#causing the entire machine to lurch downward

[novaceresart]

not a huge fan of how this turned out but eh, quick robot design for Desecrate Sea. name is 002.

One of several prototype data-scraper machines, 002 was developed to find, track, and steal the data of other war machines. What wasn't intended was for 002 to go missing during it's first field test, never to be seen again.

[curse-of-the-dark-emerald]

Curse of the Dark Emerald, chapter 3.

Back at Green Hill, Tom tossed a few times in his bed, trying so hard to get to sleep. But everything he tried, he couldn’t shut off his brain. He glanced at Maddie, her back facing the opposite of his gaze, she didn’t seem to be bothered or notice his restlessness.

He gave up trying to ignore the growing worry for Sonic. Tom pushes the blanket away and stands up slowly, making sure not to disturb his wife.

“I’m overthinking, I’m overthinking…”

Tom left his room and went to the ladder and stairway to the attic, and stood on the spot, deciding if checking on him was really a good idea this late in the night. He scratches his hair nervously and it thought, it was now or never. Tom was inches off from touching the floorboards, but stopped.

Tom shook his head and sighs heavily “I’m such a worry-wart.”

Tom gets back in his room and glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand; reading 2:32 am. He needed to be up in 4 hours for work, and this wasn’t helping him. Tom gets back in bed and just after a few minutes, he finally goes into slumber.

…

Sonic awoke and jolted his body up, eyes flashing to ocean blue for a moment and froze.

“Where-? I was..”

Immediately, confusion settled in and he sluggishly stood up, and made a run for it, only to be hit face-first into a wall of glass. “Ack!!”

Taking a moment to actually scan his surroundings, he saw a new opening, Sonic made another leap and ran to escape, only to have the same result. He continued to ram himself  into the walls though he knew it wasn’t working, each time it put his body in pain, each time he cried and yelled at every hit.

“Hey!! Anyone there?!”

Sonic’s heart began to throb and race against his chest, his eyes frantically looking for a way out, he jumped the highest he possibly could, reaching under 15 feet but it was still too high to climb or reach. Sonic grit his teeth and more panic took over. He pounded his hands on the glass, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to not be afraid, and the one person who could be responsible for all this…

“You’re awake?”

A voice on speaker somewhere within this glass prison crackles, Sonic looks up, a man with somewhat dark skin, a short beard, and gentle smile stares back.

“Good to see you’re still alive, what was your name again? Sonic?”

Sonic only glares at the man, teeth grinding, “Who are you?”

“I’m Agent Stone, close assistant to someone you...should already know.” Stone nods his head at Sonic, in a pleasant demeanor.

“Yeah, I pieced that together, right before you knocked me out.” Sonic’s voice turns sharp and cold at him.

“Don’t worry about my boss, he’s not actually here at the moment.” Stone gestured with his hand, “You’ll just be with me for now.”

“You think I’m gonna just sit in your little fish aquarium, and you what? Drown me?” Sonic retorts, keeping one brow raised at Stone.

“Jeez, someone’s a little morbid.” Stone panned, and shook his head. “No, Sonic. I wouldn’t do that. I’m not that...you know..” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Anyways, my mission is half finished; you were pretty easy to catch as long as I wasn’t seen by you. And might as well tell you why you’re here: Your purpose is to simply charge power to my bosses machines. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Sonic caught a glimpse of something in Stone’s expression, was it doubt, or fear? He didn’t sound all that convinced to himself. Sonic noticed that he didn’t have the Rings with him or the Emerald anymore, creating a painful knot in his stomach.

“Damn it..”

Bzzt -”Hurry up, Stone, or else I’ll finish you off first.”-

Stone flinched and hastily started pushing buttons. Sonic’s ears twitch at the voice from the speaker, he knew that voice and confirmed it,

“It IS Eggman. But where??” He tried to look for his enemy, but saw him nowhere.

Sounds of whirring and machinery became louder, making the glass tube he was contained in to vibrate. Sonic knew he was in serious trouble, he desperately looked for a way out. Cursing at himself that he should’ve been more careful in the first place…Stone was concentrated on the dash in front of him, jumpstarting the necessary power and programs to begin whatever it was Sonic feared he was going to do. After a few more moments, Stone grins.

“Finished that. You ready, Sonic?”

Sonic glares at him again.

“Good enough.”

Stone holds up a bright, green object in his hand, “I assume you already know what this thing is?”

Sonic’s eyes went wide and gasped. “The...Chaos Emerald?”

“Sure, if that's what you wanna call it.” Stone shrugged, and left his spot.

Sonic’s weary gaze never left following the accomplice of his enemy, as he carried the Emerald.

“I ran a small test on this object, it has a lot of radioactive-like energy, but not toxic in any shape or form so I can touch it, it seems. You, and it should be enough to complete the procedures.”

He climbed on an upper catwalk that Sonic could see enough to watch him. Stone opened a metal door to a new chamber with a wide window; and set the Emerald in the center of the chamber on top of a flat surfaced support beam. Stone quickly returns to his original post.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Sonic spat sharply.

“Oh, I know.” Agent makes a brief smile at him while he glances at Sonic, then focuses back on the control panel.

“Don't worry, I’ll make it quick. I honestly am impressed with how brave you are. If this goes smoothly, you might live.”

What’s with this guy? He’s definitely not like Eggman, so he’s kind of nice..?

Sonic blinks rapidly, trying to not fall for this man’s showcase of kindness and complements.

“Yet, I’m here, because I was so stupid.” Sonic’s voice trembles, it was low enough for Stone to not hear it.

“Initiating power-point.”

A cool, robotic voice echoed throughout, Sonic looks at Stone for any changes, or any chance this man might change his mind and let him go, but he could tell Stone was now avoiding any eye contact. Sonic’s head dipped down. He sat on his knees, his soft ears drooping downward.

“Powering at 20%...”

“I’m so stupid…”

The machines began to point lasers at the Chaos Emerald in the other room, a metal prong touches the top of it, getting ready to extract and connect it to the machines Stone desired to make stronger for his Master.

“Powering at 50%”

“I’ll never see them again.”

Sonic closed his eyes, head still down looking like a wounded puppy. He’d forgotten at the moment where he was and what was about to happen. His thoughts went to Tom and Maddie, missing their smiles. Their laughter, their hugs.

“Powering at 75%..”

“I HATE myself…” Sonic makes a guttural growl in his throat.

In the chamber with the Chaos Emerald...the vibrant green color in it’s center fades briefly to a darker shade of emerald green. Then for a second, to a grayish black. And back to it’s normal green. Sparks of its energy popped in the air, making the window nearby actually crack from the inside.

“90%”

Stone only saw for a second Sonic unresponsive with his head bent down. He wished he didn’t. His own chest tightened with what he tried to hold back: guilt. He pushed the turmoil away to finish what he started, placing his hand on the trigger to start the extraction.

“93%”

Sonic knew he was going to die. In what he felt would be his final moments, his mind flashes countless images of his guardians. Every moment he spent with them was the happiest he had ever felt. He would have given anything to be with them again, talk to them..let them know he was leaving for good. That bare minimum of time he wished he could have, would never come to be.

“I hate myself…” A single tear rolled down Sonic’s cheek.

The Chaos Emeralds hue began to fade….

“Power, complete.”

Stone pulls the trigger. Sparks of white electricity light up at the top of the holding chamber to Sonic’s prison and they plunged downwards through the glass.

Sonic let out a blood curdling scream. He lurches his body up, seizing from the pain caused by the machines.

“UUUAAAAGGHH!!”

Stone watched the monitor closely,  scanning the amount of power being taken away from the Chaos Emerald and from Sonic simultaneously. A digital scale on the monitors revealed a blue colored energy leaving Sonic’s small body, and from the Chaos Emerald, it’s own separate energy was, he saw, destabilizing. Stone hoped it wouldn’t overflow too much.

Sonic slumps over and then falls to the floor, letting his arms support him up. He grit his teeth so hard he thought his jaw was going to break. The Emerald loses all traces of its green color and begins to morph out wisps of black smoke, becoming dark.

Suddenly, something was happening.

Stone finally looked at Sonic and his eyes grew large at what he began to witness…

Still screaming in agony, Sonic glared at Stone with the most enraged and angry scowl.  He put his hands on his head, shaking uncontrollably, while his muscles and body throbbed and wriggled.. Sonic’s teeth began to enlarge into sharp, longer fangs, his sky blue fur darkens to navy. His gloves rip and become torn apart revealing elongating claws at his fingertips and tufts of long, white fur breaks through the skin of both his wrists. The rest of his entire body shifts into a bigger build and height. Sonic’s sneakers were still intact, but metal spikes poked out from it’s material. His once neatly, smooth quills began to grow longer, with coarse, white fading tips at the end. Still shaking from the pain, Sonic let out a ferocious roar.

“I’LL KILL YOU!”

Stone realizes he was not safe anymore and makes a run for it.

Sonic has had enough, and with his sheer strength alone, breaks his prison of glass walls into thousands of pieces, shattering the entire tube. He jumps out, hand outreaching for his enemy, wanting to tear out his throat. Sonic looks everywhere for Stone, wanting his blood. This new desire didn’t make him question what he was thinking, he wanted to kill and slice something, no matter what it was.

Briefly coming to his senses, he growled in annoyance and went to the other room with the Chaos Emerald, he smashed the window from outside, and furiously grabbed it back in his possession. Along the way, his eyes spotted his pouch of Rings sitting close to where Stone had been standing before.

“You’re lucky Stone. Maybe next time you catch me, you won't be.” Sonic sneers to himself, his green eyes narrowed into slits.

Sonic jumps high and breaks through the metal enclosed ceiling, finally free. He roared again, letting out his anger and fear from being captured. The now full moon shone and bathed him in its light, revealing the new beastly shape in its wake. Sonic lands and runs, noticing he wasn’t going as fast like he usually does, but pushes that aside. Still angered and hurt by what had become of him, he howled like a lone wolf in the night. None of this made him question it; to him it felt natural and as if he was like this his whole life. The Sonic he had always known as himself was swallowed aside. After calming down just a little, Sonic had stopped running and walked at a regular pace. His mind was in a daze and then he remembered what was most important:

He held the blackened Chaos Emerald above his head, a fascination washed over him, it’s current presence was an entirely different entity. But he was happy it wasn’t in his enemy’s hands. Sonic holds it tightly and in the other hand he opened the pouch for his Rings and takes one,

“I have to..to get home-“

An explosion to his right side blows dirt on him and he jumped, scared out of his skin. Sonic growls, his anger returns again and a white, egg shaped robot hovering above him. Several were along with the one that made the first explosion.

“UGH!!! Leave me ALONE!!”

More of the robots fired at different times and Sonic evades every one, tired of being reminded and chased by the one who has tried and failed to kill him he leaps into the air, grabs the nearest bot and squeezes it into his chest, crushing it to pieces. Not wanting to prolong this stupid fiasco, Sonic makes a run for it, the bots follow and continue to fire at him mercilessly. Sonic tosses the golden ring that he depended on to save himself, his expression desperate to survive.

The ring opens, on the other side was the one place he called his home and jumped in; but a robot had managed to land a strike on his back, before cutting off the rest of the fleet. Sonic lands on his chest.

“Ugh…” Sonic winced at the new injury he was slapped with. He weakly sees the house just before him.

“Tom..!” He cried in a broken voice.

He needed to see his best friend. He needed to get to him. But, the cruelty of the long night had taken a toll on his strength; and Sonic had given up trying to stand up.

He wasn’t far from the patio of the house; the front door opened and Tom closed it behind him. He turns to see a patch of blue fur, it was Sonic lying on the ground, he froze in horror and drops his car keys. 

“S-Sonic!?”

“Donut lord..” Sonic called Tom's nickname, he felt a little sense of relief to see him.

“What happened?! What-“ Tom pauses and finally sees what had become of Sonic, he was almost unrecognizable; the fur, claws, and teeth gave it all away, his arms and back were almost covered in blood from cuts and little pieces of glass sparkled faintly on his messy fur.

“What happened to you?” Tom breathes out a scared, and shaky voice.

Sonic was too weak to answer, and he finally passed out. Tom turned him over on his back, listening for his heart beat, and it was moderately beating, to his hopes. The sun begins to rise and it’s light crept onto Sonics hand and on Tom, welcoming the new morning. Sonic’s body spits out purple wisps of an unknown energy to Tom, engulfing the hedgehog until it vanishes, and Sonic's appearance returns to his normal blue fur.

Tom turns in different directions to see if anything was watching him and he picks up Sonic, and carries him into the house to treat his wounds. 

[5amfries]

It’s so busy today! There’s only three people here with a cafe full of steadily frustrated people and you have to double as a barista and cashier.

You wonder how your going to through the rest of your shift as you complete the transaction for the woman in front of you and usher in the next customer.

When you look up to greet them, your smile falters momentarily, your eyes coming into contact with a broad chest, way wider than anything you’ve ever seen on another human.

You follow that strong line between this man’s pecs, very pronounced beneath his seemingly too tight, black turtleneck, up to his face. It felt like an eternity to get there, tilting your neck back farther back than expected, but when you do, you’re met with the scariest face imaginable.

Anger and impatience oozes from this man, sticks to the surface of your counter and leaks out of him like an overfilled bathtub. It almost appears as though the atmosphere around him is darkened in color.

Not only is his size encompassing, but his attitude as well.

He wears a deep set frown, lips twitching to hold back a snarl. Beneath his hat, he glares poison into you with his, otherwise very beautiful, aqua colored eyes. They promise nothing but violence.

The man is extremely frightening and yet you can’t look away. He has you trapped in place, until his lips parted to release a deep rumble of a voice.

“Excuse me.”

His thunder shakes you from your trance. It makes you jump a little. You blink and refocus, remembering that you have a job to do. You smile and hold your hand up to your register, ready to take the man’s order.

“Hi! Welcome to-” You begin, but are swiftly interrupted by another thunder strike.

“What’s taking so long?” The man asks, eyebrows furrowing even deeper.

“I’ve been waiting in line for ten minutes and there’s only been four other people in line.”

He pauses and takes a look around the cafe, before gesturing towards the crowd of people who fill it.

“And how long have these people been here? It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to wait this long to get my order taken, then have to wait an hour on coffee.”

You’re taken aback by this man’s force, but quick to bounce back. This isn’t the first time you’ve dealt with a pissed off customer and it surely won’t be the last.

“Hey! Are you listening to me? Good grief…” The man commands once more. You try to shake the chill that runs down your spine as the man scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Stupid bitch…” He mutters under your breath, but you catch it.

It’s a shot through the heart, brings a sting to your eyes. You didn’t deserve this grilling. This isn’t your fault and you and your coworkers are trying your collective best.

“… S-Sir, I’m sorry, but-” You start, but the man stops you again.

“No you’re not.” He snarls. “If you were, I wouldn’t be standing here wasting my life waiting to pay for overpriced coffee.”

Your fear and sadness flips at his words. Now, you are angry. The man’s bad mood has now taken you over, creeping up your arms and seeping through your skin.

You grind your teeth, clench your jaw and switch your weight to your left side.

It takes a great deal of power, but you return the man’s glare with a steady gaze of your own. You still had to keep a level of professionalism, even for the worst of assholes.

“I’m sorry that you had to wait for so long.” You reply, voice calm and neutral, but you can’t help the underlying annoyance that runs through it. You hope he doesn’t notice.

“As you can see, we are very backed up at the moment, and we’re trying our hardest to serve everyone properly.”

His scowl darkens more, if possible. “That’s not an excuse.”

You continue. “But it is the truth. We can only work so fast, our machines can work only so fast. If you still decide to stay with us, I cannot give you a definite time limit on when it will be done, but I can promise that it will be a high quality product.”

The man becomes silent, but doesn’t let up his glare. This time you challenge him and do the same. If this jerk had a problem, he could ask for your manager or leave. You prefer the latter.

The quicker he was out of not only your store, but your life, the happier you’d be. You never understood why people would take the time to complain and put workers down instead of simply leaving. You weren’t keeping him here.

After a long pause, the man pushes back his long, white coat and reaches into his pants pocket, roughly pulling out his black leather wallet. He takes six dollars out and slams it on the counter.

“Large vanilla latte. Extra shot. Make sure it’s soy. ’M lactose intolerant.”

The tension that had stiffened your body over the past few minutes resides slightly. You type in his order, then ask for his name.

“Jotaro.” He answers, turning away from you to head toward the lobby.

“Okay, your change-?”

“Don’t want it.”

With that, he leaves and sits in the far corner of the cafe, away from the swarming crowd.

Luckily, that man, Mr. Jotaro, was your last customer at the register, now it was time to return to the bar. You smirk as you pull a ticket. After this drink would be that man’s and you’d make sure that you made his drink and make it special.

♡

It’s been about an hour since the man ordered his latte.

He seemed to have been pacified well enough, having had no complaints the entire time he sat. Just sipping on his coffee as he flipped through whatever was on his tablet.

From time to time, you look up and check on him. You had mixed whole milk with the soy and added whipped cream and let it melt into it so he couldn’t tell. For someone so concerned about their intolerance, he didn’t seem to be too affected.

You sigh. It’s a solemn victory, but at least he’s quiet and you’ve survived the rush and that’s all that really matters.

♡

Jotaro’s sweating. It’s a mix of nerves, rage and his body counting down to it’s explosion.

His stomach’s been contracting and writhing beneath his skin. The combination of agonizing cramps and squirming worm-like acid that fills him has him throwing an internal fit.

Everything hurts! And the sickly belches he keeps rumbling in his throat bring nothing but a disgusting, burning aftertaste.

At this point, he’s desperate to touch. His abdomen is in dire need of a rub and a heating pad. He knows the real relief he’s searching for is in releasing the gas that’s been gradually building in him for the past hour.

He should have left the second he got his coffee. He looks over to the counter where he finds the barista he had chewed out earlier. Their eyes catch each other and the barista is quick to look back at whatever they’re doing.

He then looks back at his empty cup, stares at it with sudden interest. Did they… do something to his coffee. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s pissed someone off and they’ve retaliated.

Jotaro’s heart drops at the realization. He might have been a little too harsh. Maybe he deserved a spiked coffee.

A sudden dip in his stomach has him lurching forward. His jaw clenches, trying to hold back the pain from showing. There’s a loud ringing groan that follows the cramp.

It’s noticeable over the light music that twinkles throughout the building. The crowd that once filled the cafe has dispersed and now only he and two other customers reside there.

He’s lucky that they have earphones in to not hear. Discreetly, he brings his hand to his lap and rubs at his bloating belly.

It turns into a mistake as he pushes a pocket of air that rushes to his bowels and out of him in a airy fart. It ends on a bubbly note and it rolls off the wooden chair he sits in. The volume of it has him blushing.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. And yet, another escapes him immediately after, but louder this time. Jotaro stiffens, eyes wide as he takes another look around. The customers are still in their own world. The baristas are busy at work, their machines overpowering his noise level.

Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. If he could just wait for a calm period and not shit himself when he stands, he’s home free.

His stomach roars and stabs him. He huffs a grunt and forces out another short but noisy burst.

And then another.

Jotaro frowns and looks down at his stomach, inwardly commanding it to stop. As if in defiance, it grumbles fiercely and brings up a belch that resembles a dragon. It rumbles on for way too long and is loud enough that the barista who put him in the situation looks up.

Their cheeks flush and they return to work in faux ignorance.

Jotaro sighs, leans into himself a little from subconscious embarrassment. If he could just-

A large bubble inside fills him and slips downwards. His hand flies to the bottom of his stomach. The pain’s intense to where he wants nothing but to get it out, society be damned.

He leans in farther, pressing and massaging his middle to coax out the monster inside. It doesn’t disappoint when it is released. Deep and wet sounding, it stretches on and on and actually burns him coming out.

Jotaro doesn’t need to smell it to know that this one’s going to be the one to alert the cafe of his dilemma, with the way it had decided to stew within him.

To add insult to injury, he burps, three times in succession, an alarm to those in his toxic zone. These bring attention from all of the baristas. They stop momentarily to look over at him, while the smell of his last blast has the customers around him looking up from their computers.

They have the familiar expression of disgust and confusion as they search for the cause.

It doesn’t take them long when Jotaro releases another rippling, sick sounding fart, that’s quickly followed by a neverending string of short blowouts.

“Sir, are you okay?” One of the baristas calls out, her face of concern and repulsion.

“Holy shit!” The youngest customer exclaims, his hands clasping over his face at record speed.

Jotaro rolls his eyes, holding back an annoyed huff. It was over now, no use in trying to hide. He sits back in his chair, his coat falling to his sides over his extended belly.

He claps a hand over its peak and lets a belch rattle inside his closed mouth.

His eyes cross over to the barista who served him. They still stare in shock. He can see the regret in their eyes. It almost makes him laugh.

“I’m fine.” He answers, blowing out another burp after.

His stomach rolls, bubbles fill him at a alarming rate. Yeah, he’s not going to make it.

Jotaro takes out his wallet and drops a hundred on the table, before picking up his things and putting it in his bag. He hopes the barista who did this knows it’s for them.

He stands, a continuous, bubbly moist expulsion leaving his backside.

“Your bathroom won’t be though.” He mutters as he storms towards the restroom, leaving the lobby with one last voluminous belch.

[overwatch-does-stuff]

Overwatch: Of Mind and Body, Of Body and Mind

Summary: When everything is chaotic, it doesn't help when your primary caretakers and two closest friends believe that the other can't help you. But Bastion needs them both, now more than ever. ---

   "Greetings, Bastion, friend. Come in."    Zenyatta's abode (it wasn't a room, Bastion decided, it was more than that,) was alight with a soft golden glow that spread from the center of the room, where the monk sat, his legs crossed, with his hands on his knees. Normally, dim lighting would only make Bastion more nervous, but as they stepped into the room they only felt peace.    It was very nice, a contrast from earlier today, where they had froze up while tending to their garden.    "You may sit or stand as you please, friend." Zenyatta did not move, but his words rolled through Bastion's audials like. . . water flowing over rocks in a stream.    Bastion considered both options. Standing was neutral, but rising above Zenyatta like so felt disrespectful. But, sitting down, in the only way that Bastion could, would cause a rather loud crash that would end the sense of peace that permeated the room. And what if the sudden movement caused their own protocols to awaken again? With that thought came the phantom rush of the notifications again. Bastion tensed, bringing up their weak, self-coded mental walls against the impending round of compulsions.    Something took Bastion's hand and brought it up from their side. Delicate metal fingers trailed across the palm, before embracing it. Bastion refocused their optic onto the real world to see Zenyatta standing. He held their hand in both of his. Bastion looked down at the sight before looking back to Zenyatta's face.    "I sense great trouble within you," the monk said softly. "Would you like to share it with me? Perhaps I can help to ease your worries today."    Bastion tried to vocalize, but found the subroutine missing and didn't dare look further to find it. They looked away.    "If you don't feel like speaking it is alright. You can join me in my meditation." Zenyatta's grip loosened on their hand. "Let us sit down."    Zenyatta gave a small downward pull on their hand as he lowered himself to the floor without a sound. Bastion took a pause, steeling themselves for the noise and the falling that came with the act of sitting down. They urged their movement servos the relax. They felt their center of gravity begin to shift, backwards, drawn in that direction by the weight of their sentry gun barrel. Just as their body approached tipping point, however, stability warnings flooded through Bastion's systems, causing them to lurch back upright with a loud creak.    The noise seemed to reverberate throughout the room. Bastion froze. Zenyatta was standing again in moments. He reached forwards, and put his hand on Bastion's chest.    Zenyatta said, "it is alright, friend. All is well. I now understand what is troubling you. It is your past that worries you."    No, it wasn't. The problem wasn't with the images of the battlefield or the Crisis, not anymore. Those nightmares had faded after Bastion had left the forests of Eichenwalde. The past was behind, rather, it was the now! It was the warnings going off and off and off all the time even though Bastion knew there was no danger! Even when everything was absolute bliss, their stupid processor would just. . . would just. . .    Bastion turned away from Zenyatta and walked out the door. They were sure the monk tried to say something in protest, but they didn't listen to what it was.    The walk to Torbjorn's workshop was nearly across the Watchpoint. Bastion passed many faces (some fleeting in memory, some a bit more familiar,) but not one of the faces looked at them for more than a brief second. They all quietly slid out of Bastion's path without a word, clearing the path to the objective.    The workshop door was closed, but it peeled like flower petals when Bastion tore through. When the sound of tearing metal ceased, Torbjorn came out from behind a table, shaking. He was holding a wrench but as he laid eyes on Bastion he dropped it. He dived behind the table again.    Bastion came over to a workbench that looked relatively empty and sat down. They began running diagnostics. That was the first step of a checkup, right?    "What. . . the hell?" Torbjorn said with fear in his voice. Fear was normal for humans upon sight of an E54 unit. Fear was expected.    Bastion paid no mind, continuing the diagnostics check. No bugs, no glitched.    "What is this all about? What are you doing here? Why, why did you destroy my door?!"    Thanks to an analysis of their subroutines, Bastion finally found the one that to activate their vocalizer again. Their rusty omnicode sputtered out all over the room. "Fix-me."    "What is wrong with you?!" Torbjorn grit his teeth together.    "Fix-me." Bastion coded the message requesting repairs again.    It took Torbjorn a moment to figure out what they were saying. "Well no shit, you need fixing, by the looks of it. Whatever's gotten into you to destroy my workshop is surely something. What's gotten into you?"    "Fix."    "I hear you! What do your diagnostics say, you useless lump of steel?!"    After a moment of pause, Bastion pointed to their head.    "That's very specific. Any particular programs? Is it related to a mode?"    Bastion again waved their hand at their head.    "The whole thing?" Torbjorn asked incredulously.    Bastion nodded.    "Okay, so it sounds like your diagnostic systems themselves are faulty, then, because despite your distinct lack of logic processing sometimes, you haven't crashed your entire system. If that were true, you'd be offline."    Offline. Would it be like a recharge period, only with no sudden jolts of old memories? No, no, it was best not to dwell on such thoughts.    "You aren't offline. So, therefore, I actually have to find the problem. Now, you haven't been able to let me look at your processor before, remember?"    Bastion remembered. They had tried to ease their self-protection subroutines enough to have Torbjorn take a single diagnostic panel off their head, but in an instant. . . Bastion came out of their memory banks and looked to find the spots on the wall where bullet holes had been crudely patched. They had almost hurt Torbjorn that day.    And looking back at the door they had just burst through, it was clear that they still had every ability to do so again.    All of the purpose drained from Bastion's body and they collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. How ironic. The crash again caused Torbjorn to dive for cover, but he inched back over as Bastion stayed still. They avoided his fearful gaze.    "What is wrong with you?" Torbjorn asked again, much softer this time.    Bastion made a slow, grand, sweeping gesture over the entirety of their body.    "Everything? That's impossible. You are fully functioning." Torbjorn mused, not in his usual scolding tone.    Bastion whirred wordlessly, almost unsure of why they were making any noise at all.    "I don't understand."    Bastion looked past him.    "Tell me more. What's wrong? What do your diagnostics say?" Torbjorn began to pace. "What can I do? What can I change-?"    At the word change, Bastion let out a trill, acknowledging chirp.    Torbjorn paused and gave Bastion an incredulous look. "You mean, you have a problem with your design?"    He uttered the word like it was offensive to him. Bastion hesitated to nod.    "Wha- but, I designed you!" He practically spat. "You're my state-of-the-art design! My perfect design! The best damn machine I ever built! You were so successful that you all nearly wiped out the entire human race! And you're telling me that you have a problem with your design?!"    Bastion was frozen. Successful. Wiping out. Humans. Their original purpose. It was no secret to them, but hearing Torbjorn of all people openly exclaim it was jarring. Every other human they had met had tried to cushion the topic, to lampshade out the guns attached to Bastion's form, to ignore any and all signs of that previous purpose that so often bubbled up, but here, now. . .    Torbjorn was breathing heavily from the outburst. The look on his face was unreadable. He looked Bastion over up and down, over and over again.    "I," he started, before looking away. "I can't change that design of yours. That's what makes it so perfect, don't you know?"    The self-preservation protocols. The bullet holes in the workshop wall. Of course Bastion knew.    "I can't tell you that I can try, either. I don't like false hope, and I'm not one to give it." He continued.    "But that does not mean we should give up the hope we have."    The other voice caused Torbjorn to flinch. He looked past Bastion, and his face immediately grew irritated. Bastion swiveled his head around to see Zenyatta standing in the broken door.    "You. What do you want?" Torbjorn asked gruffly.    "I want to help Bastion. Is this what you wish as well?" Zenyatta replied, staying by the door.    Torbjorn paused. "Yes."    "Then we share a similar goal, then."    For once, Torbjorn was completely speechless in front of the monk. Normally, Bastion remembered, the man had some sort of cruel retort on the back of his tongue, but now there was only a silence full of thought.    He eventually spoke. "Alright, tell me what's wrong with Bastion here, then."    "I believe Bastion is suffering from a conflict between their will and what they were programmed for."    Torbjorn was again speechless. Bastion could see his lips outline his usual words. You don't have will. I didn't create you with will.    Zenyatta waited until he was done. "I agree with you on one thing. Programming cannot be changed. It is integral to our being."    Torbjorn's face went completely blank with disbelief.    "However, I believe that the power of will can be bolstered to overcome maladaptive programming." The monk continued.    The engineer's usual expression when dealing with Zenyatta returned. He laughed bitterly. "Is that so?"    "Bastion, do you not agree?"    Zenyatta still stood in the remains of the broken door, holding out his hand towards Bastion. Torbjorn, on the other side of them, crossed his arms and blew air at his beard in a huff. A subtle, golden light seemed to be radiating from the monk. Around the engineer was the modest, familiar gray color of the workshop floor. Bastion swiveled their head between the two.    They then looked down at the ground. They wanted to get up, but just as sitting down was difficult, so was standing up. They let out a deep whirr, before bracing themselves for the awkward jump.    Both Zenyatta and Torbjorn came beside them instantly, realizing their intention. Without even the hesitation of realizing the other was helping, the two grabbed Bastion's arms and slowly pulled them up off the floor.    "There you go, up and at 'em-"    "It is okay to ask for help, Bastion-"    The two paused, then looked at each other.    "Thank-you." Bastion coded.    "You're welcome, you lump-"    "You are most welcome, friend-"    Again, the two spoke simultaneously, and upon that recognition they both went quiet again.    "Can you understand Omnicode, Torbjorn?" Zenyatta spoke first. It was the first time Bastion had ever heard him sound doubtful.    "Yes! Of course I can. I helped program the language, after all." Torbjorn replied.    "Fascinating. I was not aware."    "Hmph. In case you didn't notice, I also designed the both of you." Torbjorn rolled his eyes.    Zenyatta took a step closer to Bastion. "I am aware of that. However, you seem to not understand it when your designs develop beyond what you created them for."    Bastion internally cringed at the loaded words. They could see the next biting remark form on Torbjorn's lips.    "Ha! You think I don't know about these 'developments', too?! You think I don't notice when my killing machines decide to start watering flowers?!" Torbjorn violently gestured to Bastion. "You think that I'm not trying to figure out what's changed and how to replicate it?!"    "I am not saying that. I am saying that you seem to prefer not to treat Bastion as a complex being. You know what I say is true." Zenyatta's tone grew icy.    "Yeah, and you like to flit around, telling people about your 'souls' without any goddamn evidence, while I am trying to help Bastion actually change its systems!" Torbjorn took a step towards Bastion as well.    "Yet you neglect the part of them that is perhaps the most susceptible to change."    "At least I'm doing something! All you do is just sit around and talk, like that's going to help the next time Bastion gets startled and has an episode!"    Bastion looked between the two. They tried to wave their hand in a calming motion, but by this point the two of them were facing each other head-on, completely oblivious to Bastion's motions.    "My work helps reduce the amount of episodes Bastion has." Zenyatta said.    "Yeah, but it doesn't stop them, now does it? There's only one way to do that, and only I can do it!" Torbjorn pointed to himself.    "You discount my valuable work with Bastion."    "And you discount MINE!"    It was a spontaneous decision, but one Bastion had complete control over, when they configured into Configuration: Sentry. The sound of Bastion's mechanical transformation startled both the engineer and the monk, though Zenyatta's flinch was less pronounced. Bastion aimed their barrel down the middle of them.    "H-hey Bastion." Torbjorn gave a weak smile. "It's okay. Right? Everything's fine."    "Everything is alright, friend. Torbjorn and I were simply discussing. There is no danger here." Zenyatta added, considerably less shaky.    Bastion moved their barrel back and forth between the two of them. Both appeared to be frozen in time, it seemed like. Torbjorn's breaths were shallow, and Zenyatta's usual rhythm was stilled.    "You-help-me." Bastion coded, first looking at Zenyatta. They then turned to Torbjorn and repeated. "You-help-me."    Torbjorn looked away. His voice was soft. "I'm trying to help you. I mean it."    "Torbjorn, that wasn't a question." Zenyatta corrected. "I believe that was a statement."    Bastion wiggled their barrel up and down, a nod.    "So. . . you're not taking his side?" Torbjorn eyed the monk.    Bastion paused, trying to think of the right coding configuration to express their meaning. "You-both-help-me."    "Bastion, do not feel pressured by him to take his side." Zenyatta also tilted his head slightly to the engineer.    "You-BOTH-help-me." Bastion coded with more emphasis, swinging between the both of them again.    The two looked at each other another time.    "Okay, Bastion. You've made your point." Torbjorn uncrossed his arm, and reached out, crushing Bastion's barrel. "You want to come back to Configuration: Recon now?"    When he withdrew his hand, Bastion did just that. The transformation was smooth and quick, not filled with the usual stiffness of ageing parts nor the usual feelings of dread and exhaustion. Bastion looked to the both of them and let out an indeterminate, happy chirp.    Zenyatta came alongside them. "I am glad that you've reached out and found who helps you along your journey. I support you, no matter if you choose to see me, Torbjorn, or us both."    "I suppose I'm also glad that someone else is trying to help fix you, too." Torbjorn looked at the ground and shrugged.    Bastion hummed happily. They turned to leave, but stopped when they saw the remains of the door. They rotated back around.    "I-help-you?" They coded, gesturing to Torbjorn.    "With the door you broke?" Torbjorn nodded knowingly.    Bastion let out an apologetic whistle.    "Yeah, you'd better apologize, you lump of lugnuts. I swear I had finally fixed that thing last week." Torbjorn said. Bastion could detect an air of teasing.    It looked as if it took Zenyatta a moment to understand the engineer's intent. "Ah, I see. I shall leave you two to your work, then. I have another talk session with Orisa not too long from now."    Bastion nodded. "Say-hello-for-me."    "I will. Goodbye, Bastion." He hesitated. "And goodbye, Torbjorn."    Torbjorn did not respond. Bastion waved as Zenyatta left the room.    "Well! Now that he's gone, let's get to work, shall we?" Torbjorn walked over to his toolbench.    Bastion followed. The bright lights of the workshop illuminated everything, making all things clear. The sound of Torbjorn's metal tools was not chaotic but regular. Normally, the sound of metal on metal would make Bastion nervous, but as they helped with the repairs they only felt peace.    It was very nice.

[applsauss]

Mors Ab Alto [3/8] - Act 1

Description: Tieria’s arm twitches, and he frowns, then looks away, testing his fingers by curling them into his palm. After moment’s hesitation he raises a gloved hand to the glass, pressing his palm lightly against the window, low, by his waist. He meets your gaze, and it’s a concession, you realize. He doesn’t smile; neither do you, but you press your palm against glass of your own, mirroring his, and his shoulders slack enough for you to notice.

Fandom: 
Gundam 00

Pairing: 
Tieria Erde/Reader

Word Count: 4.1k+


Warning(s): Talk of Cancer. Death Caused by Cancer.

One year before the armed interventions. Lagrange Three, The Ptolemaios (Krung Threp).

     The news anchor’s voice is pitchless as she speaks into the camera, face pretty, dark eyes steady. With her back to the gathering crowd of protestors, she enunciates her words clearly, the familiar english rolling off her tongue without effort, like it belongs in her mouth. The microphone slips a millimeter through her gloves, she gestures widely to the scene behind her, and your chest begins to feel tight, hot with an emotion you’ve yet been unable to smooth a label over. 

The crowd of veterans and supporters jeers, then swells. You breathe out harshly through your nose, and pull yourself forward towards the screen, then push yourself back; one foot hooked under the handrailing, another flat on top. On screen, the wind picks up, and you pull your sweater tighter over your middle. Earth is frigid, the Ptolemaios is frigid.

Docked in Krung Thep, and still not the full-time residence of its future crew, the environmental controls haven’t been optimized. You’d do it yourself, here and now, but you’re off-duty, and the twilit corridors are inhospitable--abandoned, except for the strange shadows cast around corners.

It’s the graveyard shift, most normal operations have halted and non-essential personnel have retreated to their quarters for rest, but you’re too amped up on what’s happening down on Earth to sleep--too amped up on the promise of the armed interventions, not even a year away. You’ve got a buzz in your limbs and a stutter in your chest that won’t leave you alone. 

The projection of protestors is wide across the screen, the scene a familiar city, but not your home. Shots of the Washington Monument turn into pans over the Reflecting Pool as the crowd only expands and intensifies; Bulky jackets and brightly colored hats filling the broad avenues of the Union’s capital city. 

The lag between the commentator’s question and the anchor’s response is long enough for the shouting of the crowd to be heard, but there’s no unifying chant, it’s just angry noise. Above their heads, they’re waving scraps of cardboard and picketed signs scrawled with slogans: ‘Veterans! Unite and fight back,’ ‘medals for jobs,’ ‘what happened to social SECURITY?’ and, ‘we fought for you. Now you fight for us.”

The civil unrest settles at the bottom of your stomach until memories rise like bile. You should be down there, with a catchphrase of your own, but instead you’re on a space colony, watching the Earth churn far, too far, down below; and your mom should be there, marching for her life, but instead her ashes were taken by the wind and dumped into the rolling waters of the Pacific. Her life her own until it wasn’t, after the Union refused to give it back.

You can still feel the warmth of the sun, her hands, the ghost of her voice--but soldiers are soldiers until they’re useless, and though she still had arms for hugging and a voice full of reason, she couldn’t march or use a wrench and so they let her die, hollowed out and bedridden.

The protestors are flanked by riot police, they’ve got the streets intersecting the path of the march taped off and manned. With machined guns strapped to their fronts, and the snow feathering the ground, they paint a distinctly dystopian picture: Grey slosh falling around black helmets strapped under white faces, but it doesn’t look like it’ll get ugly. There’s no telling for sure, the anger at injustice is potent in the air, but this is a crowd filled with tired soldiers done with fighting wars.

The door to your left hisses open, and you tear yourself away from the railing, curling in slightly as you look towards the entrance way.

Tieria’s suspicious look melts into indifference at the sight of you, and after some deliberation, he pulls himself into the room. The news anchor picks up her commentary, bullet-pointing the protesters’ demands, and his eyes drift towards the screen.

“Too excited for tomorrow to sleep?” you ask in an attempt to draw his attention away from the broadcast, the display too close to home to share. 

He stares critically at the feed for a lingering moment, then seemingly writes it off as unimportant. He pulls himself farther into the room, catching himself on the railing closest to the door, and gives you a look that tells you he’s not going to dignify your flippant comment with a response.

“What are you doing up this late?” you rephrase when some more movement on the screen catches his attention. The protesters are testing the boundaries of the police tape, and beginning to throw taunts over the riot shields. Maybe you were wrong about tired soldiers and wars.

Tieria blinks as you switch channels. Quickly, the screen is filled with images of smoke rising off the shell of a town, mobile suits flying overhead. After a few seconds of the anchor reviewing the carnage in french, you cut the feed entirely. No such thing as a tired soldier.

Tieria looks at you, then huffs. “I was performing a systems check on Veda’s terminal aboard the Ptolemaios.” 

You shift uncomfortably. “Why?”

“You can never be too careful.”

You nod, then for lack of a better response, shrug his empty answer off. “You’re not tired though?”

“Are you?”

You don’t expect the laugh that his quick reply pulls from you, and neither does he. His eyes widen fractionally and his face loses its serious grimace. Huffing, you bend your knees, pulling yourself towards the handrail you’ve been anchored to, and grasp it, twisting your body around to mimic sitting on it. He’s quiet as you do this, his glasses picking up glare from the ring of lights embedded on the floor, lining the walls. You notice he’s wearing something that would more resemble sleep-wear than casual clothing: A plain shirt, his sweater hung open at the front, and loose fitting leggings, though he’s still wearing work boots, like he’s caught between worlds, unable to ever fully relax. 

The clothes don’t fit right, not without gravity to pull them down, and so the normally appropriately buttoned sweater billows around his waist and rounds off his shoulders. You remember his question. “I guess I am,” you say, covering an ill-timed yawn. “Don’t rat me out?”

Tieria scoffs. “As long as it doesn’t affect your work.” And maybe it’s the late hour, or the hazy, violet light that’s swathed the briefing room, but you think his words come out kinder than they usually do. He’s off-kilter, his tone is smooth, borderline soft, and he seems to realize this, if his sudden frown is anything to go by. He doesn’t meet your eyes, and you wring your hands around the railing.

The briefing room smells like formaldehyde, there’s an open panel of exposed wires in the corner, and there’s this buzzing in your head, like an early-warning system that’s perpetually being tripped. You’re reminded of why you’re here, and what you’re meant to do, the crescendo this is all building towards. Your stomach flips.

“Are you…” You suck in a breath like it’d clear your head of the fog. Cold, uncomfortable air fills your lungs instead “...Do you think you’re ready for the interventions?”

The corners of his mouth twitch downwards. “Of course I am.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He folds his arms in front of his chest, and lets himself float away from the bar towards the wall. “Of course not.”

You exhale, long and slow, and scrub your face with cold hands. The skin around your eyes feels tight, and this upset growing in your gut is so volatile you can’t rest--not with the protests, not with the armed interventions, and not with Tieria, as fragile as he is. Every conversation you have with him leaves you floundering to make him stay, and you don’t have the time to think about why--you don’t want to think about why.

“Sorry, I’ve just been out of it lately.” 

It’s an off-hand confession, unthought-out and rough ‘round the edges, and you’re prepared to face the detached silence that’ll surely follow when he asks, “Does this have anything to do with what you were watching when I entered?”

You pull your face out of your hands with mild urgency, but before you can figure out how to respond, he wrinkles his nose, and looks towards the dark screen once more. In a flatter tone he says, “I am eager to have our operations underway.” 

“...What?”

“The armed interventions,” he clarifies. His arms are still crossed, and he doesn’t meet your eyes. He stays where he is, displaced against the stark white of the wall behind him. 

“Oh…” You swallow thickly. “Me, too.” 

He kicks off the wall towards the exit, pauses briefly in front of the door, then retreats back to Krung Threp proper. When you hear the distant clang of Ptolemy’s airlock, signaling you’re once again alone on the ship, you turn the projector back on, but the protesters are gone and replaced by a daytime talk show.

***

Present day. Lagrange One, The Ptolemaios.

      Ptolemy lurches and groans under the unnaturally tight turns Lichty forces the ship to follow through with. It’s awful, the stench of your own breath and fear as you fumble with Dynames, the dome of your helmet colliding with the scraped metal as you rush through repairs. 

You never meant to work on weapons of war, despised them for all your life, and yet here you are, elbow deep in a mobile suit responsible for nothing but war, trying to bring it back online. On the good days, you can convince yourself that you’re okay with giving up what makes you human so long as you can be a shepherd ushering in change. 

Today is not a good day. 

A violent shutter moves through Ptolemy’s bones, and Dynames is jostled in its supposedly shock-absorbant restraints. The adrenaline makes you hyper aware, but your fingers are clumsy, and you have no idea what’s happening outside the hangar, whether you’re winning or losing, suffering through the beginning, middle, or end of a battle. 

The hangar is your world, and it is even larger without the other Gundams occupying the space, and it is even lonelier while The Ptolemaios is in battle mode, with the lights dimmed and flashing. The utter silence is only broken by the aftereffects of explosions. 

One of Dynames’s restraints comes loose and you see it as Ptolemy’s momentum sends it towards you. You feel the impact, but don’t remember anything after that. 

When you wake up, Dynames is gone, the hangar is even more empty, and Haro is in your cracked helmet chanting Lockon’s name over and over again. You can’t help but feel like you’re fast approaching the end of everything you’ve fought for.

***

Present day. Lagrange One, The Ptolemaios.

      The background hum of the GN drives surges in the overbearing silence while you wait for the doctor’s final verdict. Dull pain and disbelief numb your thought process, sift everything out except for the singular longing for a universal pause button. 

Tieria didn’t even look at you when you tried to pull him off Setsuna, just stopped his clenched, white fist from flying into your face, and then Miss Sumeragi issued her orders with a tone so stern and warm that it made you want to throw up--because she’s a military woman born from everything you despise and no matter how far anyone walks, they can never quite shake their past. 

“Nine to ten hours.” Doctor Moreno pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and you frown. “The damage is extensive, it would never heal right without the regeneration pod.”

You’re sitting sideways on the examination table, cradling your right arm in your lap. The heavy leaded vest you wore during your x-ray is tangled with your feet. Your hospital slippers are weightless, and slowly slipping towards the center of the room. The walls are a mocking beige, their voices are cold, and the hallway is quiet as death.

You look away towards the door as Doctor Moreno and Miss Sumeragi begin discussing your treatment between themselves, trading words back and forth; the doctor in his chair, Miss Sumeragi with an errant arm keeping her anchored to the desk. Her joints are locked; her hair swims around her. 

You dig your nails into the synthetic leather of the bench and hold your tongue. You can’t help but feel distinctly betrayed by the garden of conspiracy they’re taking turns watering. 

“You’re undergoing the treatment,” Miss Sumeragi finally addresses you after a moment of intense thought, and behind her, you spy the regeneration pods. They seem to loom over her shoulder, distorted through the glass separating this room from the one beyond. You see Lockon’s ghost in one of them. You see your ghost in the other. Your stomach sinks. 

“It’s just a fracture,” you say, eyes fixed on your fate behind her, fingers moving to pick the velcro on your wrist guard. “And besides, you need me right now. I’ve still got a good hand-”

“You’re undergoing the treatment.”

“I’m fine-”

“You’ve got three broken fingers and a fractured wrist!” her voice wavers, loud. Your mouth snaps shut, and she at least does you the service of looking apologetic before continuing, this time more reasonably, “You’re not fine. We can’t risk this again. I won’t make the same mistake twice. Lockon...he…” She wipes her hands on her pants. “It would be a disservice.”

“This is...” You suck in a breath as your right hand twitches in pain. “...Different.”

“It’s not.”

“It is!”

“No.” Miss Sumeragi pulls herself closer to the desk with a resolute grimace. “It’s not.” She turns to look at the regeneration pods in the room behind her, then says, “It’s just nine hours--no time at all.” The words are quiet and insecure and convince no one. 

You look at your feet as Miss Sumeragi’s grip on the desk tightens, shoulders knotting, and then she lets out a breath and returns to herself. “Make the preparations.” She nods to Doctor Moreno, and then she pushes off the desk and towards the door. It slides open, you see purple lingering in the hallway, and Miss Sumeragi begins speaking. It shuts before you hear what she has to say.

And you seethe.

A couple minutes later, the door opens again. 

Tieria doesn’t say anything as he enters, barely acknowledges you. He’s got a far off look in his eyes, and you can’t tell if it’s the guilt or the grief that’s eating him, probably both. Doctor Moreno wisely excuses himself, holding his data pad to his chest as he disappears into the next room. The air grows heavier once the door shuts behind him. 

Tieria’s got his uniform on, but he’s gone and switched out his contacts for his glasses--he’s this odd mismatched version of dressed and undressed, one foot in the battle field, the other in his grave.

You can’t bounce your knee in zero gravity, so you settle for agitatedly tapping your thumb against your thigh, though it’s clumsy with your off hand; You can’t keep a steady rhythm.

Tieria crosses his arms in front of his chest, and the silence begins to make you itch.

“Are you okay?” The question burns your tongue before you manage to spit it out. 

He’s quiet for a beat too long, and then opens with, “I agree with Miss Sumeragi--”

“I know!” you grit out. He drags you right back into the pit of overwhelming indignation Miss Sumeragi tossed you down. “I’m doing it. Just stop talking about it.”

You can never guess his mood or what he’ll say next and it drives you up the wall when you’re in a bad mood. You can never tell what you are to him, he’ll act like he cares one day and then ignore you the next and it makes old insecurities surface no matter how hard you try and hold your head up high.

You both watch Doctor Moreno through the glass as he tucks his sunglasses into his breast pocket and begins fiddling with a regeneration pod. You feel the familiar unease begin to crawl under your skin. 

“Are you alright?” is the only thing you can ask, and it’s stupid, the way you’re just repeating yourself. You kick the leaded vest away from your feet, and watch it meet your slippers, then make them spin out in the center of the room. Tieria’s eyes follow the movement. 

He unfolds his arms, then folds them again. He doesn’t answer. Through the window, you accidently meet Doctor Moreno’s eyes, and quickly pretend to be interested only in your purple fingers. 

“Why’d you even come here if all you’re going to do is avoid talking to me?”

“I wasn’t aware I was required to answer questions by virtue of you asking them.”

“Tieria-”

“I’m fine.”

Your skin prickles, and you can feel it in your chest, the familiar need to be comforted. It makes your limbs buzz. You miss being held, you want him to hold you, but he...he just doesn’t understand, and you can’t find the means or resolve to explain. 

Your hands tighten around the edge of the bed, nails digging into faux leather. You don’t want to go in. You don’t want to be afraid. Your chest tightens. Your hands are cold. You bite your cheek and keep your gaze steady, expression neutral. 

You are afraid of missing something while you’re in there. You’re afraid of ending up like Lockon. You’re afraid of ending up like your Mother. 

Doctor Moreno approaches the door. You see him through the glass. Resigned, you curl forward, careful of your arm, then push off the bed with both feet. He holds the door open for you, but you’re clumsy and have trouble making it through the doorway. He helps you through.

“You’ll be out before you know what hit you,” Doctor Moreno jokes as he pulls the sling over your head and undoes your wrist guard. “Won’t feel like a minute’s passed.” When he moves onto your splinted fingers, he tugs just on the wrong side of too much, making you wince. 

He offers you an apologetic smile, but doesn’t stop.

Careful to keep your hand still, the doctor helps you into the regeneration pod. You lay down as he walks away, look to your left, and see Tieria waiting on the other side of the glass, watching you with eyes unfocused. The doctor joins him, and turns his attention down to the control panel at his fingers.

You’re surprised by the glass cover when it slips into place above you. The lid seals, then pressurizes slowly. “See?” Doctor Moreno’s voice comes on, rough, over the speakers. “Easy.” You watch Tieria and the doctor through the window. “Almost done,” he continues as the hissing dies down.

Tieria’s arm twitches, and he frowns, then looks away, testing his fingers by curling them into his palm. After moment’s hesitation he raises a gloved hand to the glass, pressing his palm lightly against the window, low, by his waist. He meets your gaze, and it’s a concession, you realize. He doesn’t smile; neither do you, but you press your palm against glass of your own, mirroring his, and his shoulders slack enough for you to notice. 

“Can you count down from ten for me, please?”

You nod your head, and begin: “Ten.” The air suddenly tastes too sweet, it makes your teeth ache and your toes curl. 

“Nine.” Your vision grows fuzzy, and your breathing picks up, which only makes you fall under faster. 

“Eight.” Your hands are freezing, but your chest is warm -– like black fabric in the sun. 

There’s no more sound. There’s no resolution. You don’t make it to seven.

***

One Year before the armed interventions. Lagrange Three, Krung Thep.

      Gundam Dynames is forest green, and it matches Lockon’s flight suit, though Dynames, nor his pilot, have been at the forefront of your mind as of late.Your thoughts keep returning to the image of dim corridor lights on rich purple and pale pink, eyes that you sometimes think glow. You’d bumbled along diligently through the start of your shift, turning over last night’s encounter in your head until Lockon made an appearance to check up on Dynames and you enthusiastically welcomed the distraction, the chance to tease and air some grievances. He has a habit of yanking too hard on the controls in the cockpit.

You reach up and pull the targeting apparatus down into place, then push it up, and pull it down again to make a point. “See?” you ask, continuing to mess with the attachment, your arms hanging above your head. “So smooth. No need to yank this baby off its hinges. It’s even got a lil’ bit of --” You let go with some flare, and watch as it floats back into its proper stowed position above you--“hydraulic magic.”

“I know how it works,” Lockon grumbles from outside the cockpit. He’s got Haro tucked under his arm, and his vest is open and breezy.

“He knows! He knows!” Haro chants, and you pull yourself out of the seat, then float up next to the pair with a playfully terse grin.

“If ‘you know, you know,’ then why do I have to keep fixing it?” You catch yourself on the ridge of Dynames’ chest plate, then stall to push your sleeves up your forearms, the grip of your gloves rough on your skin.

Lockon opens his mouth to retort, stares at you for a moment, and shuffles Haro under his other arm. “Right.” He wrinkles his nose and offers you a sheepish smile. “I’ll remember that for...next time.”

“Next time! Next time!”

“Mmhm.” You cross your arms, then uncross them and pull your sleeves down to your wrists when the cold makes the hairs on your arms stand up. You’ll never get used to how freezing the Ptolemaios is.

The door to the hangar opens, and you both watch as Tieria enters. He lets himself drift towards the railing, scanning the large room until his eyes find yours. You raise a hand in greeting, offer a smile, and then his eyes flick to Lockon. He turns suddenly and begins inspecting a terminal on the wall.

Lockon laughs and you look back to him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “He’s jealous.”

You snort. “Yea...maybe.” Your tone is just shy of disbelieving, and you roll your eyes because the conversation is familiar and worn to dirt, but you can’t help but wonder sometimes. You’re not completely oblivious to your own feelings, to the strange tug in your chest when Tieria’s around, and you know that he at least likes you more than most, that he unconsciously seeks your company after a hard day, after a good day, after a normal day. 

You both push off Dynames and the cockpit closes behind you, “Y’know,” you address Lockon again. “Be more gentle and Dynames might not take it’s revenge next time.” You nod up to the dark bruise on his forehead, and he laughs good-naturedly.

“Alright, alright. You got me there.”

The muted tap of foreign boots on metal is the only warning you get before Tieria appears beside you. “You should be more concerned with the damage he’s done to Gundam Dynames rather than himself.”

Lockon sighs. “Gee, Tieria, nice to know you care.”

“I don’t.”

“Mmhm.” Lockon gives Tieria a reproachful look, then mock shrugs his shoulders in agreement. “Well, I guess you’re right. We don’t matter very much, do we? We’re replaceable, cogs in a machine and all that...” A rhetorical question.

His tone is too light to properly support the harsh reality he’s reintroduced into the forefront of your thoughts--and you don’t really want to think about your personal worth judged comparatively to Celestial Being’s ultimate goal right now, especially since Lockon seems intent on getting an answer he won’t find in Tieria.

Nobody says anything, Lockon’s stubbornly waiting for a response, Tieria’s narrowing his eyes like he’s been challenged, and you’re left floating between the two, floundering in the sudden and unpleasant turn the conversation took. Even Haro seems unusually subdued, and so you force yourself to scoff nervously and say, “Speak for yourself.” You try and break the clouds with some humor. “I’m indispensable!” 

It works. Tieria looks annoyed again, and Lockon laughs, then takes the dip in the conversation as his chance to slip away. “Yea, yea, whatever you say,” he says, his body already facing away so you can’t see his face, but his voice still carries an airy tone.

Haro flaps happily, still under Lockon’s arm. “Whatever you say! Whatever you say!”

Both you and Tieria watch as Lockon leaves, Tieria more tense, intense than you, and then you turn to him with a smile. “How are you today?” you ask like you hadn’t met him in the middle of the night barely ten hours ago.

He looks startled by your sudden question, then settles back into his usual self. “Fine. How are you?”

You melt a little at his tone. “Good. Did you need something?”

A/N: Tsunami, Told Slant.

Masterlist | Posting Schedule 

[storyunrelated]

Robosister - Powerwash!

"Robosister" is an entirely inaccurate name for this, but it's what I put down and I can't come up with anything better yet so fuck.

Alright, this is what I described it as on the works progressing page:

Monsters are a problem! Though not as much as they used to be.

Thanks to the brave efforts of our troops on the far side of the portal, the horror of the beast attacks have lessened considerably. But the danger is not yet passed! Random beast emergence - of both normal and macro-scale beasts - remains problematic! The last dying gasps of our otherworldly aggressor, you see? Sending their last scraps against us out of spite!

Thank heavens there are fine, violent monster-hunting individuals like Raymond Weeks out there to keep us all safe! Raymond Weeks, latest of the Weeks family, renowned the length and breadth of the country for their sterling service in slaying macro-beasts with their family owned and operated giant robot, Colossotron! Hurrah for Raymond!

Raymond is not a happy bunny, however. His little sister isn’t talking to him because he’s made her go to an eye-wateringly expensive school rather than teaching her the ropes of monster-battling like she wants to. She says it’s her birthright. He remembers how dad’s lungs had liquefied and dribbled down his front because of fighting big monsters. He remembers scraping what was left of mum out of the cockpit. Raymond doesn’t want that for her. He doesn’t want to be left on his own.

So he misses sleep to battle monsters to get paid to keep her in school. He misses meals. He runs on empty and the stimulants that Colossotron can inject him with.

He makes a mistake.

Meanwhile his sister proactively makes friends with the child of an awesomely famous beast-hunter who just-so-happens to be attending the same school. Together she - and a merry band of others - decide to try…uh…fuck. Something. Work it out later.

Basically.

The problem with Robosister is that it's maybe four or five loose concepts that I like, and these concepts don't stretch to cover the skeleton of what would be called the plot. If you follow. Not helping this is that the skeleton - or plot - is not there to start with. So what I have is a handful of ideas I thought were neat, just lying on the floor like fish in the bottom of a boat.

The concept are something like this:

1) Giant monsters are cool. Giant robots to fight the monsters are cool. Smaller monsters are also cool, and having smaller people around to fight them is cool too. Ergo, monster attacks are a problem for whatever reason and people are out there who fight them. Sorted.

2) A guy is super-good at killing monsters but is abjectly terrible at every other part of life. Unfortunately for him he is now the sole guardian of his whip-crack smart, endless-dynamo-of-energy of a little sister. He has no idea what he's doing but does know he wouldn't like to see her get killed fighting monsters the way their folks were. His struggles with hamfistedly accomplishing this cause more harm than good.

3) The idea of someone being in a terrible, terrible slump - a slough of despair - and having someone else come into their life who bucks it up and likes them and wants to see them improve and actually does make them improve and makes them want to improve themselves in a cycle of support and self-esteem. It's cute.

4) A bloodthirsty cyborg lady who hunts monsters primarily using their own boiling blood drained from their bodies, steamed and blasted back at them. And her genetically-engineered daughter who was sired exclusively to take up the mantle and is surprisingly insecure despite being - by most standards - distressingly perfect.

So yeah. Ideas but NOTHING TO DO WITH THEM.

STORY OF MY FUCKING LIFE

Here's a bit:

“You should probably get some sleep, Raymond,” Colossotron said. For a fifty-foot death machine designed and constructed by hands unknown from esoteric and eye-wateringly rare materials for the sole purpose of combating and killing roving giant monsters he sounded surprisingly concerned. Raymond just grunted.

Raymond wasn't really in the mood to talk. He didn't stop powerwashing the flesh and blood from the bus-sized chainsaw that made up a significant proportion of Colossotron's right arm. Normally it was kept folded back so that Colossotron just had two regular arms with two regular hands he could do regular things - albeit on alarger scale. But sometimes you really just needed to cut a giant monster in half.

That, in fact, was exactly what Raymond had needed to do maybe four or so hours previously. Hence why he was now blasting the remains of that monster off so they didn't gum up the workings of the saw. Maintenance was vital.

Colossotron sighed. An odd habit but one it had picked up nonetheless. As a machine, you didn’t hang around with people for years without going a touch strange.

“It's been nearly three days, Raymond,” Colossotron pressed. Raymond grunted again, louder, and shook his head. This caused some of his hair to flop greasily down in front of his face and he pushed it back with yet another grunt. Grunts were Raymond's primary mode of communication, when he wasn't stammering and falling over his words whenever he had to talk to someone who wasn't Colossotron.

“Still have stuff to do. Need to clean you up. Need to – uh – to,” Raymond faltered. He checked the back of his hand where he'd written his to-do list. All the water from the washer had left the ink smudged, and his already incomprehensible handwriting was now entirely illegible. This didn't stop him trying to read it anyway.

“...stuff. There's stuff. Just a few things. Need to do them.”

He nodded off for maybe a split-second, lurching forward and accidently hitting the control panel for the mobile gantry he’d been standing on. The whole thing jolted and his eyes snapped open, hand reflexively grabbing for the guardrail and keeping him from falling. The coffee mug that had been sitting on the panel was not so lucky and tumbled downward, turning end over end, spilling its lukewarm contents and then shattering into an unfairly large number of pieces across the hanger floor.

Raymond looked at the mess and blinked. Slowly.

“Great,” he said.

More mess to clean up.

[eggman-empire]

Evil Overlords Have Feelings Too - Part 2

by Jenifer Irwin Part 2 "Hah! Take that, ya useless aliens!" Robotnik cackled as another rocket blasted an enemy UFO to pieces, twisted metal raining down around the Steel Snake as it soared through the wreckage. High above the earth, saucer-like spacecraft swarmed the odd serpentine vehicle, shooting at it only to miss most of the time due to its speed and flexibility.

"Arashi, 5 o'clock!" he exclaimed, sensing the approaching UFO. The woman next to him swiveled the seat to face almost completely backwards, firing a rocket at the other vehicle and blowing it to smithereens. She grinned as she turned to face forward again, shooting at yet another vehicle that zipped by. The Steel Snake took a sudden downward dive, although Robotnik knew that'd be a mistake. He was out to confuse and baffle the enemy, however, and the results couldn't be so bad... wellll, ok, maybe it could. Both of the occupants turned green and groaned with nausea. After all, no matter how much you've driven high tech machines of destruction, your stomach is never going to get used to going in one direction while the rest of your body is suddenly jerked downward at 800 miles an hour. Especially not 15 minutes after a large breakfast. Miraculously, they managed to keep from painting the inside of the pod with the morning meal, and Arashi put a hand on Robotnik's arm. "Don't ever do that again," she said, gasping slightly for breath. "Oh, trust me, I won't," he replied, firing a rocket at a UFO, but it missed. Having to consume your food a second time to keep from losing it would affect anyone's aim. The UFOs around them all stopped shooting for some strange reason. Robotnik and Arashi briefly paused, wondering what was going on, before one craft after another began to hurtle towards them, kamikaze-style, attempting to smash into the pod on the Steel Snake's back that the humans were riding in. "Hold your gut, this could get bumpy," Robotnik said, knowing that mere shooting wasn't going to take care of 5 large UFOs screaming towards the pod at once. The entire Steel Snake began thrashing wildly about, slamming enemy craft in half with its tail or knocking them away with enough damage to prevent them from ever doing anything right again. Arashi grunted a few times as the snake lurched about, threatening to pull her through her restraining belt no matter how good quality it was. "You had the right idea with these racing harnesses," she said loudly over the sound of explosions, reaching up to tighten the harness a bit. The Steel Snake's head darted around, snapping a UFO up in its mouth and flinging it away while tail-smacking another one downward, sending it blazing towards the earth. Citizens watched on television as satellites took live footage of the battle, amazed at the destructive power that this one man was able to create. They began to wonder how, through all those years, a hedgehog and a fox were able to stop Robotnik, up until his new friend arrived and instilled enough common sense, and perhaps confidence, in him for him to just finally kill Sonic with no real ceremony when he had the chance. The citizens--who were left after world takeover, anyway--thanked their lucky stars that they weren't part of the dead majority who resisted when the evil genius began his unstoppable campaign. Strangely enough, after he actually took over, things weren't so bad... probably because he just got bored, since he had it all now. They never thought they'd be thanking him for defending their lives against another enemy... on second thought, this was probably just another excuse for him to blow stuff up. ** The intense battling dulled Robotnik and Arashi's awareness of anything around it, and they didn't notice the giant mother ship that now loomed nearby. The leader of the entire alien army peered closely at the occupants of the single craft that was destroying all of his troops. "The human male is grotesquely fat... Zork, what is with these humans and their increasing obesity? I thought we brainwashed enough of them into becoming health nuts long ago. I want graceful, healthy people to watch! If I wanted to observe fat people I'd just watch the hippopotami on the Serengeti!" the alien leader grumbled. Zork shook his head slightly. "Sir, I think we've got more to worry about with that guy other than the fact that he's eaten one too many candy bars. Watch him a little more closely. And the girl, too. Do you notice anything strange about them... regarding how the craft is moving?" The leader, Takar, watched a little more intently, temporarily disabling all senses but sight as he enhanced his vision. Zork was right... something wasn't... where were the flight controls? His senses returning to normal, Takar gasped. "The humans... they've found a way to build mind-controlled machines!? Zork, we engineered that possibility out of their genes long ago!? What happened!?" "I think he's a mutation, sir." "He better NOT have had any children!" "I don't think any woman could ever be that desperate, sir." "Whatever. I want him--alive! And... 'prepared.'" ** "No more games, fat man," a strange voice floated through Robotnik's head, distracting him momentarily. A UFO smashed into his side of the pod, shattering all over the place, but luckily the pod held up. Arashi gasped as a field of energy surrounded the Steel Snake. "What the..." On televisions across the world, people watched, stunned, as the Steel Snake was slowly dragged on a tractor beam up toward the mother ship. No matter how hard the snake's jets burned, it couldn't even budge from the beam. An air lock opened up on the mother ship and swallowed up the Snake along with all the other alien craft, and it was silent. ** The struggle with the Steel Snake inside the ship was harder than the aliens expected. It thrashed madly about, smashing aliens that it didn't snap up and swallow whole, blowing the walls of the indoor hangar away with rockets. Two aliens managed to grab the snake's nose and tail with remote-controlled tractor beams, stretching the vehicle out taut across the hangar. It was pulled so tightly that it couldn't even twitch, but Robotnik and Arashi refused to give up, continuing to fire rockets all over the place. Through cameras attached to the aliens that were swarming around inside the hangar, Takar watched the destruction and sighed. "Zork, remind me to never allow human IQ to go above 150 or human determination and willpower to... exist." "Well, sir, it's an entertaining show, is it not?" "It probably would be, but... I thought the good guys always got limited ammo? They should have run out by now." "They're actually bad guys in the entire scheme of things, sir. Bad guys always have infinite ammo until the one moment where its existence is more crucial than anything... at which point it all evaporates, or the launching mechanisms malfunction, or something along those lines." "Can we engineer a premature One Crucial Moment?" "I'm afraid not, sir." Takar sighed. For hours, Robotnik and Arashi continuously fired rockets at anyone who approached their ship. She glanced over at him at one point and asked, "Hey, Ivo, are you okay?" He looked as if he were in a great deal of pain, and he suddenly let his hands drop from the triggers of the dual rocket launchers. "I can't shoot anymore... Why, why does my Carpal Tunnel Syndrome have to act up NOW!?" He whined in agony as he rocked back and forth slightly, clutching his right wrist, which was in the most pain. Try as she might, Arashi couldn't hold off all of the aliens by herself, especially since she couldn't shoot in the directions that Robotnik could. The aliens managed to jump up on his side of the pod and pry it open. Arashi still refused to give up, grabbing a laser gun out of the holster on Robotnik's hip and starting to shoot furiously at the green men who had climbed onto the pod. She shrunk back slightly, ceasing fire as the ones who were shot didn't even get scratched. "Oh, please, we evolved an immunity to laser fire a long time ago," one of the aliens said boredly, dragging her out of the pod and taking the gun away. "Use a tractor beam on him, there's no way we're going to be able to lift him out by ourselves," someone said, and the aliens pulled Robotnik out of the pod in the recommended fashion. The two humans' belongings were confiscated and they were led handcuffed through several corridors. One of the aliens leading Robotnik turned to his partner and said, "Hmm, Zork said we needed to... 'prepare' this man, right?" The partner nodded, realizing he had forgotten, and said, "Alright, this way," to Robotnik as they started to lead him down a separate corridor. "Wait a minute... 'Prepare!?' What are you talking about? Where are you taking him!?" Arashi yelled worriedly, wondering what they were going to do with her evil genius hero. The aliens that were leading her snickered and said, "You'll see, you'll see," as they took her to a holding cell. They had to restrain her as they injected her with a powerful sleeping agent, then locked her in the cell and left. ** The next morning, Arashi woke up slowly, taking at least a half hour to fight off the lingering affects of whatever they injected her with the day before. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes for a while. Upon opening them, she screamed in shock. This caused Robotnik to stir, and he took quite a while to wake up too before sitting up on the cot across the cell from Arashi's. He felt kind of strange. Blinking through bleary eyes, he glanced over at her, puzzled at the shocked expression frozen on her face. "What?" Getting no response, he reached up to scratch an itch on the back of his neck. That was odd. He actually had a neck. Looking down at himself, he screamed too. "I have FEET!?!?" The doctor stood up, holding his arms out to his sides as he twisted around, looking at himself. He was... thin. He was correctly proportioned. What had they done to him!? "What in the world..." he muttered to himself, amazed. "They even got my clothes cut down to the right fit..." He looked up at Arashi, who still looked dumbfounded. She glanced at the hallway behind him through the bars, hearing footsteps. Having heard the screams, a pair of aliens were heading down the corridor to find out what was going on and take the humans to Takar. "What seems to be the problem?" one of the aliens asked when they reached the cell. "Oh... nothing," Robotnik said, dusting his coat off. His appearance was changed so much by the loss of all the fat that he was probably barely recognizable, but on the other hand, he'd never felt so fit in his life. Besides the fact, he could just eat his way back to obesity later. "Well, then, come along," the alien said, opening the cell and grabbing the two, leading them down the hallway and out of the cell block. They were taken through several more corridors and into the heart of the ship, where a large door opened to reveal a grand chamber. Within the chamber was a throne, several control panels, desks, bookcases, a snack bar and a few tables with chairs. A very important-looking alien turned from a large window to look at Robotnik and Arashi. "Ah. Excellent. They prepared you quite well. You're going to be much more tolerable to talk to... I can't stand fat people." He walked over calmly, arms folded within his robes, and circled the humans, eyeing them appraisingly. They got a good, long look at one of these aliens for the first time as they looked back at him. This race of aliens was roughly the same height as Robotnik, and had elegant appearances, light green skin, and looked more or less human. They also had a distinct British accent. "I'm Takar, Ykrian Leader. You two would be?" the leader asked. "Emperor Ivo Robotnik and Empress Arashi Codiv," Robotnik answered, arrogantly. Arashi nudged him hard in the ribs. Now wasn't the time to be arrogant. "I... see," Takar said, seeming suddenly worried for some reason. He poked Robotnik in the chest, saying, "You... haven't had any children, have you?" "I must have a pretty high tolerance for pain if I managed that, because I don't remember anything of the sort, no," the doctor replied, snickering. He winced slightly as Arashi jammed her elbow into his side again. Takar sighed and shook his head. "On to what I really brought you in here for... I've noticed, Robotnik, that you managed to create a vehicle that's controlled by mind power alone... tell me, how did you do this?" Robotnik thought for a moment, then replied, "I'll tell you if you'll leave my planet alone." Arashi stood silently, hoping Takar would agree. If the aliens didn't know how to do such things and were trying to get the knowledge from Robotnik... well, no telling what they'd end up doing with it. She then wondered, amusedly, who Earth would distrust more with the knowledge--Robotnik or the aliens? Irritated suddenly, the alien drew a very advanced-looking laser gun on Robotnik. "No one attempts to bargain with me... Give me one good reason not to kill you right now." "Because there wouldn't be much of a story then, would there?" Takar lowered the gun swiftly, an even more irritated look on his face. "You have a point. Curse you. Of course, I may not be able to kill you--or, I'm assuming, your little cohort here--but I can do worse. Much worse." He grinned chillingly. "Do you realize, Mr. Robotnik, that--" "Dr. Robotnik," the mad scientist interrupted. "Dr. Robotnik, that I could suck the information out of your head if I wanted to? And do you realize how painful of a process that is? After all, even us aliens haven't been able to develop a program that can easily hack into the files of a man's very brain. And having live electrical wires stuck into your ears and nose usually doesn't sit well with most people. Not to worry, though, we keep them alive... barely. Now then, I've come up with a wonderful idea... I believe I'm going to remove all information that the common housefly isn't able to retain, then lower your IQ to a nice, stable... 2 or so. Then we won't have to worry about you anymore. How does that sound?" Robotnik looked over at Arashi, alarmed. She gulped loudly. "I'll give you two minutes to speak with your friend here before I turn him into a human vegetable," Takar said in a bored tone, turning to walk over and look out the window. He took a small device out of his pocket and started speaking into it in a low voice, too low for either of them to make out what he was saying. "Ivo, what are we going to do!?" Arashi asked worriedly, grabbing him by the arms. He looked around, mumbling, "I'm not sure, but I do know one thing--this is going to be a challenge. No inept guards, no vents to crawl through, nothing that Evil Overlords usually fail at..." "There has to be something! You can't just get your brains sucked out! It's not meant to be!" Takar turned around, frowning. "Wait a minute. You're psychic? Are you? Seriously?" He seemed worried. "Humans are gaining incredible abilities at an astonishing rate! Why has my army allowed this to happen!?" His paranoia was obvious. "No, I'm not psychic," Arashi said, fearful that he'd try to suck her brains out too. "I just... don't think... that you should do this to him." Several flying saucers began to descend to earth, seen through the window as Takar peered at Arashi with distrust. "Oh well. Carry on," he said, turning back towards the window. Arashi looked helplessly at Robotnik. "Come on... use that mind of yours, we gotta get out of here." The doctor shook his head slightly, saying in a lower voice, "I'll just have to see what develops." Takar turned around and said, "Alright, time's up, let's go," and started towards Robotnik. Arashi took a step forward and hugged the doctor abruptly. Predictably, he made no move to hug back. Evil Overlords, Especially Those Under Pressure And Trying To Be Macho, don't hug. "I'm gonna miss you, you know... you were my only real friend." Takar rolled his eyes in disgust. "Oh, how positively gushy. Come on, you old fool, let's get this over with," he said, grabbing Robotnik by the arm and pulling him away from Arashi, handing him over to two guards that showed up. "Suck'is brains out," he said, smirking, then turned to Arashi. "And you... I think you'd be excellent for producing the heir to my throne. Have to carry on the family line and continue terrorizing planets, you know. And it's not easy for the Ykrian race to reproduce, so we have to pick the best humans we can find..." He didn't know why, he didn't know how, but that sent Robotnik into a rage. "What!?" Somehow, he got the strength to break from the two guards' grip and race across the room at Takar, slamming into him. The sudden movement surprised everyone--the doctor had been able to outrun Sonic while fleeing, even when he was fat. He was even faster than that now, and had the alien leader on the floor instantly, pummeling him with his fists. "You're not gonna take my friend as your concubine! Die! Die! Die!" After some struggling, the guards managed to pull Robotnik off of a rather bruised Takar, who stood up, fuming. "Make sure the procedure is extra painful for our bald guest," the alien spat, glaring at Robotnik. He couldn't, however, stop himself from looking away a bit fearfully from the hateful glare that was returned. Arashi was dumbfounded as she watched the guards drag a struggling Robotnik away. She never thought that mere words about her would have made him explode like that. "I hope your heir kills you in your sleep! No, I hope he wakes you up and kills you SLOWLY! With a rusty spoon!" came the mad scientist's yell, echoing down the hall a few seconds later. "I believe I'm going to go watch this," Takar said, glancing at Arashi. "Do make yourself comfortable, because you're going to remain here for the rest of your life." He smiled a mocking smile and left the room, the door securely shutting behind him. A thorough examination of the room turned up absolutely no way out, and Arashi sat down on a chair helplessly. Very soon after, the screams began. Terrible screams. Pained, yet angry, shrieks that could only be those of Robotnik getting his brains sucked out through live electric wires. She put her face in her hands and tried very hard to keep from crying. Takar grinned in satisfaction as he watched the helpless scientist jerk back and forth, most movement restrained by tough leather straps that held him to the table. Sparks danced around his head, tearing primal screams of agony out of his lungs, but his expression never shifted to the true, submissive, helpless agony that most others' did. It just got more enraged. After several minutes, Takar realized that the two technicians sitting at the control panel had been getting increasingly more confused as time went on. Robotnik's expression kept getting fiercer, his screams more angry, though he was supposed to be too stupid to even notice the pain anymore a long time ago. "What's going on?" Takar asked, walking around towards the other two aliens. One of them started to speak with the nervous hesitation of a 15-year-old geek who has social difficulties. "Well, sir, we have a... problem... Uh... this program we bought, from Evil Aliens Inc... I-it's only compatible with Windows 98 or higher and... we never upgraded from 95 on this machine... Uh... it caused an illegal operation, and..." He looked at another screen, which read: "IQ: 532." And the number was rising. "540 IQ?!! YOU IDIOTS!" Takar screamed, pounding both of them into unconscious heaps before pulling the plug on the computer as Robotnik's IQ ticked just past 600. There was no telling what other than the IQ could have been enhanced or otherwise affected. "Curses! Enjoy your super-mind while you can, doctor, because I'm installing Windows 98 as soon as I can find a copy!" the alien snarled, storming out of the room and shouting as he hurried down the hallway. Arashi was sure Robotnik was a goner when she heard the pained screams stop, but then she heard the irritated yelling of Takar. "Get me a bloody copy of Windows 98! NOW! We've got a very dangerous individual on the ship, and for the record, it's not me for once!" he shouted. Arashi stood up and hurried to the door to listen to the commotion a little closer. "Sir! I found a copy!" "Excellent. Alright, let's install it! It's a good thing our machines can install these things so quickly..." About two minutes of silence passed. "WHERE'S THE BLOODY MANUAL!? STUPID REGISTRATION CODES ARE ALWAYS ON THE MANUAL!" Arashi couldn't help but start laughing. The sounds of rooms being ransacked for one little book were heard all over the base. The door she was standing next to opened suddenly and Takar practically walked over her as he headed for his throne and other furniture, pulling drawers completely out and dumping them on the floor as he searched furiously. Ah, the One Crucial Mistake of every antagonist had arrived for Takar. He left the door open. Arashi hurried out of the door and down the hallway where she'd heard Robotnik's screams. The aliens she passed by were too intent on finding that book to really notice her, and she slipped into the room quickly. There, stretched on a table and held with many straps, was Robotnik, panting heavily from the lingering agony of what he'd just gone through. Arashi quickly pulled the wires out of his ears and nose, wincing at his yelps of pain, then started unbuckling the straps and freeing him. He sat up slowly, trying to get his bearings as he glanced around. Even through his dark glasses, Arashi could see inspiration flash into Robotnik's eyes, and he quickly stood up, crossed the room and pressed the button that shut the door tightly. He grabbed one of the wires that they'd used on him and knelt down next to the door, very carefully inching the wire under it, sticking it up against the mechanisms that controlled the door's movement. Then he stood up and moved back over to the computer. "What are you doing...?" Arashi tilted her head, wondering how he had made it out of that ordeal with his mind intact. He grinned at her, picked up the power cord, shoved it into the wall outlet, and switched the computer on. The door made a few whining, sputtering noises, then shorted out. It could no longer be opened normally. Arashi sat up on the table, bewildered. "Why'd you trap us in here?" she asked worriedly, wondering if he'd just plain gone nuts instead of becoming a vegetable. He started ripping the computer apart, putting different parts in separate piles on the floor. "To keep them from getting in here before I'm done, of course," he said as he left the power supply of the machine intact, grabbing one of the live wires. Using the heat from the wire (and thanking his lucky stars that he made these special heat-resistant, non-conductive gloves long ago), Robotnik quickly reconstructed some of the chips and boards, then fused a bunch of the parts together into a device that was big enough to fit in his palm. All the while, the aliens were pounding at the reinforced door with a battering ram, trying to knock it down. Arashi looked worriedly at the door, which was starting to cave inward--just a few more minutes would see it wide open. Just a few more pieces and the device was finished. Robotnik dropped the wire, tapping a few keys on the front of the device. Suddenly, he disappeared and reappeared across the room, standing next to Arashi. She barely had time to blink before he grabbed her arm and pressed a few more buttons with his free hand, just as the door blew open and Takar burst into the room, manual in hand. "What the?!" he yelled, but not over Robotnik's triumphant laugh as the two humans disappeared in a brilliant flash of light. ** Tired of the same old failed world takeovers? Sick of that unlikely hero thwarting all your plans? Well, worry no more, Evil Overlords, the Steel Snake has arrived! Equipped with rocket launchers, bombs, and movement easily controlled by one's mind, you won't be disappointed. For a limited time only, the surgery to plant the chip in your head is FREE! Offervoidwhereprohibited.Freesurgerydoesnotincludeanasthesiaoranexperiencedsurgeon.EvilOverlordsIncisnotresponsibleforpersonalinjury,death,insanityoranythingelsethatmightbecausedbyyouusing,comingincontactwith,lookingat,thinkingabout,orbeingadistantrelativeofsomeonewhoownstheSteelSnake.Allrightsreservedandstuff. ** The hum of extreme amounts of energy filled the air just before Robotnik and Arashi flickered into existence in the kitchen of his base. He grinned evilly and pressed a button on his warping device, turning it off before he tucked it into his pocket. "Hey... what happened, I thought they sucked your brains out...?" Arashi asked, looking up at him in awe. "Quite the opposite, actually," he said as he dusted his hands off arrogantly. "Their computer malfunctioned and it actually doubled my IQ." He pulled a cell phone off of its recharging device on the wall and dialed something on it, then put it up to his ear and waited a moment. "Yes, Mr. Gates? I never thought I'd be saying this, but--thanks. You're part of the reason I'm not a half-dead pile of flesh who can no longer move or speak or realize he's even alive. What's that?" he asked, ambling back and forth a few paces as he talked. "A free copy of Windows XP? Thanks, but I'll pass. I like Windows 98. But you know, I'd -love- an autographed copy of Office 2000. That's, ah... Well, I don't really have a street. You know that giant floating hunk of metal over the Robotnik Mountains? Yes, the mountain range named after me? Send it to that base. Thanks!" He shut the phone off, chuckling to himself. "If only my hacked copy had the little robot office assistant, I wouldn't have had to ask for that." Arashi stared at him. "How did you know his number?" "I'm not entirely sure..." Robotnik tugged on his moustache idly, a little confused. They suddenly heard a gasp and a hauntingly familiar voice yell, "Egg--...man...!?" The two whirled towards the door. "What the!? Sonic!?!?" they yelled in unison. There stood Sonic, who took a slight step back and motioned for Tails to stay behind him. "Some aliens brought us back to life! I thought they said you were being held captive and getting your brains sucked out, not your fat!" Robotnik smirked. "It's impossible to suck out brains that are such high quality," he replied, snickering. "Oh, and don't you worry, the fat will return. I don't feel right," he said as he very slowly backed up towards the nearest counter drawers. "Now, I presume you're here looking for the chaos emeralds that I took off your corpse..." "Exactly," the hedgehog answered, a little suspiciously. "I'm surprised you decided to come to the kitchen to look," Robotnik said, backing up with a look of fear on his face since he was unarmed after transporting back from the alien ship. "I never thought anyone would be searching here... it's a pretty unlikely place, you know. But, you guessed right, because I do have one in here... I figured one would search in some forgotten room, like the gym room... But just don't attack me, and I'll hand it over," he said as he slowly opened a drawer and reached in, making it look like he was afraid and had intentions of getting an emerald as he searched around. Then he added, "Here it... oh, wait a second, look what I have," and very quickly pulled out a laser gun from the drawer, shooting Sonic and Tails through their heads in rapid succession. They slumped to the floor, death coming so quickly that neither of them felt a thing. Bet you thought this was going to be another long, drawn-out battle, didn't you? Well, ultra-geniuses who had their IQ recently doubled by a flaw in an aggressor's brain-sucking machine don't do long, drawn-out battles. "You've got good aim, you know," Arashi complimented, grinning. "Indeed," he replied matter-of-factly as he pondered. "The aliens are very unlikely to make it into the base. I don't really care about the rest of the world anymore. We'll rest here for a while and figure out what to do about these aliens... after I tend to my little problem." He looked over at the refrigerator with a sense of purpose. Arashi nodded, saying, "I'm going to go move the emeralds to another room, since you said where they were. Where should I put them?" "Put them in the toilet tank of the northwestern hemisphere of the base." Arashi thought about that for a minute. "That's a good idea," she mused, then ran off, stepping deftly over the two corpses in the doorway. ** "Now, let's see here... I need to pick the foods which are the most fattening, because I can only eat so much before I end up hurling all over the place," Robotnik mumbled thoughtfully to himself as he pushed containers of food aside in the refrigerator to examine other ones. Deciding this wasn't good enough, he called out a robot, told it what he wanted, and had it get to work. Arashi hurried into the kitchen a while later, saying, "Something... smells... GOOD!" Robotnik snickered a bit evilly as he started on the fifth slice of extremely fattening pizza sitting before him. The pizza was so big it was nearly hanging off the sides of the table. Arashi sat down and dug in, tearing off a slice and starting to eat. "Man, you really know how to live," she said. "One thing's for sure... I mighta cheered you on in killing Sonic and Tails, but I do have to thank them for bringing me here, at least." She turned towards the door, where the bodies still lay, and exclaimed cheerfully, "Thanks!" before going back to her feeding frenzy. "I suppose I should have them disposed of before they either start stinking up the place or they're brought back to life again. F300, incinerate them," Robotnik said, gesturing. The cleaning robot turned and headed towards the door, studiously carrying out its task, dragging the two animals away to the incinerator room. The cell phone, left on the counter, started to ring. Robotnik grabbed it nonchalantly and raised it to his ear as he pressed a button and asked, "Yeah?" Arashi listened curiously to the side of the conversation that she could hear. "Not now, I'm eating. No, I'm not going to come back for my ship. But, thank you for reminding me about it," Robotnik said, swallowing a bite of pizza whole. "No, you can't have Arashi! I don't care WHAT kind of truce you're offering, you can't have her!" Inspiration flashed over his face and he grinned evilly, shifting a bit and propping an elbow on the table. "I bet you're just jealous. You can't even get a female of your own race to even be friends with you, let alone be your Queen. And then some bald, fat slob easily gains a friend just for being diabolical. Is that what this is all about, Takar?" The doctor grinned continuously, and the alien on the other line was shouting profanities in his own language so loudly that even Arashi could hear it. "Whassa matter? Poor little alien is feeling lonely? Always having to make yourself look perfect just to have no results?" Robotnik asked in a 'poor baby' tone, which quickly shifted to a triumphant evilness. "Being an evil ruler is all about personality and wit! What's that? You're going to come and get me? OooOoOoh, scary. I'll be waiting, lime boy." He took the phone away from his ear and pressed a button, turning it off. "Hah!" Arashi giggled and kept eating, feeling quite proud of Robotnik. He had a lot more attitude than before, with even more intelligence and cunning now to back it up. Now he just had to solve his only remaining problem--being thin. She could see that even now he was scheming as he gulped down a few more slices of pizza, studying them briefly on occasion. He got that look as if he were staring through the slices instead of at them, and eventually rolled his chair over to the microwave. After some brief studying of the microwave, Robotnik tore apart various appliances such as blenders, can openers and toasters, then took a screwdriver and proceeded to modify the microwave beyond recognition. Then he took the portion of pizza that he figured Arashi couldn't eat, stuffed it all into the funnel of the device, and turned it on. It went into a frenzy, whining and shaking, with bubbles even floating out of the funnel after a bit, but eventually it stopped. A small compartment similar to the change slot on a soda machine caught a small red pill that resulted. Robotnik grabbed the pill and swallowed it. "What was that all about?" Arashi asked, bewildered. "Oh, it follows the same principles that this does. Women have the ability to a much greater extent than men do, to shove lots of stuff into a very small space," he explained, taking her backpack and proceeding to pull various items out of it, such as hair gel, 3 bottles of Mountain Dew, a couple of hard drives, a set of computer speakers, a monitor, an empty computer case, several manuals on programming, a laptop, a small desk, a leather office chair, a Corvette convertible, an aircraft carrier, and a Game Boy Advance. After that, he stared into the pack dubiously, feeling something pulling on him. Hard. Quickly, he stuffed all the items back into it, musing something about black holes, and gave it back. "Anyway, I can make small pills that'll fatten me up in no time with no effort," he added, opening the refrigerator. Tons of food went into the microwave contraption, and he consumed the pill that was created from it. Yawning, he turned and said, "I think it's time we retired for the night." The two went to their bedrooms and made sure the doors were well shut in case of alien invasion, and went to bed. ** At about 6 AM, a low rumbling woke Robotnik up. He found, much to his satisfaction, that he'd become nice and fat overnight. His clothing was ripped and destroyed by now, and he changed into a new suit of identical design, having a heck of a time getting the buttons and zippers closed. His concerns now lay with what was going on in the base. He quickly hurried to his security monitors and checked them all out, but nothing was in the base. When he checked the periscope that gave a full view of everything around the outside of the base, he realized that he was in great danger. His entire base was in great danger. The alien mother ship was hovering several hundred feet above it, sending a strange blue force field whirling down around it. Something at the center of the bottom of the alien craft was charging up. Oh, look! Another cliché method the aliens use for destruction! "Arashi! They're going to blow up the base!" Robotnik yelled into a nearby intercom microphone, badly masking his fear. He hesitated for a moment, an idea flashing into his mind. "Get up and follow me!" Running out of his room, he waited for a couple seconds and saw Arashi stumble tiredly out of her room, still trying to get her bearings but looking alarmed. He grabbed her arm and practically dragged her through the base in a flat-out sprint, swiping any rings he saw along the way. After a moment, she was awake enough to run herself and started collecting rings too, tossing them over to him. "What's going on? Where are we going?" she yelled over the alarms that blared loudly in their ears. "The aliens! They've come back with their mother ship and are charging up a giant plasma ball to blow up the base! We have to get to the chaos emeralds--they're the only way we're getting out of this alive!" Adrenaline pumping furiously, Robotnik knew there were only a couple of minutes left before the base was blown to smithereens. He put all his effort into running faster, nearly leaving Arashi behind. "Ivo! Your warping device!" "Why didn't I think of that?" He grabbed her shoulder, pulled out the warp device and warped them both to the toilet that had the emeralds. Throwing the lid off the tank, he fished out all seven emeralds and looked at them in confusion and worry. "I don't know how to do this... But now's a pretty darn good time to figure it out, eh?" he said, mostly to himself as water dripped through his fingers. The young programmer watched in bewilderment as Robotnik concentrated hard on the emeralds, as if trying to find something in them that wasn't visible to the naked eye. The base rumbled and groaned under the atmospheric pressure that was building up. Robotnik looked around worriedly, then desperately stared at the emeralds again. He started examining one at a time, a frantic look growing apparent on his face. When he concentrated very hard on the red one... something clicked. This wasn't about a high IQ, this was about inner will and drive. The red gem flared brilliantly as he felt something seem to snap into place between him and it. The rest of the emeralds rose into the air and started spinning around him in a neat ring, increasing in speed as time went on. Arashi stared in awe as she realized what was happening. She stepped back as Robotnik started to glow a faint red, his eyes shut tightly as the glow started to intensify until it blinded her, at which point she had to shield her eyes. She began to hear diabolical laughter that started out normally, but... changed. It echoed, eventually, where it didn't before. When the light faded to a tolerable intensity, Arashi lowered her hand from her eyes and turned, looking up at what the mad scientist had been transformed into. A robot, ten feet tall and with Robotnik's unmistakable mustache, glasses, goggles and smirk, stood there cracking mechanical knuckles. It had the build of a giant, muscular human, and it had designs on it that mimicked Robotnik's normal clothing. It kept glowing a faint red, too. "So, this is what it feels like... I'll bask in it later--for now, I've got to go destroy that ship before my ring supply runs out!" Ultra Robotnik exclaimed, warping himself and Arashi to the highest of the Silent Hills... without even using his transportation device. "You'll be safe here," the robotic doctor said in a mechanized version of his human voice. "But you'll still have a great view of the battle! Use these." He opened his chest plate, revealing mechanical odds and ends of all sorts, and pulled out a pair of strong telescope-goggles, handing them to Arashi. She put them on, listening as Robotnik briefly told her how to operate them. "Oh... and if anything happens to me," he said, "Use this. Tap random buttons and think of where you want to go. The buttons are to confuse enemies and bewilder readers." He pulled out the teleportation device and handed it to her. With that, he disappeared in a brilliant flash of crimson light. The plasma ball under the ship was getting bigger and bigger, and Robotnik realized he had left something very important in his base. If it did blow up, he didn't want them to be lost... He warped into the base, then warped back to the Silent Hills, set down 4 frightened chao next to Arashi, and back to the base he went. At a speed that would leave any fighter jet in the dust, so to speak, Robotnik blazed up towards the ship, slamming into the underside of it and seeing if he could break through. That was a mistake. He had fallen halfway to the ground before he recovered from his dazed state, and decided that another course of action should be taken. The plasma ball was growing rapidly and roiling menacingly above the base as it threatened to destroy it. As he hovered there in thought, about a dozen flying saucers descended out of the hangar that opened up and flew at him quickly. He smirked slightly and moved over to meet them, forgetting the plasma ball for a moment as he waited for one of them to make a move. They seemed very reluctant. One brave alien zipped away from its hovering spot and strafed past him, shooting a rocket at him. He dodged out of the way easily and raced towards the attacker, kicking the UFO so hard that it flipped over and started spinning, uncontrollably, towards the ground. Two others began to attack him, but when he punched through the glass of one vehicle and pulled the occupant out, the other hesitated. "AAGH! No! Please, large scary madman, have mercy! I... I didn't mean to electrocute your brain! I'm serious! Takar made me do it! He put me through more torture than anyone could ever bear once when I wouldn't suck someone's brains out! I begged him to kill me because I couldn't take it anymore but he wouldn't! Please, don't hurt me, I'm very vulnerable and easily emotionally scarred!" The alien thrashed in Robotnik's grip, and as he looked down at it, he realized it was the same one who described the problem with the computer to Takar. "Well... You should be more worried about him than about me, right? I don't torture people, I just turn them into robots, or kill them. But I should have mercy on you. So, do you want to go back home?" Robotnik asked curiously. The alien gasped, paled and shook his head slightly. "No... n-no..." "Why not?" "Well, because... because... of him..." "Well, you begged him to kill you, and I'm willing to do that, so what would you rather have?" The alien looked around frantically, trying to avoid the subject. "You're lying to me, aren't you? He doesn't really torture you, does he?" Robotnik asked, sounding like a parent gently chiding his son. "That was just something to get me to feel sorry for you and let you go, right?" The alien nodded, gulping as he desperately admitted his lie, hoping perhaps the doctor would have mercy on him for doing so. "All right. I'll let you go." Robotnik smiled pleasantly and did just that, letting the alien plummet towards the ground hundreds of feet below. Silly alien. All of the other ships immediately retreated back into the mother craft. Robotnik's ego swelled far beyond comprehension, until he realized that the plasma ball was still charging up. Far away on the Silent Hills, Arashi held Devlin the Devil Chao tightly, afraid for Robotnik's life. She watched through the telescope goggles as the doctor hovered about in the air for a moment, then darted up towards the charging mechanism on the bottom of the ship. What was he DOING!? He was heading right for the plasma ball with no apparent intentions of changing his course! He looked pretty sure of himself, but... Robotnik knew he could make it through the plasma before any significant damage was dealt. He blazed through the air, eventually into the giant ball, and smashed into the charging mechanism, hoping he could just get out of there before the really big final explosion came. Forks of green lightning danced around the damaged equipment as the ball of plasma shuddered. Somehow, Robotnik knew that was a mistake, but it would still destroy the ship. Lucky that he couldn't feel pain, the doctor darted away from the charger and tried to get out of the plasma ball before anything nasty happened... he didn't. Arashi's jaw dropped in horror as she watched the gigantic explosion consume ship, base and Robotnik. The force of it was so great that she could feel the shock wave 50 miles away, and it completely leveled the mountain range. "IVO!" Arashi shouted in despair at the mushroom cloud that grew where the menacing base used to be. The four chao that were with her stared, not comprehending what had happened, but the looks on their faces meant that they knew it wasn't good. Arashi pulled out the transportation device, grabbed up all the chao and pressed a few random buttons, warping just outside of the border of the cloud. She ran into it, yelling for Robotnik and coughing, waving her arms to try to clear the dust. Eventually she realized she'd run too far, and had no idea where she was. She ran frantically for a moment, then fell over a hunk of metal, smacking her head on a boulder, and everything went black. The dust was finally beginning to clear. The four chao sat crying, looking at the huge amount of rubble and destruction. They were the only thing that could be heard. It was otherwise silent. After a long while, something moved within the rubble. Slowly, a few hunks of metal shifted and clanked as they fell against a rock here, a panel there. A white-gloved hand reached out, clawing at the side of the boulder in exhaustion. Robotnik, now reverted to his normal form, dragged himself out from under 300 pounds of steel, coughing and wheezing. A scene like this was usually reserved for good guys. The exhausted, injured doctor dragged himself several feet before he realized someone was standing nearby. He looked up and found a man dressed in grey and black, holding a box and looking confused. "Um... This is where the Robotnik Mountains... were, right? Uh, are you Doctor Ivo Robotnik?" When the man got a nod in reply, he held the box out. "Here's your copy of Office 2000." With that, he hurried away. Robotnik crawled across the ground, panting, stopping to rest several times. At one point, he raised his head to glance around, and his heart stopped for an instant upon seeing the crumpled form of Arashi lying nearby. "Arashi! What happened to you? Don't tell me you were here during the explosion!" the doctor yelled, moving over to her. He hesitated, then shook her shoulder. Upon waking up, Arashi looked up and her eyes widened in amazement. "You MADE it! I thought you were a goner for sure! I can't believe you made it!" They stood up and he braced himself for the hug. Strangely enough, it never came. Looking down at her, she had the oddest expression on her face as she grabbed the front of his coat, drawing closer to him, her gaze locking with his. ...oh, no... Suddenly, she started to shake him extremely violently. "DON'T YOU EVER PULL ANY KIND OF STUNT LIKE THAT AGAIN! NEVER, EVER, EVER AGAIN! ARRGHHH!" He felt so relieved to get yelled at instead of what had appeared was about to take place. ** Robotnik wandered mournfully through the ruins with Arashi, shaking his head sadly. That base had been his home for years. He had the design perfected, and now it was all gone. He would have to start from scratch all over again. The four little chao toddled along behind the pair, looking around with wide eyes. A thought struck him. He wondered... was it still...? Arashi jumped with a gasp as metal and stone scraped and creaked, shoved out of the way, and the Steel Snake rose up behind her. Blinking dust out of its cold eyes, it flicked its tongue. The two world leaders looked at each other, quirking slight smiles. Collecting up the chao, they hopped into the pod on the snake's back and flew away to make a new home elsewhere. ** Several days later, another hand dragged its owner from the rubble. Takar emerged from what used to be the incinerator room, clutching a handful of ashes. "I'm not going to forget this, Ivo Robotnik!" He stared at the sky, growling and panting. "...I'm not going to forget it!"

[eobot-cryptocurrency-news]

December 28, 2018 at 08:51AM Quantitative Hedge Fund: The Personal Wall Avenue Mount Gox Willy Bot (s)?

Willy Bot in human kind, previous Mt. Mark Karpeles, CEO of Gox

The Wall Avenue Journal printed an article on Tuesday wherein it was defined that buying and selling by computerized hedge funds is guilty, if criticized, for the slowdown of the market as an entire. Depart apart a geopolitics which will simply as nicely be international to anybody who doesn’t simply enter the job market. Hand over various funding alternatives everywhere in the world, together with crypto-currencies. Neglect every thing: blame the terminator bots.

In keeping with the article printed on Christmas Day, almost 30% of transactions on Wall Avenue are finished by way of a computerized algorithm, which in Avenue Converse is a "quantitative hedge fund," and others responsible are "passive funds, index buyers, high-frequency merchants, market makers and others who don’t purchase as a result of they’ve a elementary view of the prospects of a enterprise […]"

Neal Berger, head of asset administration at Eagle's View, a New York-based fund, advised the Journal:

The velocity and extent of the transfer are seemingly exacerbated by machines and model-based buying and selling. People have a tendency to not react so rapidly and violently.

Parallels with Mount Bitcoin Gox

It’s handy guilty business bots when issues go incorrect. It's uncommon to listen to individuals crediting them when issues are going nicely for a similar motive. The algorithms used current a sure diploma of group pondering, as a lot of them are designed by the identical individuals or with the identical enterprise methods in thoughts.

When corporations see their shares improve or crypto-currencies swell by 10 or 100%, nobody complains. That's when robots work as anticipated and take benefit, typically en masse, which causes downward strain, that individuals get itchy and begin asking questions on robots.

Regardless of the overwhelming human wrongdoing that occurred on Mt. Gox, a standard anecdote of the day, particularly earlier than all of the details about MagicalTux, which Mr. Mark Karpeles was knowledgeable, was fraudulent buying and selling bot dubbed Willy was solely guilty. Willy exchanged elements that didn’t exist. Willy did that. Willy did it.

There’s little hope for a future peacefully integrating synthetic intelligence if it’s not determined right now that anybody who makes use of – doesn’t create and even essentially possesses – expertise is liable for the end result of its use.

In case your robotic panics and kills your neighbor's canine, you’re accountable. When you entrust billions of capital to a business bot and your rival eats your lunch, you’re additionally guilty. And naturally, as was the case with Mount. Gox, if a buying and selling robotic continues to pump out the value of bitcoins which have disappeared out of your guard in an odd effort to protect your place as the primary portal of liquidation for a brand new wave of economic expertise, then you’re most likely falling into the lurch. nasty story.

However right here is the actual place to begin that the WSJ has positioned on quantitative corporations with its editorial viewpoint: this implies specifically that there isn’t any actual analysis to be finished.

At the moment, when computer systems begin to purchase, everybody buys; after they promote, everybody sells.

In truth, AI also can analyze extra complete details about corporations. Total, people are in a position to change the selections made by robots. It's not simply primarily based on numbers, though, because the article factors out, momentum performs a much bigger position when choices are automated. Nonetheless, it was so simple as that, it might be straightforward to struggle it from a human viewpoint.

That’s, if the quantitative buying and selling corporations had been so irresponsible that they didn’t use human knowledge or "information" of their choices, it might be comparatively trivial to Complete human powered companies (which do probably not exist) allow them to maintain the bag in a means that mattered. One may argue that they might accomplish that frequently, in order that wholesaling could be discouraged fairly than a serious space of ​​curiosity for monetary expertise corporations.

Many individuals known as the Bitcoin bubble in 2013 and if there had been extra transactions on out there margins, there would have been many extra millionaires hit. Folks known as final yr's craze and bought properly each prime and bitcoin, no matter their private emotions about it.

Enterprise is conflict and enterprise is sweet. No facet of the trendy market depends on expertise, and sooner or later it’s unlikely that 30% of corporations will use robots.

In all honesty, Gregory Zuckerman, Rachael Levy, Nick Timiraos and Gunjan Banerji of the Journal, who’s the creator of the article to which the creator responds, have contacted individuals who perceive that many different components are at stake.

But the thesis of their article is debatable for this journalist – "an unprecedented business flock that strikes in unison". The creator claims that the one actual distinction is the velocity with which they transfer in unison. In spite of everything, holding baggage is never the best place to be quick time period. Very hardly ever. Nonetheless, the authors do their utmost to claim that business robots aren’t in query, and for that they deserve credit score:

After all, the robots didn’t set off the decline. However they devoured a stew of crimson indicators through the second half of the yr.

On the time this text was written, the Dow Jones posted a restoration of greater than 5% after Christmas, its greatest share acquire in a day since 2009 and its largest level acquire of all time . Perhaps we are able to name it "the Fintech impact". If bots are the reason for the market downturn, and even simply an acceleration within the route the place it’s heading already, it goes with out saying that they should be rewarded when issues begin. to alter for the higher. . Furthermore, if all claims about quantitative companies are true, it’s not possible that the good points of the day have occurred with out their participation both.

Chosen picture of Shutterstock. Picture of Karpeles on Bitcoinwiki.org.

Get unique cryptographic evaluation by skilled merchants and buyers on Hacked.com. Register now and get the primary month free. Click on right here. Commercial

The post Quantitative Hedge Fund: The Personal Wall Avenue Mount Gox Willy Bot (s)? appeared first on Eobot.

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2s0qXIp via My WP blog