personal life but also in the public sphere.

🏺House 11:This placement signifies a strong connection between an individual's emotional needs and their sense of belonging in groups or communities, offering support for emotional growth, intuition, and group healing. The Isis energy in the 11th House can empower individuals to become catalysts for positive change within their social networks and communities, working towards a more harmonious and regenerative future. May be protective of social circles.

🏺House 12: This placement can indicate a strong connection to the unseen realms, and a tendency to find meaning and healing through exploring hidden aspects of the self and the universe. The 12th House can also represent areas of potential limitation or self-undoing, so Isis's influence here might involve a journey of healing and restoring unconscious patterns or past wounds, similar to how the mythical Isis sought to reassemble Osiris. This placement can empower an individual to tap into their spiritual gifts and intuition to help both themselves and others find wholeness and balance, often in a compassionate and behind-the-scenes manner.

**Which asteroid should I do next?**

[kiragecko]

Do you think Cass's writers KNEW how harmful Babs' teaching methods were?

Cass and/or Babs fans who have read the first Batgirl series and/or No Man's Land, what do you think?

I'll get into the details in a moment, but my guess is they were trying to write Babs as a fallible mentor, but were ignorant about just how much damage she would realistically be causing. I'd like to get second opinions, because I've spent enough time studying communication with nonverbal people that I no longer know what people actually KNOW.

Anyways, here's the stuff I want to know if you guys think is intentional:

When we first meet Cass, Babs is trying to teach her to read. Babs is showing her the word 'stop' and getting Cass to sound out the letters. This is ... not a good idea.

Some of the errors Cass makes (starting with a 'd' sound and correcting to 't', for example) suggest that Cass is still learning HOW TO MAKE SOUNDS. She's still teaching her body how to shape her mouth and throat, when to vibrate her vocal cords - the physical aspects of speech. That's HARD, and deserves focus so it can be learned properly!

We later learn she only knows a small number of words. She's still learning to associate sounds with meaning. That's HARD, and deserves focus so it can be learned properly!

She's also still learning to match letter shapes to sounds. THAT IS ALSO HARD AND DESERVES FOCUS SO SHE CAN LEARN IT PROPERLY!

By conflating reading, speech, AND understanding, Babs is making Cass' job MUCH MUCH more difficult! Each of those, and a dozen smaller aspects of communication, all need months of prioritization, without competition from other aspects.

-

Throughout Batgirl, Babs pressures Cass to read. Cass is still learning to parse meaning from the words downloaded into her head. She struggles to organize them into sentences. She struggles to understand the nuances of what other people are saying. Once again, these are all important things that she should be encouraged to focus on! Reading is nice, but at this point it shouldn't be the priority. By ignoring the skills Cass IS building, and pushing Cass towards competing skills she doesn't have the prerequisites for, Babs is slowing down Cass' progress and providing negative feedback loops.

-

Babs seems to equate reading with communicating. Possibly because of her past as a librarian and the obvious value she gets from reading. Possibly because her current job is as an information broker and hacker. Possibly because her own disability limits her physically, and reading and writing has become necessary for interacting with the outside world. Possibly because she is living vicariously through the new Batgirl. And possibly because her eidetic memory suggests she thinks in words and can't actually imagine thought in other ways.

Cass is probably never going to use reading as a primary communication method, and would have benefited froma learning regimen that works with her skills, rather than pushing through her weaknesses.

-

Here's the stuff I'm pretty sure was intentional:

Babs calls Cass stupid for not being able to read during a high pressure situation that is triggering Babs. This is obviously wrong, and she feels awful about it.

Babs is frequently impatient with Cass' progress, and sometimes accuses her of not trying, or not caring enough. She makes comments in front of other people without thinking. These are all shown as problematic and hurtful.

-

Here's the things I think Babs did right:

Babs sets up a computer system that can be navigated by voice, and can interpret vague instructions. It provides visual, as well as verbal, information for everything Cass asks about. Cass is never pressured to use a different system.

Babs mostly allows Cass to explore, and builds lessons around Cass' interests. She integrates life skills into her lessons, and actually does a REALLY good job at helping Cass build enough of a foundation to start getting curious about the world.

She usually backs off when Cass gets stubborn, which lets Cass recover, and keep some agency.

She MOSTLY doesn't co-opt Cass' growing friendship with Steph. She supports them, and doesn't try to use Steph to push Cass in the directions Babs wants her to go.

Other than stuff around speech and literacy, I actually think the writers did a good job of writing a flawed but caring mentor who actually helped more than she harmed.

-

What do you guys think?

[midnitetech]

🎉 Classic Career Overhauls—Batch #1 Now Available!

Per your votes, I’ll be releasing my Classic Career Overhauls in batches of 3–5 at a time! These careers have been recreated from scratch to work with the latest game versions. (I've rejigged things to include my Real Estate career in this batch to keep posts at a minimum.)

✨ Included in This Batch:

💻 Cybersecurity Hacker – Break into systems (legally) and keep networks secure.

🏡 Real Estate Agent - Seal the deal on dream homes and skyrocket to mogul status.

👔 Workforce Management (HR) – Recruit, train, and navigate workplace drama like a pro.

💰 Banking – Manage money, approve loans, and climb the corporate ladder to financial success.

📌 What’s New?

✅ 10-Level Career with Progressive Pay & Realistic Hours ✅ New Custom Interactions ✅ Daily Task & Custom Promotion Objectives ✅ Includes NPC Coworkers, Career Layoffs & All Up-to-Date Features ✅ Fully Integrated with Base Game Career Systems ✅ 100% Maxis Match

📂 More Classic Careers Coming Soon!

⚠️REQUIRED⚠️ 🌐Lot 51's Core Library 📁midnitetech_modlibrary

📌 Want to know how career updates are handled? Check out Career Updates – What to Expect for details on how older careers are being updated!

📂 Explore More Careers! You'll be able to find the full collection of career mods here, as I update them: Classic Career Collection.

Download to C:\Users\....\Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 4\Mods Don't forget 🌐Lot 51's Core Library and 📁midnitetech_modlibrary—script files must be no more than 1 folder deep.

PATREON (free)

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Pick A Pile: How Your Ancestors Suffered & How You Reclaim Your Power In This Lifetime

Pile 1

Your ancestors struggled with financial unpredictability. They experienced extreme highs and lows—rising from poverty to wealth, only to fall back into financial hardship. This instability often stemmed from unforeseen circumstances, such as illness or mental health struggles, which disrupted their financial and career trajectories. Their lives were marked by periods of abundance followed by devastating losses, creating a cycle of uncertainty and instability.

How to Reclaim Your Power:

To break this cycle, you must learn the power of moderation. Burnout is not a badge of honor—it’s a warning sign. Your ancestors pushed themselves to exhaustion, leading to mental breakdowns and even hospitalization. Avoid repeating this pattern by prioritizing balance in all aspects of life: work, rest, diet, and personal time.

Engaging in emotional transformation is also key. Deep inner work—such as therapy, shadow work, and journaling—will help you integrate your light and dark aspects, preventing deep-seated mental health struggles from controlling your life.

Maintaining confidence and physical vitality is crucial as well. Develop a consistent exercise routine and practice daily affirmations to reinforce your resilience. By strengthening both your body and mind, you empower yourself to navigate life’s challenges without falling into the cycles of the past.

Pile 2

Your ancestral lineage was deeply affected by abuse and toxic relationships—particularly within marriages and partnerships. These cycles of dysfunction often left your ancestors feeling trapped, powerless, and unsupported. Many failed to confront the deeper issues in their lives, choosing instead to endure suffering rather than make the necessary changes. Fear, lack of courage, and external pressures—such as societal or religious judgment—kept them stuck in unhealthy environments.

How to Reclaim Your Power:

To break free, you must plan your life with intention. Unlike your ancestors, who often felt stagnant, you are being called to move—physically and emotionally. This may involve relocating to a different city, state, or even country to create a fresh start. Expansion is key.

Most importantly, don’t give up. Your ancestors surrendered too easily when faced with challenges, but you are meant to embody strength, tenacity, and resilience. Own your power. Seek environments that uplift you rather than judge you. Stop seeking validation from rigid institutions or individuals who will never fully accept you.

This lifetime is about embracing self-accountability—not relying on others for your success or healing. Release inherited self-doubt and harsh self-criticism. Believe in yourself. By doing so, you break the cycle of fear and limitation that plagued your lineage.

Pile 3

Your ancestors suffered from a lack of intellectual and personal freedom. Many were prevented from pursuing education, mastering skills, or gaining knowledge that could have transformed their lives. Opportunities were stripped from them—whether through financial hardship, systemic oppression, or restrictive societal expectations.

Their struggles extended beyond intellectual repression; secrecy and unspoken family tensions were also deeply ingrained. Many painful experiences—betrayals, losses, unresolved conflicts—were buried rather than addressed, creating a lineage marked by suppressed emotions and untapped potential.

How to Reclaim Your Power:

The key to breaking this cycle is balance. While discipline and responsibility are essential, you must also allow yourself freedom and joy. Loosen the grip of strict structure and perfectionism. Find playfulness in life—travel, explore, and pursue interests that bring you genuine happiness.

Additionally, reexamine your belief systems. Some of your inherited beliefs may be restricting you rather than empowering you. This lifetime calls for unlearning outdated mental constructs and redefining what truly aligns with you.

Learn when to let go. Not every battle needs to be fought, and not every past experience needs to be carried forward. Earn your knowledge, but don’t let your ego make you rigid in your thinking. Embrace both wisdom and flexibility. By integrating responsibility with spontaneity, you reclaim the intellectual and personal freedom your ancestors were denied.

Pile 4

Your ancestors were dreamers—deeply artistic, spiritual, and idealistic. They had grand visions for their lives but often struggled with follow-through, leading to unfulfilled potential. Many of them lived with regret over what they never accomplished.

Their ability to express themselves and chase their dreams may have been restricted by social ostracization or strict authoritarian rule. They may have been outcasted, silenced, or controlled by harsh external forces, preventing them from fully realizing their potential.

How to Reclaim Your Power:

In this lifetime, patience and pacing will be your greatest allies. You have the potential to build a beautiful life, but you must trust divine timing instead of forcing rapid progress. Rushing will only create setbacks—sustainable success requires careful nurturing.

Prioritize mental and emotional well-being. Your ancestors’ dreams were crushed, in part, because they lacked the support or emotional stability to pursue them. Engage in self-care, therapy, and mindfulness practices to maintain your inner peace and resilience.

Tap into your artistic and feminine energy—whether through music, dance, yoga, nature, or creative expression. These outlets will help you manifest your dreams. Your power lies in softness, creativity, and intuition.

Avoid unnecessary conflicts. Your energy is best spent cultivating peace, rather than engaging in battles that drain you. Embrace serenity, flow, and self-expression. By doing so, you bring your ancestors’ lost dreams into reality—transforming their struggles into a legacy of fulfilled potential.

[amrutmnm]

The Future of Aviation: Fixed-Wing VTOL UAVs and Their Impact Across Industries

The Global Fixed-Wing VTOL UAVs Market is experiencing significant growth. In 2022, the market was valued at USD 842 million and is expected to reach USD 4,627 million by 2030, growing at an impressive CAGR of 23.7%. This rapid expansion is driven by the increased adoption of advanced unmanned aerial platforms across both military and commercial sectors.

Fixed-wing VTOL UAVs combine the vertical take-off capabilities of traditional helicopters with the efficiency and speed of fixed-wing aircraft. This unique combination makes them suitable for a wide range of applications, from military surveillance to commercial product deliveries. The growing demand for such versatile systems, particularly in industries requiring remote sensing and high-endurance missions, is shaping the future of this Fixed-Wing VTOL UAVs Industtry.

Market Drivers

1. Wide-scale Adoption in Civil and Commercial Applications

Fixed-wing VTOL UAVs are gaining significant traction in civil and commercial sectors, where they are being utilized for a variety of tasks such as:

Precision agriculture: These UAVs monitor crop health, identify pest infestations, and manage irrigation systems more effectively.

Product delivery: Major retailers and e-commerce companies are investing in UAVs for faster and more efficient delivery systems.

Surveying and mapping: Fixed-wing VTOL UAVs can cover large areas quickly, making them ideal for land surveying, topographical mapping, and monitoring infrastructure.

Aerial remote sensing: Used in sectors like oil and gas, mining, and environmental conservation, these UAVs provide essential data without the need for human intervention.

The increasing use of UAVs in agriculture, real estate, and environmental monitoring has further propelled demand. Governments and private industries alike are exploring fixed-wing VTOL UAVs to optimize efficiency and reduce costs, thereby driving the market forward.

2. Growing Military Adoption

Fixed-wing VTOL UAVs are rapidly becoming a staple in defense operations. These UAVs offer superior endurance, range, and operational flexibility, which is essential for modern military strategies. Their ability to take off and land in confined areas without a runway, coupled with long flight durations, makes them indispensable for surveillance, reconnaissance, and tactical missions.

Countries like the US, China, and Israel are significantly investing in fixed-wing VTOL UAV technologies to modernize their defense capabilities. Military adoption is expected to remain a key growth driver, as defense forces worldwide seek to leverage UAVs for intelligence gathering, border patrol, and combat support.

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Market Restraints

1. Lack of Skilled Personnel

Despite the immense potential of fixed-wing VTOL UAVs, a major challenge facing the market is the shortage of skilled and trained personnel to operate these systems. Unlike traditional aircraft, UAV pilots must manage not only the aircraft but also the entire unmanned aerial system, including ground control stations and communication equipment. The complexity of these systems requires highly specialized training.

The increasing use of drones in commercial and government applications has exacerbated the need for skilled operators, but the current supply is unable to meet demand. To address this, efforts are being made to enhance the autonomy of UAV systems, allowing them to operate with minimal human intervention. However, the development and widespread implementation of such autonomous systems will take time.

Key Opportunities

1. Aerial Remote Sensing for Critical Infrastructure Protection

Fixed-wing VTOL UAVs are emerging as an essential tool for aerial remote sensing, particularly for the protection of critical infrastructure. Military bases, government buildings, airports, and even power grids require constant monitoring to prevent security breaches or operational disruptions. UAVs can offer rapid response capabilities, providing real-time data that helps military and police departments act swiftly in emergencies.

A growing number of law enforcement agencies are adopting fixed-wing VTOL UAVs as a cost-effective alternative to helicopters. The Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) in the US, for example, has been granting limited authorizations for UAV use in both military and civilian operations. This regulatory support is likely to encourage further adoption, creating lucrative opportunities for manufacturers.

2. Increased Deployment in Industrial Sectors

The industrial applications of fixed-wing VTOL UAVs continue to expand. Industries such as oil and gas, mining, and utilities are increasingly turning to UAVs for tasks that were once hazardous or inefficient for humans to perform. From pipeline monitoring to disaster response, these UAVs offer unmatched flexibility and reliability. The use of UAVs in these sectors is not only improving operational efficiency but also reducing the risks associated with human involvement in dangerous environments.

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Market Challenges

1. Lack of Proper Air Traffic Management for UAVs

One of the most significant challenges facing the fixed-wing VTOL UAV market is the lack of adequate air traffic management systems. As the number of UAVs in the skies increases, so too does the potential for mid-air collisions. Current air traffic management systems are not designed to handle the unique flight patterns and operational requirements of UAVs, particularly in congested airspace.

Several initiatives are underway to address this issue. For instance, in the US, companies like AirMap are working on integrating UAVs into national air traffic systems. However, a global standard for UAV air traffic management has yet to be established. The development of such a system is critical for ensuring the safe and widespread use of fixed-wing VTOL UAVs in commercial airspace.

Key Market Segments

1. By Application: Military Leads the Way

The fixed-wing VTOL UAV market can be broadly categorized into military, government & law enforcement, and commercial applications. Military applications dominate the market, with defense forces around the world increasingly adopting UAVs for surveillance, reconnaissance, and combat missions. This trend is expected to continue throughout the forecast period, driven by technological advancements and increased defense spending.

2. By Weight: <25 Kilograms Segment Dominates

In terms of maximum take-off weight (MTOW), the <25 kilograms segment holds the largest market share. This is largely due to the wide range of commercial UAVs available in this weight class, which are suitable for various applications such as photography, surveying, and monitoring.

3. By Endurance: High Demand for >10 Hours UAVs

UAVs with more than 10 hours of endurance are expected to witness the highest growth during the forecast period. This is primarily due to the growing need for long-endurance UAVs in military and commercial operations, where extended flight times are essential for completing missions without the need for refueling or recharging.

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Regional Insights: North America Leads the Market

North America is currently the largest market for fixed-wing VTOL UAVs, followed by Asia-Pacific and Europe. The US, in particular, has seen a surge in demand for UAVs across various sectors, including disaster management, maritime security, and agriculture. The region's dominance can be attributed to its advanced technological infrastructure, regulatory support, and strong defense capabilities.

In the Asia-Pacific region, countries like China and Japan are quickly catching up, investing heavily in UAV technologies for both military and commercial applications. The growing demand for automation in industries and increased government spending on defense are expected to fuel further market growth in this region.

Key Players and Competitive Landscape

The fixed-wing VTOL UAV market is dominated by a few Key Players, including:

ALTI UAS (South Africa): A major player in the commercial UAV sector, offering solutions for agriculture, security, and surveillance.

AeroVironment, Inc. (US): Specializing in military UAVs, AeroVironment provides advanced solutions for defense applications.

Textron Inc. (US): Known for its joint ventures and partnerships, Textron is a significant player in the military UAV market.

Quantum-Systems (Germany): Focused on delivering high-quality UAVs for both military and commercial applications.

These companies are driving innovation through new product launches, strategic partnerships, and mergers. Their competitive strategies are centered around enhancing UAV capabilities and expanding into emerging markets.

The fixed-wing VTOL UAV market is poised for substantial growth over the next decade. The wide-scale adoption of these UAVs in military and commercial applications, coupled with technological advancements, will continue to drive market expansion. However, challenges such as the lack of skilled operators and inadequate air traffic management systems must be addressed to fully unlock the potential of this market.

As the market evolves, companies that invest in research and development, as well as strategic partnerships, will be well-positioned to capitalize on the growing demand for fixed-wing VTOL UAVs across the globe.

[caraudioexpertaustralia0]

Headunit With Carplay For CHRYSLER 300C | 2005-2007 | 9″ Inch

Headunit With Carplay For CHRYSLER 300C | 2005-2007 | 9″ Inch

[kayhanaudio2]

The interior of a Hyundai Genesis Coupe (2005–2008) may be refined with the trendy Kayhan Audio Car Stereo with SatNav; it has a roomy 10.4-inch touchscreen display. For easy media streaming, hands-free chatting, and app access, it has Bluetooth, USB, and Wi-Fi connectivity, plus GPS navigation with real-time traffic updates. The high-resolution screen's advanced features and intuitive design enhance your driving experience. Website:

https://kayhanaudio.com.au/product/car-stereo-with-satnav-for-hyundai-genesis-coupe-2005-2008-10-4-inch/

[walble]

Good Fortunes Coming In The Near Future

This is meant to be a fun, general reading, so it may not resonate with everyone. Take what resonates for you and leave the rest behind! Please take a moment to breathe, focus on your intuition, and choose the photo that calls to you. Each holds a unique message for you!

𐙚 • 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒 1

Your reading suggests a period of financial stability and self-sufficiency approaching soon. There are strong indications of abundance, whether through career advancements, investments paying off, or an overall increase in wealth and comfort. Hard work and patience are paying off, and this is a time to enjoy the fruits of your labor. You may find yourself in a position of authority or influence, where your wisdom and strategic thinking lead to long-term success. This also points to a sense of independence and confidence in managing your resources wisely.

Balance and patience play a key role in what’s coming. You are entering a phase where harmony is essential, particularly in decision-making and personal growth. There’s a need to carefully weigh your choices and move forward with a clear, logical mindset. A rational approach to problem-solving will serve you well, and guidance from a mentor or an institution could provide valuable insight. This could be a time when discipline and structure lead to greater success, whether in your career, finances, or personal development.

Future planning is highlighted, urging you to consider the bigger picture. You may find yourself at a crossroads, looking ahead to new opportunities that require careful thought. Whether it's travel, relocation, or expanding your ambitions, taking a well-calculated risk will bring favorable outcomes. This is a period of learning and growth, where traditional values or structured systems will help guide you forward. Seeking wisdom from trusted sources and staying open to new experiences will ensure that the coming changes lead to stability and prosperity.

❥ ♡ 💜 ♡︎

𐙚 • 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒 2

Your reading suggests that personal fulfillment and emotional satisfaction are on the horizon. A long-held wish or desire may soon come to fruition, bringing a sense of joy and contentment. This could be related to personal growth, relationships, or even a long-awaited opportunity finally manifesting. While there may be external challenges, your internal sense of happiness and self-acceptance will be strong, allowing you to navigate any obstacles with confidence.

However, there seems to be a disruption in stability, possibly within your home life or close relationships. A sense of nostalgia or attachment to the past may be holding you back, making it difficult to fully embrace new experiences. Letting go of old wounds or past disappointments will be necessary to move forward. This is a time for healing, as the worst of a difficult period is finally ending. You're emerging from struggles stronger than before, ready to rebuild with clarity and resilience.

Fairness and truth will play an important role in the near future. There may be a situation where justice is served, or a long-standing issue is resolved in a fair and balanced manner. Staying honest and making decisions based on integrity will lead to positive outcomes. Curiosity and a thirst for knowledge will also be important—new ideas, insights, or even unexpected messages may come your way, offering valuable lessons. Keeping an open mind and staying observant will help you make the most of upcoming opportunities.

❥ ♡ 💜 ♡︎

𐙚 • 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒 3

Your reading indicates that recent or ongoing conflicts may bring unexpected benefits. While there may have been tension, disagreements, or even a sense of competition, these challenges will ultimately lead to personal growth and a clearer understanding of what truly matters. You are learning to choose your battles wisely and focus on what will serve your long-term success rather than getting caught up in unnecessary disputes.

Collaboration may feel difficult at this time, as teamwork or group efforts could be lacking harmony. However, this is a reminder that your personal achievements are not dependent on others. Independence and inner strength will be key to pushing forward. There is great emotional fulfillment ahead, as your desires and aspirations start coming to life. Confidence in your own abilities will help you create the life you want, and your resilience will ensure lasting success.

Expansion and recognition are significant themes in the near future. Opportunities for growth, whether in career, travel, or personal development, are on the horizon. You are stepping into a time of victory and public acknowledgment, where your efforts will be noticed and rewarded. This is a powerful moment for stepping into the spotlight and embracing the success you’ve worked for. With courage, determination, and a willingness to take risks, you will find yourself moving forward with great momentum.

❥ ♡ 💜 ♡︎

If you're looking for a personalized reading tailored specifically to your energy, feel free to message me to book a session or visit my Ko-fi page to schedule one here: KO-FI

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || Ch. 33]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

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Words: 4.4k

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|| Trigger Warning: Graphic Descriptions Body Horror & Death Regarding Unnamed Children ||

All your life you have heard that there is a beauty in chaos, and while you do agree with this, you also find there is a beauty in organization. 

You like taking all the chaos and putting it into categories. You like sorting the details and finding the mysteries that need to be unraveled. You think it must be similar to how clever people feel when they solve a riddle or a puzzle, but you aren’t running in circles with philosophical thoughts - you are analyzing what is already available and coming to a conclusion. 

It is still all chaos, because everything is always chaos, but it is organized into a way that makes sense. 

And Matt’s stolen duffel bag, when first unzipped and inspected, was full of chaos. 

You, Foggy, and Karen quickly got to work looking over the different papers and forming different stacks based upon agreed parameters. 

It became clear Matt’s guess that he had found some sort of laboratory was correct. The papers all appeared to be results of different medical tests, though at first glance, the three of you could not decipher for what.

But deciphering wasn’t needed at that moment, so it didn’t matter, and once everything was spread neatly across the dining table, the next step of your beloved process began. 

Foggy gave each pile a designation and then the three of you began labeling each paper in the top corner. 

A1. A2. A3. A4. 

B1. B2. B3. B4. 

All your analyzing would be useless if you couldn’t source your data, and it was quickly clear your little group all shared the same brain cell when it came to this idea.

While you worked at the table, Matt and Jessica sat on the floor by the couches, marking up a map. You caught snippets of the conversation - this bit of evidence was heard in that alley, to get to a certain tunnel system you had to go through such and such warehouse. It was fascinating to know that Matt had memorized nearly every square inch of Hell’s Kitchen - even the parts you didn’t know existed - and it was equally amazing that Jessica knew just as much. 

After hearing them talk, it left you wondering if Frank had the same knowledge, but you would leave that question for another time. He had been assigned to the two thumb drives that had been in the duffel bag. You had furiously taken mental notes as he had grumpily explained to Matt the little devices couldn’t just be plugged into a computer. They could have malware on them or trigger tracking or something equally devious and needed to be inserted into a clean laptop that couldn’t connect to the internet. That way, if the laptop tried to send a signal or became a brick, there would be nothing lost. 

Since neither you nor Matt happened to have a spare laptop laying around, Frank went to go procure one. 

That was about half an hour ago and now you are well into your third Foggy-assigned task - highlighting any identifying information in yellow. There’s nothing easy like names or addresses listed out, but you noticed a pattern for patient labels and have determined there are at least five. 

As you jot down that Patient 031517DVA also appears on page D4 in your notebook, you find you are enjoying yourself. This isn’t exactly what you imagined when Matt talked about inviting everyone over to review what he had found, but you think it is nice. Knowing that Matt isn’t out there running around without any sort of plan soothes your nerves and seeing that he is putting in the time and thought into his next actions makes you trust he knows what he is doing. 

No one wants a shady underground lab in their neighborhood, but you need to make sure they are actually shady first and not some weird fringe group researching an unknown breed of sewer rat.

The effort going into helping Matt with this task makes your fondness of Foggy, Karen, and Frank grow even more - and gives you a fondness for Jessica. Everyone is serious about their task, and extremely thorough, and you want them to see you in the same light. You know this is not a game and you refuse to let your part in the research be the weak link. 

As you go to the next row of numbers to examine, you catch some movement in the corner of your eye. You turn your head and watch with a soft smile as your daughter emerges from Matt’s bedroom, clad in her mouse-onesie pajamas. Her sleep mask is pulled down around her neck and she looks upset, but she’s not crying, so you don’t jump to run to her. You let her make her own decisions as she sleepily looks between you and her father and you can’t help but to mentally crow a bit as she starts shuffling towards you, her little mouse-tail trailing behind her. 

Everyone’s attention is on you as Minnie lifts up her arms to be picked up once she’s within a foot of you. You dutifully scoop her up and put her on your lap, fixing her hood and mouse-ears as you do. 

“Is everything okay, sweetheart? Did something wake you up?”

She nods, then flops herself against your chest, mumbling out, “There’s monsters.” 

You begin to gently rub her back, hoping to soothe her worries as you confirm, “there’s monsters?”

Again, her head bobs up and down before she nuzzles into your neck, trying to hide herself. Across the room, Matt is up and making his way towards you, but it is Foggy who speaks up next. 

“Are they silly monsters or scary monsters?”

You smile at the question as Minnie ponders it - her little lips purse against your neck and you feel her breath against your skin as she silently repeats the words. She decides on ‘scary’ - replying in a timid voice as Matt takes his place behind you, sliding his hands onto your shoulders.

“Do you want me to help you tell them to go away?” you ask, having packed your bottle of Monster Repellent for just this cause. Little fists clutch tightly at your shirt as Mouse shakes her head and you give a soft hum in thought. “Do you want Daddy to go scare them off?”

You are sure Matt would run outside to chase away a stray cat or hungry raccoon if his princess wished for it, but she shakes her head against you, so you guess Matt will be staying inside. 

“How about we make the monsters silly instead of scary?” is Karen’s suggestion, and like the others, it falls flat. 

You consider offering to read some stories, but Matt startles you from your thoughts by sliding his hands down your arms to get to his daughter. He gently urges her to let go of you before transferring her to his arms and bundling her close. She absolutely clings to him, looking so tiny against his broad shoulders.

“I got this,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper before he turns and starts making his way back to the bedroom. As you watch him walk away, he buries his nose into her hood, and he begins to rock with each step. The itty bitty fist you can still see tightens around his t-shirt and your heart yearns to follow your family, but you know this is a Daddy-Daughter moment and you need to stay seated. 

You were worried about Minnie getting scared over sleeping in a new place - there’s so many new and different noises but you trust Matt to help her interpet everything. He’s already done such an amazing job of it in day-to-day life and you know he’ll explain away all her monsters and let her know she is safe. 

Considering the company she is starting to keep she is probably the safest little girl in New York. No monsters would dare to lurk in her shadows less they want to face the wrath of the Devil.

You know that this little group you are becoming a part of would join you in jumping in front of a bullet for your daughter and you are pretty sure even her newest best friend - Max the Dog - would not hesitate to bare his teeth if someone upset her. 

She deserves nothing less and it makes your heart soar that she is so thoroughly adored. 

Now that her research partner is on another important assignment, Jessica gets up off the floor and strolls over to the table, “anything interesting?”

“Maybe if we were scientists instead of lawyers,” Foggy replies warily, dropping his pink highlighter in favor of nursing his beer, “and knew what any of these numbers meant. We’re going to spend all night looking up these test numbers and hoping they are real. I mean, look at this,” he motions to the paper he is currently working on. “What the hell is D22S1045? And why is the result 15?”

Jessica takes one look at the paper before scrunching up her nose and blandly stating, “It’s a DNA marker. Haven’t you ever seen a paternity test?”

Foggy’s face goes slack for a moment before he is huffing, “Not since college when we had to study paternity suits, and they looked nothing like this! They were like dots we had to match, not numbers!” He uses his beer to point to you, “did yours look like this?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you duck your head, hating all the attention is on you with such a personal question. “No. No, mine didn’t…we just received a letter with the results. Not the data.”

“So, they are doing DNA and blood tests?” Karen asks, taking over the conversation and directing it back to Jessica. “And comparing them with each other. Could they be looking for relationships between them?” 

“I’m not a fucking doctor,” is the reply she gets, but Jessica picks up the paper to examine it more closely either way. “But none of these match. The numbers have to be the same for a parental match, but that might not be what they are looking for. Just because it looks like a paternity test doesn’t mean it is one. DNA markers are used in a lot of shit.”

“It might not be human,” you add quietly. “Matt said the lab smelled of human blood, but we don’t know that these tests are on humans. There’s no dates on these, so they could be years old.”

Karen whips out her phone and is typing away before you are done talking, “What was that DNA marker, Fog?”

Foggy repeats the string of numbers and letters and you watch Karen’s eyes scan her screen.

“It’s human,” she states after a long, tense moment. The scowl Jessica gives is near legendary.

“Great, so we have a bunch of assholes in abandoned tunnels running tests on people.”

“That sounds both sanitary and humane,” Foggy grumbles before throwing back the rest of his beer. 

“OSHA and FDA approved,” you add sarcastically and that earns you a smile from Karen. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she guides you all back on track.

“We still have no idea what they are looking for, though. This could be cancer research for all we know - we are still at square one.”

“One point five,” Foggy argues, “we confirmed it’s human.”

“We don’t know what the tests are looking for,” Karen repeats, ignoring him, “and I don’t think looking up the significance of each DNA marker is going to do us much good. Can you and Matt go back to the lab and look around?”

As the clear recipient of the question, Jessica huffs then turns away from the table and goes right to the bottle of Macallan Matt keeps on top of his fridge. She pops off the lid, taking a long drink of it before answering. 

“That was the plan, but I’m betting it’s going to be sprayed with bleach after knowing Devil-boy was poking around. It’s not like we will get much, not that there was shit to get beforehand.”

“So, we have no who, no why, and no where,” Foggy points out. “We are doing great.”

The joy you had gotten from trying to organize the chaos of paperwork evaporates and you sink down into your chair a little. Would continuing to highlight and document be useful or was this all for naught? The rational part of your brain told you to keep going, because it was better to have it done and not need it then to need it later and it still be a mess of paperwork.

“We’ve just started, Fog, of course we have nothing,” Karen says, rolling her eyes a bit as she does. “Did you expect them to write their plans in gel pens and leave them lying around?”

“I mean, that would be useful.”

You roll your lip between your teeth, thinking that Karen is right. You don’t have much, and you’ve only just started - of course things look pessimistic. While Karen and Foggy begin to banter back and forth about the use of gel pens in a professional setting and Jessica finishes off Matt’s whisky, you let your mind wander around the facts of the case. 

Someone is out there running medical tests in a gross underground lab, probably trying to hide what they are doing. To do a lot of tests, they probably needed lab equipment, and a few years ago you would have said to follow that trail, but with all the advancements in technology, a machine to run DNA tests on probably only cost a few hundred dollars and was compact enough to move easily. Generators could keep people off the grid and there were enough tunnels under the city that years could be spent exploring them. Everything they would need could be ordered offline, and thus, was untraceable to you.

The only solid clues you had were what Matt had come home with, so you needed to keep digging there and hope that the thumb drives would contain something more useful. 

So, you pick yourself back up, grab your highlighter, and get back to work. 

Soon enough, Foggy and Karen pick their highlighters back up as well, and Jessica takes up a spot on the couch, putting her feet up and getting out her phone to tap at. The mood is much more somber, but you feel the same determination to find answers that is in you coming off of everyone else as well. 

You don’t pay attention to the passage of time, but it is not long after you grab the final stack of papers to comb through that Matt slips out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him. 

He starts towards the dining table only to stop by the couch, tilting his head towards Jessica, “That bottle was a gift from Foggy’s dad.”

“Boo-hoo, cry me a fucking river, Murdock.”

Despite the venom in Jessica’s voice, Matt chuckles and finishes making his way to you. 

His hands once again find your shoulders and he begins rubbing them, digging his thumbs into just the right spot as he begins his Minnie-update.

“Someone with a really nice sound system is having a horror movie marathon. She was actually hearing monsters.”

“My poor baby,” you instantly coo, your heart breaking for your little one. “Did you tell her it was just a movie?”

Matt hums in affirmation, “That doesn’t help with the noise, though. We walked through turning things off and found something to work as white noise. It’s still hard for her to do it with new sounds, especially so tired, but she’s a quick learner.”

“How long did it take you to learn all that stuff,” Foggy asks, interest clear in his eyes. Karen puts her pen down as well so she can get the gossip. 

“I don’t know, years? It didn’t come naturally to me like it does with her - I would train for hours to be able to pinpoint something, but she can do it pretty easily. I mean, she can’t tell me exact distance because she’s four and doesn’t know what that means, but she can point and say if it’s close or far.” You can feel Matt practically puff up with Pride over his baby girl. “She’s learning inorganic versus organic sounds now. She can tell if a loud banging is someone hitting something or if something just fell over. The other day she told me it was the wind making the window shake, because she couldn’t hear any other noises around the window.”

You smile at the story, having a feeling Matt is going to start going on about all the declarations Minnie had made during the storm and you don’t mind at all. 

“So, she’s as good as you?” Karen teases and you know Matt is just beaming.

“Better. She can actually read a sign.”

Foggy barks with laughter while you and Karen have to cover your mouths to not giggle. 

Once it subsides, you tilt your head back so you can look up at your daughter’s oh so loving father, bumping against his abdomen as you do, “is she down?” 

He gives another positive hum, “In a nice deep sleep. Frank’s on his way back up and I wanted her out before he got here.”

You don’t know if that is from Matt wanting to rejoin the group to know what is on the thumb drives or if it is from him not wanting Minnie to get excited over Frank, but you are thankful she’s conked out either way. The thought of her hearing all your discussions about what lurks in the darkness of the city makes your stomach turn. 

She doesn’t need more monsters to imagine. 

You thank Matt while reaching up to rub one of his arms - letting yourself give him a small bit of affection. You ignore the look Karen is giving you in favor of making sure Matt is all caught up.

“I take it you heard everything?”

He sighs deeply through his nose, and you take that as a ‘yes’. He confirms with his words. 

“Human testing with government trained agents isn’t what I was hoping we would find.”

“I was personally hoping for research on the mutant alligators in the sewers,” Foggy says as he gets up to go towards the kitchen, probably for another beer. “You know the ones they flush down the toilets.” 

“That’s a myth, Fog.”

“Look, with everything else that goes on in the world - weird aliens and giant green men - let me believe in my sewer gators, Murdock. They make me happy.”

“With everything that Stark and Roxon dumped in the waters, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Karen muses, resting her chin in her hand, “I mean, Matt got superpowers from something getting in his eyes. If a rat ate something that was contaminated, it could have gotten super senses as well.” 

You raise your brows up at the idea, a smile coming to your face, “a crime fighting rat?”

“A crime fighting rat that is a ninja,” Foggy chimes, a wide grin on his face and it sends you into giggles.

“How would a rat even learn martial arts?” Matt counters, “There’s not a rodent karate school he could spy on.”

“I don’t know Matt, how did you learn ka-ra-te,” Foggy emphasizes the word to make it sound more mystical. “He would learn from a secret ninja rat clan.”

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Jessica asks, looking over her shoulder at the dining table, disgust and confusion clear on her face. 

You and Karen erupt into more laughter while Foggy just grins like he won the world cup as he returns to his seat. Matt gives your shoulders a firm squeeze before letting go and pulling away. He disappears into the narrow passage that is his hallway, and you hear the front door open. Heavy boots signal Frank’s reappearance, and when he and Matt come back around the corner, you offer a small smile. 

The Punisher holds up a clunky looking laptop, straight from your middle school years, “Got it.”

“Does that thing even work?” Foggy asks, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. You trust Frank, but the question is valid - if you saw that in a Goodwill, you would doubt it would even turn on. 

“Of course it works,” Frank scoffs as he delivers the device to Karen. She instantly opens it up to get it started. “Old body, new hardware. Got it built just for this type of shit.” 

Foggy’s lips twitch and you wonder if he wants to say something but is holding his tongue. Jessica joins the table as Matt once again returns to standing behind you. His hands find your shoulders like they are drawn to them, and you wonder if he can’t help but want to touch you. It makes you feel special and wanted and your belly stirs with a certain type of warmth. 

Everyone’s focus is on Karen as she works - the laptop boots up and she fiddles with the first thumb drive until it is ready to be inserted. It feels like you all are holding your breath as she finally plugs it in. You expect there to be a password, but apparently there is not, as she just clicks away.

“There’s two files,” she narrates. “One labeled 082616DUK and one labeled 121417BNY.” 

You instantly recognize the first designation and push your notebook towards Karen, trying to not sound eager as you tell her, “The DUK one is in our files. Can we look at that first?” 

Her face lights up at the prospect of a connection and selects the requested file, “There’s five pictures. Hold on, let me bring them u- Oh my God.”

The little color in her face drains as a horrified expression takes over and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. You and Froggy scramble up out of your seats while Frank and Jessica crowd around Karen to look at the screen. Matt stays where he is, tilting his head just slightly. 

When you see what is in the file, you wish you had stayed under Matt’s hands. 

The neatly severed head of a boy stares back at you with blank milky eyes, sitting on an examine table. His hair has been shaved away and there is an incision line around his skull that makes it clear someone has probably removed his brain. His mouth is open in a silent scream, showing off that he still had his baby teeth and that someone has taken his tongue. 

You want to throw up and you want to turn away, but you can’t. You can’t look away from this poor child who someone has so thoroughly defiled. Who had done this to this boy and why? You wanted to shake them and scream and demand to know what could possibly possess someone to do this to a baby? Because this was someone’s baby - someone’s little boy - and someone had taken him and ruined him. 

You don’t know how she manages it, but Karen brings up the next image and it fills you with just as much disgust and anger. 

It is that of a tiny hand with its fingers forcibly splayed, stuck with pins to keep it that way. The tips are bulbous and round, different to anything you’ve seen on a human before, and between each digit, there was a thin stretch of skin connecting them, much like the webbing of a duck’s foot. Like the head, the hand has been surgically removed from the rest of the body, and it isn’t hard to determine they go to the same person. 

The next image is of the head again but turned to be facing the left and pre-removal of the tongue, as the appendage is pulled and stretched from the mouth with a pair of forceps. The muscle is an odd shade of purple and coated with some sort of liquidy-white residue, but that is not what is unique about it. The boy’s tongue doesn’t just peek out of his mouth - it extends across the table almost three feet, if the tape measurer under it is to be believed. 

You need to turn away after that and to no surprise, Matt is instantly by your side, wrapping you up in his arms and guiding your head to his neck. “He’s just a baby,” you whisper in horror as you cling to him, not understanding how someone could be so cruel. Even if he had died naturally, there was no reason to treat him like that in death. 

“Did they…” Froggy starts, his voice low and quivering and you don’t know if it's from rage or grief, “Did they make him a frog? Did they mix this kid with a fucking frog?”

“No,” Frank replies, not hiding how he is feeling at all. The fury is clear in his voice. “They did it because he was like that.”

“What’s the other file?” Jessica demands and part of you doesn’t want to know. You bury yourself more into Matt and you listen to Karen click away at the track pad. 

Matt’s arms tighten around you and you can’t imagine what he is thinking. No one has said out loud what the images show, and he has not asked - but he must know it isn’t good. He’s gone tense under you, like he’s ready to jump into action and rip someone apart with his hands. 

And you want him to. You want Matt to find whoever did this and make them pay. You want him to punish those who hurt the child in the photos, the people who ran tests on him. 

You want to help Matt find who did this and for him to make sure they can never hurt anyone ever again.

“She’s…she’s got a beak.” Karen says slowly after a few moments, and you can’t bear to look at another autopsy photo. You hide yourself more against Matt, not at all ashamed of your choice.

“She’s Enhanced,” is Jessica’s reply, almost blank with stifled emotion.

“She’s a kid. They are hunting Enhanced kids.” 

“Why?” Foggy questions, sounding wet, like he’s starting to tear up. You don’t blame him in any way. “Why would they do that?”

Under you, the Devil finally speaks, his voice low and eerily calm, “it doesn’t matter why. We are going to find them, and we are going to stop them.” 

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