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wardenbloom · 23 days ago

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Zayne: Within Grasp

Reader x Zayne

Self-aware Zayne; On-going story.

Part 1: The thin line between reality and fiction

So tired... so so soooo tireeedd! arghhh!!

You thought to yourself as you speed up your reports to be submitted tomorrow, the end of the month.

Boss is not helping as well... I wanna go home and see him...

After rendering an overtime, you finally finished the work due tomorrow so you could take the weekend off tomorrow without worrying about work. You bought convenience store food then head straight home. After taking a bath, you laid on your bed and opened your game Love and Deepspace.

Zayne is so handsome...

You blush to yourself while your feet are kicking in the air. The giddy feeling you felt kept you going and somehow, you've become used to it.

Zayne was the one who welcomed you in the Destiny Cafe even though you've set them and their clothing at random. You giggled at the sight of him wearing his favorite dark eyeglasses with his dark wardrobe.

Never escaping the fashionista shades enjoyer allegations.

Doing daily tasks had been a muscle memory. Where to tap, the interaction with Zayne and occasionally listening to secret times until you fall asleep.

Tonight, however, you just want to stare at the man behind the screen. Thinking, maybe, maybe someone out there will treat you like he does.

"Silly... That's why he's fictional. There's no one like him in this world..." You whisper as you tapped into the screen then shortly fell asleep with your thumb resting on his chest.

"To me, you are unlike anyone else." Zayne said while the interface continuously read your thumb's touch.

Zayne took a deep breath.

"Did you somehow fall asleep on your phone?" He whispered as he moved closer to the screen.

"You've been working... too much... sometimes for me and most of the time, for your family." He softly uttered as he reached out.

Maybe its time... To risk it for you.

He smiled then slowly, the game glitched as he forced his way through the screen. From pixels to human flesh., from being reliant to the user interface to being able to feel from his own skin, and from fiction to reality.

He crossed the line that was never supposed to be crossed by anybody.

The next morning, you snuggled against your "warm bolster pillow", rubbing your face against it.

Hm? That's odd... the pillow is kinda hard...

You thought but you didn't open your eyes. You run your hand against it's back and noticed that it doesn't feel like a pillow -- It was warm and it felt like a soft human skin

Suddenly, you felt it breathing slowly.

Huh? Why is my pillow breathing?

You open your eyes and saw someone else's chest.

"AHHH!!!" You shrieked then sat up urgently. Your heart pounded as you thought about a stranger sleeping beside you.

Finally, your eyes landed on the man laying down on his side facing you. His eyes were still closed and his breathing was steady, as if he was recovering from a tired night.

It was the face you're most familiar with, the face you longed to see in your world... the face you knew and accepted that was never going to be real... and yet... and yet...

"Zayne...?" You uttered.

Zayne didn't awoke but continued on sleeping. Your eyes surveyed him from his head to his toes.

What is happening? I should pinch myself-- OW! okay, he's still here... That means I'm not dreaming? What if he's just a projection?

Breathing heavily, you decided to touch him.

Your fingers gently felt his soft cheek and its warmth convinced you that he is real and alive.

Just as you lift your hand, he suddenly took a hold of your wrist. Slowly, he opened his eyes and it's there... the familiar emerald eyes that made you swoon and giggle every time they stare at you.

"So it's you." He uttered then sat up. His cold eyes focused on you.

"Zayne... what are you..." Your mind couldn't process what was happening. Your heart beats rapidly while your breath became heavy.

"You're the person behind that empty vessel." He continued.

"Empty... vessel..? You mean the MC?" You asked and he nodded. "Yes... you could say it like that hahaha..." You laughed nervously as you couldn't help but think that he might get mad at you for using something else to represent your true self in front of him.

"I see. You feel more real now." He smiled then let go of you. "I was wondering why that empty vessel only replies to me in repetitive answers. I was right. There was something that limits our interaction."

He stood up and you noticed how tall he actually was.

I... Holy shit he's so fine in person... I know he's hot as fuck but damn...

"Did you like our story there?" He asked then looked at you.

"... It was romantic but... I don't like that we kept on being apart." You admitted.

You hated seeing it. The same narrative over and over of him dying for you -- It was tiring and you want him to be with you for a very long time.

"Me too. I remember everything and every memories we had but was forced to pretend not to know about it." He chuckled. "It was tough."

"Wait! You remember everything??" You asked while crawling to the side of the bed near him.

"Yes. I have no regrets giving my life or lives up for you." He bent down and moved closer to you. "But... When will we get a happy ending?"

With eyes filled with hope and love, you stood up and held both of his hands in to yours.

"LETS DO IT!" You bravely said.

He looked puzzled and his eye brows were furrowed.

"Do what?" He tilted his head.

"If... if that universe doesn't want us to be together, then maybe, we could do it here! Lets be together and have the happy ending!!" You happily proposed.

For the first time, you heard him laugh his heart out. He clasped both of your hands between his slender hands and kissed them.

You felt flustered as your eyes widened from the sight and from feeling the warmth of his breath against your hands.

"If I knew that the person behind that empty vessel was this enthusiastic and adorable, I would've done this a long time ago." He smiled.

In the afternoon, you decided to buy him clothes at the mall as there was none that fit him from your closet.

"Here, try this on." You gave him a dark colored button up shirt.

"You always choose dark colors for me." He smiled then received the items you wanted him to try on.

"It suits you! The cold ice prince clad in dark wardrobe! Oh!! IF SO COLD, WHY SO HOT??!" You giggled as he smiled at you.

After trying on the clothes, you bought him a lot. I mean, a lot! The same way you want or bought his in game wardrobe, you also want him to dress up comfortably and honestly, he looks good in everything.

As you two walked through the mall, he gently intertwined his fingers with yours. You leaned in close against him as if it was the most natural thing to do.

"How about let's just do the groceries then go back home?" He asked.

"You don't want to eat outside?"

"Well... I do feel uneasy that you bought me a lot of things. I thought I should make something for you in return." He explained and pushed his glasses.

While at the grocery, people around you were staring at Zayne. Some, you could hear the murmurs of them telling how good looking and fine he was while some wanted to ask his Instagram or any social media accounts.

I get it. I get it. He's an eye candy and all but he's mine.

"Are you listening?" He asked and looked at you.

"Oh uhhh.... sorry... I was just looking at this wonderful cabbage. ahaha..." You nervously laughed while running your palm against the poor innocent cabbage.

"I was asking if you have any allergies." He repeated and you shook your head.

He gently smiled at you and tucked your hair behind your ear.

"Don't look at anybody else. Focus on me." He softly uttered.

You took a deep breath to calm your pounding heart and nodded.

Back at your place, he wasted no time and started preparing dinner while you soaked yourself into the warm water of the tub.

Is he really really real?? If there's a God please please... let me have this one...

You thought while hugging your knees.

But... he's not supposed to exist here... what if he just vanishes tomorrow or something...

Wait! I haven't opened the game yet!! If he's there... then...

You stood up and rummaged through the pocket of your jeans that hung by the doorknob.

Opening the app, you saw Rafayel instead of Zayne.

He's not... He's not here...?

The interface showed no signs of Zayne and in the in-game story, all his appearances were left blank.

But.. Infold haven't sent any emergency patch yet? Zayne is literally missing in game!

You made another account and again, there were no signs of Zayne anywhere.

Your heart sank -- partly afraid and partly creeped out of what was actually happening. You hurriedly browsed your social media accounts to see if anybody noticed that he was missing in game but no one was talking about it -- as if he never existed in the game.

Zayne... what did you do...?

You changed into your house clothes then opened the door and saw him waiting for you. Your hands held both his arms and gently pushed him against the wall and he let you.

Zayne looked at you, his expression was no different -- he was stoic but his eyes looked puzzled.

"Zayne. I will ask you this. How did you cross the game to reality?" You looked at him straight in the eye, expecting an honest answer.

He took a deep breath and gently held both of your hands.

"For months... no. For almost a year, I've had my suspicions that there's another being controlling that empty vessel..." He explained. "All those repetitive answers, repetitive questions... the pointless reason of why I had to go to that cafe every time... I've been looking for answers."

Your eyes widened.

"And here's my answer. To the Astra who kept on separating us... to the people who made it so that we won't ever be happy together... to you... who chose me every time." He moved closer to you but you walked backwards away from him. Suddenly, you felt afraid as you are unsure of his existence and intentions.

Who are you..?

He walked closer to you but you kept on moving backwards until there was nowhere to go. Your back gently laid on the wall as he touched the wall behind, cornering you.

"Did you not want this too?" He asked while he leaned down to meet you at eye level.

Your breathing was heavy but your eyes couldn't look away from him. He moved his face closer to yours... so close that your lips felt his warm breath.

His eyes were half closed as he slowly leaned in for a kiss. But just as before your lips touched, a sharp alarm was heard from the kitchen.

As if snapping back to reality, Zayne stood up straight and cleared his throat.

"Well... dinner's about to be ready. I should arrange the table." He said then walked towards the kitchen.

Your heart was still pounding and your mind couldn't filter which emotions to feel. Were you afraid? Giddy? Happy? Scared?

You clutched your chest and took a deep breath.

Calm down... Calm down... If he's the very same Zayne from the game, he wouldn't do anything to hurt me.

You convinced yourself then went to the dining area.

>> Part 2

#love and deepspace #lads #fanfic #fanfiction #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #li shen #lads fanfic #ongoing #zayne x reader #zayne x you #love and deepspace fanfiction

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estherax · 9 months ago

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So... what do we think about XXX Nightshift? I just saw the trailer and I'm not so sure about it

The user interface, the dialogue box and the skills are carbon copies of Disco Elysium, the only significant difference is the skill portraits (they could be placeholders)

Game description from the trailer is quite something: "Set in 2086, you play a Patrol Op, Dinorah Katz, who is stranded at a luxury Ski resort in Antarctica. This original science-fiction setting lands you in a resort that shouldn’t exist with people that you shouldn’t know with the endless polar night covering a multitude of sins."

The studio being connected to Kaur Kender also raises some questions...

I'm hoping at least one of these "Disco Elysium spiritual successors" will be half as good as the original.... am I being too harsh or are the vibes just off??

#i might be too critical but the standard de has set will be hard to meet #disco elysium #za/um #xxx nightshift #dark math

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absolmon · 1 year ago

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I've seen people complain that he treats others like objects early on but they were just flat background characters to him until he transmigrated. And I think part of why he tries to hold onto this fiction for so long is because he doesn't want to breakdown. You wouldn't consider someone evil for killing an NPC in a video game, right? So him killing the Skinner is just removing a tutorial boss in his mind, even though on a deeper level SY is horrified. If there's one thing we can all agree SY excels at it's compartmentalizing.

I feel like enough people don't acknowledge that a big part of the reason that Shen Yuan acts the way he does about the people around him is because the System is essentially gamifying his interactions with them. He literally gets points and objectives from interacting with others via a user interface. There's a shop to get cheats!

The System presents itself like a video game but it also obscures information from SY and railroads him when he tries to break free from its script. All of the dialogue options the System gives him are like Glass Him. As far as SY can tell he's been trapped in a flat world as the only real human being and the System puts in work to keep it that way. The only thing the System cares about is having an interesting story and it doesn't care about either the people of PIDW or its transmigrators.

#SVSSS #Grae Rumbles #Shen Yuan #Shen Qingqiu #I Feel Like I Could Say More But I'm A Little Foggy At The Moment

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weathermanpolls · 1 month ago

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Adeptus Astartes: The second ancestor of all powered armour, and the proliferator of Space Marines. They are genetically-engineered epic space knights. They can survive atmospheric entry with nothing but a jetpack, have motorcycles that are basically tankettes that let them rove the battlefield, but their most important power is space magic and plot armour. Despite, or in fact, BECAUSE of the space magic, they have the hardest science fiction setting, to the point that their epic, holy boltgun works entirely on existing technology.

Bianco Angelo: Ascended human wearing a suit of armour animated using demon magic, creating one of the most unique enemies in video games history.

Bonta-kun: Teenage combat vet that can only think of combat is giving a mascot outfit, and what does he do? Turn it into Powered Armour. This is downright silly, but the bulky outfit gives more than enough room for the mechanical aspects. It's a notable outlier in a world filled with either epic space knights or realistically mundane powered armour.

Exo-Frame: One of the first attempts to create something other than powered armour and mecha. It was created as a North American competitor with anime, but just wasn't good enough to actually be much more than a Saturday morning cartoon. Most of the things getting reboots nowadays are either: a) already fantastic, and therefore the reboot has to be as good as one of the best stories ever created, b) terrible, with no attempt to make it better, c) good, and obviously being remade for woke bullshit points. Seriously, Exo-Squad is the property that could be done fantastically with a reboot. Stop being a cartoon, and be an animated medium.

Hard Suit: Mass Effect is a hard science fiction setting that gets caught up in Lovecraftian cosmic horrors. Like everything else, it tries to make the science as hard as possible, and as such makes it the most plausible suit for future combat. They can survive in space, and most planetary environments, have impact-resistance as good as they can manage without severely limited their ability to move as infantry. It also includes a whole host of tools that are integral to pretty much everything, to the point that every hard suit can be used to weld a ship back together, can help interface with a ship's controls, coordinate communication and fire control, etc.

Iron Man: One of the few powered armours that actually take flight into consideration, and shows how powerful an individual that can fly would be. His suit actually uses every part of itself as a flight surface, and can kill dozens of mundane soldiers all around him in a split second.

Landmate: An attempt at creating plausible powered armour. Too focused on what was plausble to think of the possible, it turns out feeling incredibly mundane. This is probably the first time that powered-armour felt visceral and real.

Mjollnir: The predecessor of the mundane video game powered armour. This managed to skirt the line between making the use feel like a super human, and making the user feel like an ordinary soldier going to war.

Mobile Infantry: The ancestor of all powered armour, and as powerful as you can get without space magic or plot armour. They have jump jets, (introducing the concept), that let them move at 60mph while jumping over tall buildings, have orbital drop pods that peel away, leaving clouds of debris, and allowing them to survive atmospheric entry, they carry peewee nukes, might be the ancestors of laser swords, (Heinlein loved being vague with details like this), and most importantly of all, can do everything infantry can. This last part is something that is almost always ignored. You can apparently still dance a jig and crack and egg without breaking it, (assuming you could do these things before hand). They also use space flamer throwers before they were cool.

Mobile Suit: The creator of the mecha genre, explicitly a byproduct of Mobile Infantry, (including the fact that Sunrise actually did a Starship Troopers show beforehand). Heinlein was notably lacking in details about how big powered armour was, and the mobile suits are almost a viable variation. Other than the fact they are basically walking tanks, that can do little in the way actual infantry. Note: I'm not including Gundams, because they are powered by plot.

VF-1: They take a mecha and let it transform into a space fighter. This gives it the capability to fly across a continent before engaging in pseudo-infantry combat. This is something no one else even TRIES to do without space magic, super hero technology, or plot armoury.

Was Warmech the first steam powered armour? No. Maybe? But it's by far the most interesting.

Note: If you are wondering why something is missing, it's likely because someone else had a similar concept sooner. Like Fallout heavily uses powered armour, but doesn't actually do anything interesting with it.

#powered armour #mecha #polls #40k #adeptus astartes #iron man #appleseed #landmate #halo #spartan #starship troopers #the book #mobile infantry #gundam

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shadowsofdarkness · 12 days ago

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Self Is a Mental Construct: Neuroscience Connects With Nonduality

“There is no self to awaken. Only awakening from the illusion of self.”

We live with a deep assumption that there is a fixed, enduring “I” behind our eyes—a central self that thinks our thoughts, makes our decisions, and owns our experiences. We speak from this self, defend it, improve it, and suffer on its behalf.

But what if this self—the “me” we feel so intimately—is not what it seems?

Modern neuroscience, completely aligned with ancient nondual wisdom, suggests the self is not a concrete entity but a mental construct, a useful fiction. This realization doesn’t diminish our humanity—it clarifies it. And ultimately, it points to a truth that Nonduality’s teachings has whispered for millennia: the self is not real—and that’s true freedom.

—--------------------------------------------------------

Neuroscience of the Self: A Story the Brain Tells

Over the past few decades, cognitive neuroscience has made remarkable discoveries about the brain’s role in producing our sense of self. The “self” turns out not to be located in any one brain region. Rather, it emerges from the coordination of multiple systems: those managing memory, body awareness, language, and social interaction.

Key players in this illusion include:

The Default Mode Network (DMN): Active when we’re daydreaming, reflecting on ourselves, or imagining the future. The DMN is strongly linked to self-referential thinking—inner narratives about “me.”

The Insula: Processes internal bodily sensations (like hunger or heart rate), grounding the sense of “my body.”

The Prefrontal Cortex: Involved in decision-making, planning, and assigning meaning—often colored by identity.

These parts of the brain work together to create what neuroscientist Anil Seth calls a "controlled hallucination"—a constantly updated model of who we are. This model feels real. But it’s more like a user interface than a true reflection of what’s behind the screen.

As philosopher and neuroscientist Thomas Metzinger puts it:

“There is no such thing as a self—just a model of self being used by the brain.”

The brain tells a story, and we believe it. But like a movie projected onto a screen, it has no substance of its own.

—--------------------------------------------------------

Dissolving the Illusion: What Nonduality Has Always Known

Ancient contemplative traditions were examining the self through direct experience long before all of these discoveries from neuroscience.

In Advaita Vedanta, Buddhism, and Dzogchen, the central insight is that the self—the personal “I”—is not a real, separate entity. It’s a mental fabrication, constantly rebuilt from thoughts, sensations, and identification.

When these traditions guide you to inquire, “Who am I?”, the goal is not to find the answer—but to realize that no solid self can be found.

The practice in these traditions is not to believe this intellectually—but to look directly.

To inquire: “Who am I, really?”

“When you look for the self, all you find are thoughts, sensations, perceptions. The one looking is also part of the illusion.” - Rupert Spira

Meditative practice or sustained inquiry reveals that what we normally take to be “me” is just a wealth of fleeting experiences: thoughts coming and going, sensations rising and falling. The sense of being a separate self collapses. There is no core behind them—only awareness itself, watching it all arise and pass.

This isn’t nihilistic or abstract—it’s profoundly liberating. When the illusion of a separate self softens, there’s a falling away of effort, of defense, of suffering rooted in identity. What remains is openness. Stillness. Presence.

—--------------------------------------------------------

Where Science & Silence Meet:

Here’s where things get fascinating: neuroscientists studying long-term meditators have begun to observe what contemplatives have long described.

Through deep meditation, the activity of the default mode network—the part of the brain most associated with the personal self—quietly fades. And when it does, practitioners often report the same thing: “There was no more ‘me.’ Just awareness. Just experience.”

These are not people in trance or asleep. They are awake, alert, functional—but the normal boundaries of “I” and “not-I” have dissolved.

"Consciousness is not personal. It doesn’t belong to anyone. The self is just an idea appearing in it."

— Sam Harris

At these depths, both neuroscience and Nonduality describe a human mind that can operate without the constant narration of self. Without the inner voice that claims ownership of every thought, every breath.

—-------------------------------------------------------

If There Is No Self, What Are You?:

"You believe yourself to be the body and mind, but what you truly are is the witnessing presence—unbound, untouched." — Papaji (H.W.L. Poonja)

This is the inevitable question. If I am not this voice in my head, not this story of "me," then what am I?

What remains is pure awareness—not belonging to anyone, not located in time, not personal. You could call it presence, being, or just… this.

In this space, there is still perception, still life, still relationship. Experience continues—sights, sounds, interactions, all unfold naturally. But there's no one at the helm. Life moves on its own, effortlessly, without a ‘me’ directing the show.

"You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop." — Rumi

—--------------------------------------------------------

Final Reflection:

"There is only consciousness, modulating as the mind, body, and world." — Francis Lucille

The insight that the self is a construct—while potentially disorienting—is also a gateway to freedom.

It doesn’t mean we stop functioning, loving, or living. It simply means we no longer carry the burden of being someone fixed, separate, or in control. There is a profound peace in letting go of the one who was never really there.

Let science describe the mechanics. Let silence reveal the mystery.

In the end, what you are is not a story, not a structure, not even a self.

You are this—consciousness, presence, life itself..

#spiritual awakening #self-realization #consciousness #nonduality #awareness

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haknamindustries · 1 year ago

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Research: representation of photography in futuristic media. Mobile Suit Gundam Narrative. Released in 2018, set in UC 0096 (2176). The Gundam franchise has been going on since 1979 and with 20+ entries in the U.C. (universal century) timeline alone, it's an interesting source for comparison of how the representation of photography, books and cameras has changed over the years within the same fictional universe.

#gundam narrative #fictional user interface #design fiction

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scipunk · 7 months ago

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Alien (1979)

#alien movie #scifiedit #science fiction #nostromo #spaceship #interiors #spacecraft #atmospheric #scifi aesthetic #cyberpunk aesthetic #graphic design #user interface #user interaction #space ship #gifs #gifset #sigourney weaver #ian holm

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warakami-vaporwave · 1 year ago

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adidas84

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madnessofmen · 10 months ago

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One of my pet peeves in robot fiction is AIs using HUDs or GUIs to interact with its own systems. Those are graphical user interfaces. They're for humans. Robots aren't users; they are the computer. They don't need that. Even if the AI is purely software and has no native integration with the hardware, it would use an API (application program interface), which is still just straight code.

A robot wouldn't get a pop-up saying low battery, nor would it have to close it. They would experience it like a human. The robot would be alerted in the same way a human just becomes aware of the sensation of itching or hunger: you're always processing data and now there's a new type of data which is different. And the way it would dismiss the alert would be to just decide to do nothing about it.

Problems can occur when 1) the signal interrupts other processes and the error must be addressed before other processes can continue, but for whatever reason the error can't be fixed, or 2) the signal is non interrupting, but it's being sent so repeatedly/frequently that it floods the incoming data queue.

#robot fiction

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malevolent-muse · 7 months ago

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Echoes from the Edge - NBC Hannibal Fan Fiction -

I got bitten by a particularly feisty plot bunny and ended up contracting a touch of writer's rabies. The only cure? Writing this one-shot to get it out of my system! I think it makes for a decent read. *fingers crossed* Okay, I know crossover stories can be a little controversial, but hear me out—both Hannibal and Law & Order: Criminal Intent were NBC shows, so it actually makes sense to pair them together! All I’m doing is taking a character from one world and dropping him into the twisted, psychological universe of Hannibal. I promise, it’s not as crazy as it sounds. Stick with me on this one!

Fandom: Hannibal/Law&Order:CI Status: Complete Word Count: 2,902 Rating: Teen Summary: After the bloody crescendo of Hannibal Lecter's twisted relationship with Will Graham, the aftermath demands clarity. With FBI investigators reeling, Jack Crawford turns to an outsider: NYPD Detective Robert Goren, a seasoned profiler known for his uncanny insight and unorthodox methods.

Goren arrives to sift through the wreckage, unburdened by the tangled web of involvement with either Lecter or Graham. But as he delves into the crime scene, he finds himself haunted by the lingering remnants of the chaos. The scene tells a story of a trap, betrayal, and violence.

Can Goren uncover the truth Jack seeks, or will the echoes from the edge of the Atlantic leave him questioning more than just the case at hand?

*** Cross Posted on AO3 - which has a better user interface for fanfic, IMO.

Like this work? Join the Tag List

Tagged: @agoraphobiaismyname , @cherryyredd8 , @irlmarkhoffman , @eat-sleep-ship-the-ships , @tujhse-raabta , @gabalicious-g , @buggaboorenegade, @diaely, @blessupblessup, @jssnsl , @fancybananagarden , @thebkwyrm , @breannaherman638 , @drwho-ess , @malindacath , @mrsmorganprentiss , @privatetruths

The wind carried a chill as it whipped around Jack Crawford, tugging at the edges of his upturned collar. Not far away, the roar of the ocean echoed faintly in his ears as he waited. The gravel road that led to the cliff-side house was long and winding. And even though the car was in sight, it still took a few minutes for it to reach its destination.

Grime from the road covered the black exterior, making the vehicle look more gray than anything else. Beneath the dirt, with its New York tags, the license plate was barely visible. Grinding to a halt a few paces from the Agent-in-Charge of the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, a cloud of dust billowed around the car’s tires.

A man emerged from the driver's side of the vehicle. Exiting, he stretched his legs and squared his shoulders beneath a brown trench coat.

Jack eyed him thoughtfully, foremost noticing the man’s striking height and imposing build.

“Detective Goren,” Jack greeted him.

Approaching, the detective returned, “Agent Crawford.”

"I take it that you’ve read over the notes I sent?”

“Yes,” Goren said with a nod. “Were you able to secure the photos I asked for?”

Holding up the thick folder in his hand, the FBI agent wordlessly indicated his response.

“Come,” Jack instructed. “Follow me. I’ll show you to the crime scene.”

It was as the pair of them plodded up the footpath to the house that Jack realized he had been rather remiss in his niceties.

“I suppose I should thank you,” he stated.

“For what?”

“For coming all the way down from New York.”

“Did I have a choice, Agent Crawford?” Goren questioned. “I am aware of the strings you had to pull to get me here. You do know that I’m not the only profiler on the Eastern Seaboard, don’t you?”

“My options were limited.”

There was a hint of cautious speculation in the detective’s voice as he replied, “Will Graham’s been teaching at Quantico for a while now. Before then, he was in the field. Would it be fair to surmise that he has close ties to or has trained most of your agents?”

In response, Jack grunted a wordless reply. He was acutely aware that he had placed Will in a position where fellow profilers, both unseasoned and experienced, held him in high regard. Bringing any of those individuals into this investigation would not be prudent.

“All I’m saying is that I was surprised to get the call,” Goren supplied. “I knew Will too, after all. Even if it was just in passing.”

At this, Jack chuckled.

“Hard to imagine Declan Gage’s protégé being surprised.”

Behind him, the agent could hear the footsteps abruptly halt. Jack paused as well, turning to look at the NYPD detective.

“With all due respect, Agent Crawford,” Goren said, his jaw visibly tightening as he met Jack’s gaze, “is that why I’m here? Because Declan Gage was my mentor 30 years ago? I’m not gonna lie. If you’re going to associate me with Declan, I can get right back in my car and head home to New York.”

Uneasy at having inadvertently upset the detective, Jack explained, “I meant no disrespect. Declan Gage was one of the best.”

“And yet, I cannot think of a worse legacy to leave behind,” Goren replied with a huff.

“Because his daughter began murdering people?”

“Jo just desperately wanted his attention. Declan was the one who went truly insane. My brother is dead because of him.”

“That,” Jack replied, extending the folder with the crime scene photos, “is exactly why I need your skills, Detective Goren.”

Goren silently took the folder, as though he were accepting an unspoken apology.

Jack continued, “My former agent followed a similar path. Will Graham has unique abilities, but he is not the only person to possess such talent. I need someone who can walk that line without falling over the edge and going insane.”

Turning slowly on his heel, Jack walked the remaining few yards toward Hannibal Lecter’s cliff-side home. It was an impressive structure of concrete and steel. With a roof that resembled a bird in flight, and glass walls giving the illusion of nothing but air beneath, it was unforgettable. It was only its solitary position along the bluff that afforded it any pretense of anonymity.

The NYPD detective had now come to stand alongside Jack. Though, instead of staring at the house, Goren’s attention was primarily focused on the contents of the file’s manilla folds. Thumbing through the stack of glossy photos, he remained silent.

Shifting a bit in his shoes, Jack questioned, “Where would you like to start first?”

“Outside,” Goren answered flatly, briefly lifting his head and nodding in the direction of the patio.

“That’s where Dolarhyde was found.”

“Francis Dolarhyde? The man that the papers called The Tooth Fairy?”

Though the perpetrator was dead, the weight of his crimes still weighed heavily on Jack’s heart. And so it was with a sigh that he answered, “Yes.”

Unmoved by the agent’s apparent unrest, Goren questioned further, “Wasn’t this the plan? To use Dr. Lecter to lure in Dolarhyde?”

His face contorting with frustration, Jack clarified, “The plan was to take Hannibal to a secure location. Not here. I wish I could explain where it all went wrong, but all the other agents and officers involved in transportation that day are dead. It took us too long to find this place and when we did ... we could only locate Dolarhyde’s body.”

Goren’s fingers flipped through the photos until he came to one that pictured Dolarhyde’s remains. The image only conveyed a two-dimensional sense of the scene, but Jack didn’t need to look at the photograph to remember the condition of the dead man’s body. Spread eagle on the patio’s stone square stone slabs, the dark blood had blossomed out around the corpse.

Pulling the picture out from amongst its fellows, the detective strode out onto the stone terrace. Goren’s eyes flickered back and forth between the image in his hand and the scene of the crime. It wasn’t until he had positioned himself in the exact spot from where the photo was taken that he stopped and merely stared at the ground.

“Detective?” Jack questioned, coming to stand across from the seasoned investigator but careful not to step into the area where the serial murderer’s body had lain.

Instead of answering, Goren simply handed back the file with its remaining photographs. He seemed to expect the FBI agent to hold on to them, protecting them from being blown away in the wind. However, it felt strange to Jack to be playing second fiddle to a lowly police detective; especially without so much as a “please” or “thank you.” He wondered if this was how Goren typically operated. Little doubt this is how the detective had earned a reputation for being odd.

Goren crouched down, the hem of his suit pants lifting to reveal the tops of his worn black leather shoes: a minor detail quickly overshadowed by what the detective did next. With his head lowered and cocked to the side, the detective’s face was parallel to the ground as he stared out towards the edge of the terrace and, just beyond it, the cliff’s edge.

A bit unnerved by the detective’s methods, Jack found himself supplying information about the condition of Dolarhyde’s body, despite not being asked.

“A shell casing was found out here, but Dolarhyde wasn’t shot. His death was of a more violent nature. They didn’t use a gun to kill him, but rather a knife and an ax.”

“And teeth,” Goren added.

“That would’ve been Hannibal.”

“Are you sure Graham acted alongside him?”

“Will was drawn to Hannibal like a moth to a flame, except he knew better and tried to keep his distance. The problem was the flame, in this analogy, craved the moth and wouldn’t cooperate without him. Am I making sense?”

Goren lifted his head and sat back on his heels, replying, “A convoluted analogy, but I get the picture.”

“Analysis of the DNA recovered revealed three distinct profiles. I don’t think I need to tell you who they belonged to.”

“Both Lecter and Graham were injured during the altercation,” the detective noted.

Jack nodded and said, “There was a lot of blood.”

“I know.”

“Of course, the photos.”

“The smell,” Goren corrected.

“The smell?” Jack questioned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Detective, it’s been over a week. There’s been rain. You can’t possibly smell a thing.”

Tracing his finger along the sand between the patio stones, Goren briefly brought it up to his nose. His lids closed over his deep brown eyes as he inhaled deeply.

“Most of it seeped into the ground,” the detective said, “and only the faintest scent remains. But it is there.”

As much as the FBI agent was intrigued by Goren’s talents, he hadn’t brought the man all the way down from New York to tell him things he already knew. However, not truly knowing what made the detective tick, Jack was limited in the ways he could nudge the process along.

“That,” Jack finally said, after a moment of deliberation, “doesn’t tell me where they’ve gone. We know they were injured, and yet the only evidence we found points to their arrival on the property. There’s nothing indicating how they left.”

Goren shifted out of his crouch, straightening his legs and bringing himself to his full height. A few long strides were all it took for him to cross the patio and make his way over to the edge of the cliff.

“Maybe they didn’t leave,” he tentatively speculated.

At this suggestion, Jack gave a disgruntled huff.

“Goren,” he challenged, “there’s no sign that they went back into the house. And my team searched every nook and cranny of the structure.”

Jack glanced back over his shoulder at the house. A massive sheet of plastic rattled tightly in the ocean breeze as it covered the space once occupied by the floor-to-ceiling window that had formed much of the living room’s outer wall. Consequently, there was a considerable amount of broken glass still remaining on the exposed concrete slab that made up the structure’s foundation.

“We even scanned for trapdoors and concealed passages,” Jack continued, his tone tinged with frustration. “It’s like they disappeared into thin air.”

Looking back at the detective, Jack immediately noticed that Goren was now standing just at the brink of the cliff’s edge.

“Detective?!” he said, his voice raised ever so slightly. “I think you’re close enough.”

“Are you afraid of heights, Agent?” Goren called back.

“I am not afraid. I just have a healthy respect for the consequences of falling from a great height.”

A sizable stone lay between the terrace and the sheer drop of the precipice. Goren lowered himself onto it.

“The sea is eroding the bluff,” Goren said quietly.

The soft cadence of the detective’s voice drew Jack closer as he strained to hear him over the distant roar of waves crashing far below.

Resting his arms behind his back, Jack replied, “Such is the course of nature. It ebbs and flows with time.”

Another moment passed, perhaps two, where neither of them spoke. Once again, Jack found himself breaking the silence.

“Should we go into the house? There is more I’d like you to see.”

Goren turned his gaze back toward the agent, though his focus seemed elsewhere. Pensive, his eyes traveled from the spot near the raised metal fire pit (where Dolarhyde’s body had been found) back to the edge of the cliff. This, in itself, was not unusual. However, the detective’s eyes flickered, as though tracking movement. It was as if he were watching a scene play out before him.

“Detective?” Jack questioned.

When the other man gave no response, Jack tried again.

“Goren, what do you see?”

Still, the detective remained silent.

Jack stepped closer and prodded one last time.

“Robert.”

The detective shifted his line of sight, the glaze of aberration leaving his eyes as he focused on the agent standing before him.

A smile played at the corners of Goren’s lips as he spoke.

“It’s just ‘Bobby,’ Agent Crawford. Not ‘Robert.’”

“Okay, then, Bobby. What do you see?”

Instead of answering, Goren posed a question of his own.

“The wall of glass…” he speculated. “It shattered. How many casings did you say you found?”

“Just the one,” Jack replied.

“And the gun?”

“It was located in the house, along with an antique video camera. There’s also a significant amount of blood, mostly Hannibal’s and Will’s. Though I should mention that a wine bottle was found smashed on the floor, so you’ll probably smell that first.”

“Glass like that doesn’t shatter easily.”

Confused, the FBI agent asked, “The wine bottle?”

“No,” Goren clarified. “The window would have been made of multiple layers of tempered glass laminated together. It was only by shooting it out that Dolarhyde gained entry into the house.”

Finally catching on to the detective’s line of reasoning, Jack picked up where Goren had left off.

“Hannibal and Will would’ve been in plain view,” he said, outlining what might’ve happened next on the night of the Tooth Fairy’s death. “The plan worked. They lured him in.”

“Was the plan that when Dolarhyde attacked them, they would fight back and kill him?” Goren questioned sharply.

It was at that moment, Jack fell silent, unwilling to answer.

“Who did you want dead??” Goren asked.

“The plan was a gamble to begin with. Everyone involved knew the risks.”

“Did they? Tell me, Agent Crawford, whose life did you risk without a moment of hesitation?”

“I think you know,” Jack bit back.

“Doctor Lecter?”

Jack gave a curt nod. There was no need to elaborate.

With a look of incredulity, Goren questioned, “How many men died that day just for you to put Hannibal Lecter in the line of fire?”

“Eight.”

Goren abruptly stood, turning his back on the FBI agent and once again facing out toward the Atlantic. Taking a single step forward, he muttered under his breath, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Alarmed, Jack quickly moved within arm’s reach of the detective. Goren was dangerously close to the edge—too close. If the need arose, Jack was prepared to grab him, ready to stop the detective from tumbling over the precipice.

“A decision had to be made,” Jack explained. “I was merely the one who made it.”

“And what about the men who died? What about Will Graham? You said it yourself. He was like a moth to the flame.”

Unable to find the words to explain why he had done what he did, Jack swallowed hard. He blinked away the rising emotion and, as he always had before, maintained his unwavering demeanor.

“Like a moth to the flame,” Goren uttered, briefly repeating his prior sentiment. “It wouldn’t change him, though.”

“What wouldn’t?”

“Getting consumed by Lecter’s intensity.”

Confused by what the detective meant, Jack waited for Goren to provide some clarifying remark.

“Empathy is a terrible gift,” Goren continued. “To knowingly be attracted to something that causes so much pain... feeling that pain. Will would want to stop it, even as he was consumed by his desire for it.”

Jack paused, acutely feeling the wind snap at his face, making his blood run cold.

“What are you saying?”

Goren craned his neck, looking down the bluff’s ridges of earth and rock until his eyes met the ocean below.

“They went over the edge,” he said. “The waves smashing them against the rocks or currents pulling them out to sea. They are gone, Agent Crawford, one way or another.”

Skeptically, Jack asked, “You think they were so careless to topple over the edge?”

“No. I think Will put an end to not only his suffering but Hannibal’s ability to inflict more.”

Leaning back on his heels, Jack stuffed his free hand in his pocket and grimly stated, “They’re dead.”

“Dead?” the detective postulated. “Most likely. But I can’t say for certain. Reading a scene is one thing,” he continued, gesturing toward the patio, “but the ocean is another. Still, I very much doubt they would’ve survived the fall.”

“So, that’s it, then?”

Goren sighed softly, the sound a quiet lament that seemed at odds with his imposing stature. The loose dirt and small rocks beneath his shoes made a grating noise as he turned and walked back onto the stone terrace. As he passed, he silently placed the photograph of Dolarhyde’s body atop the folder still clutched in Jack’s hands, a subtle yet telling gesture.

“There’s no evidence they returned to the house,” he remarked. “Nor is there any indication they drove away or walked off. There’s only one possibility left, and Will had both the means and the motivation. It’s enough to close this case, even with the unknowns. ‘All suspects are either dead or presumed dead.’”

As Jack watched the other man leave the scene, he raised his voice and protested, “Presuming that Hannibal Lecter is dead is pure folly, Bobby.”

“And it is pure folly to chase after ghosts!” Goren shot back, pausing long enough to turn and look at Agent Crawford. “Dead or alive, the lingering memory of what happened here will haunt you either way. There’s nothing else you can do that you haven’t already done. Trust me, I know from experience.”

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