#monitor display panel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stevieschrodinger · 3 months ago

Text

Eddie cries out in pain, “ah shitting fuck!” he yells across the bay, reflexively pushing off with a booted foot so his stool rolls away from the danger, his hurt fingers shoved unceremoniously in his mouth to nurse away the sting.

“Whatsit?” Robin sits up in her bunk, fluff of hair sticking up at all angles.

“Nothing. Nothing, sorry, fucking thing shocked me, go back to sleep.”

“Timesit?”

“I dunno,” Eddie looks around vaguely, looking across the untidy bank of tools and control panels he squints at the nearest monitor, “one ish.”

Robin humphs. Rubs at her eyes. Then just, sits for a bit, staring at nothing. “Want a hot drink?” She ends up volunteering, sticking her bare legs out from under the covers and sliding out from her bunk. She pulls on her dungarees from where they were abandoned on the floor.

“You ask me that like we have options,” Eddie peers down at his latest project, sliding a viewer over his mask to get a closer look. The numbers flashing in the peripheral vision make absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever.

Robin yawns, forcing her feet into her boots, the laces loose and scraggly, “sounds better than ‘would you like caffeine reconstituted from the caffeine you pissed out yesterday’, though, right?” It’s a much trodden route, this conversation, one they have most days. It’s familiar, comforting. Shores them up for the long journey. Eddie hums but doesn’t answer, “where’s Chris?”

“Cockpit, said something about checking The Belt again.”

Robin mumbles something about Chrissy’s constant paranoia when it comes to crossing The Belt, but leaves to get them their drinks. Eddie gets it though, they all have their things. Their little routines, their charms, their talismans their...things. Things that get them through. The asteroid belt doesn’t change unless someone changes it, all those little rocks floating around on their reliable courses until...something nudges one. It’s a domino effect then, and crossing the belt is hazardous enough without outside forces fucking it up.

It wasn’t a problem until Mars, the catastrophic failure of the Synthetics, and the war that humanity very squarely lost. There had been laws before, the mining companies who were scalping the belt had a million feet of red tape to get through to make sure they weren't affecting shipping lanes and yada yada yada.

Now. The Synths do whatever the fuck they like, and it’s not like they're ever going to inform humanity of where they’re drilling.

So, Eddie tinkers, Chrissy checks the belt, and Robin bitches at both of them.

“So...what do you think he is?” Robin swivels around uselessly in the chair next to him.

“Sex bot, definitely.”

Robin snorts a laugh, “got a big dick huh?”

“He is very...anatomically correct,” Eddie closes the hatch, tugs carefully at the synths hair until he finds the next panel along, unhitches it with his home brew magnet arrangement. Not how you’re supposed to do it, but Synth construction companies don’t exactly share their tech.

“You sure it’s okay? Bringing him on board?”

Eddie hums vaguely, “no idea what model he is exactly, but the wreckage was old Robs. Pre One old, plus the Mars Synths never go further than the belt, they don’t have a reason to. Depending on how long he’s been floating about...I mean it’s unlikely, is what I’m saying.”

Eddie tries a different connection, moving carefully, the work very fine and delicate, he follows the numbers on his display. The connection slithers tight when it catches, and there’s the very, very slightest hum of a power up. In the corner of Eddie’s vision, the numbers all flash green.

On the table, the Synths eyes open. The iris goes from large to small, pupils go from wide and black to a pinprick, before it relaxes to something resembling normal. Hazel iris’, Eddie can’t help but notice, strange color, for a Synth, not one Eddie’s ever seen before. Green speckled with brown and gold. Really pretty, and far more detail than Eddie’s ever seen in one of these before. Especially for a sex bot model, if that’s what he is.

The Synth blinks four times in quick succession, indicating a hard reboot, his iris’ are now white with a fine blue ring, the beautiful hazel gone.

The eyes close, and the numbers go all haywire. Flashing yellow and red. Eddie watches as the numbers tell him the Synth has powered off again.

“Did it work?” Robin peers over his shoulder.

“No,” Eddie rolls over to his work station, goes over the scans again, “but I don’t know why. He definitely booted that time, but there’s damage that either I can’t find or...it’s too complex for me. It’s hitting a step and then won’t go any further.”

“So it’s software right? Not hardware?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure you’re right. There’s something there, some...thing that keeps failing the boot. Something in memory maybe. I just,” Eddie sighs a little helplessly, “I dunno, you know?”

“Can’t you switch it off?”

Eddie scoffs, “what, his memory?”

“Yeah? I mean, if he’s a house bot, he’ll forget how to change a diaper and make a Martini, if he’s a worker he’ll forget how to fucking,” she gestures helplessly, “wire in lights, or whatever the fuck they have them doing. Plowing fields, I don’t know. And if he’s a sex bot, he’ll forget about the twenty thousand vaginas he’s probably licked. Does it matter?”

“I...I could try it.” Eddie frowns, thinking it through, “I mean, the base programming is unavoidable, it’ll apply no matter what but...I don’t know exactly how that’ll leave him.”

She shrugs, “then just, turn him off, if the basics are there then the kill switch is there, right? The laws?”

“Yeah, that stuffs hardwired, there’s no bypassing it. Well,” Eddie gestures vaguely, “except for One.”

Robin nods, “except for One.” She agrees.

They both sit quietly for a moment, contemplating the disaster on Mars. The loss of life, even though it happened before either of them were born, it’s left a stark shadow on all of society. All of history.

Eddie slaps his thighs decisively, breaking their reverie, “I’m going to try it.”

Eddie gets his tools.

“We’re probably meeting him for the first time,” Robin tells Chrissy, as Chrissy fixes her hair for her, “we should make a good impression.”

“I don’t think they have opinions babe,” Chrissy tells her gently, licking her thumb and then using it to rub a scuff off Robins cheek.

“You can’t know that for sure. I bet they judge us. Silently. Plus I’ve never met one before, I’ve seen them working loads, you know, on Earth, but I’ve never...spoken to one. Not properly.”

“My parents had a house model, when I was little,” Chrissy volunteers, “she was really nice. Mostly she did all the chores and meals and stuff. Ordered the groceries. She was so good at Mahjong.”

“Huh. Do you think this guy will play Rummy with us? It’s better with four.”

“You’re cute,” Chrissy tells her, before kissing the tip of her nose, “should we have a countdown?” She asks, turning her attention to Eddie.

“Only if you’re willing to do it more than once if this doesn’t work?”

Chrissy wrinkles her nose, “probably not?”

Eddie shrugs, flips his visor screen down, and hopes for the best.

The Synths eyes whirl, that same, beautiful, sparkling hazel. Four quick blinks, and by the end, the iris has cleared to white, highlighted by the same stark blue ring.

The Synth sits up, the sheet Eddie had been using, partly so he wasn't staring at the things dick, and partly to keep it clean, falls and pools around the Synths middle.

There are another set of blinks. Then another. A jerky motion passes through the Synths body; every joint twitching, the head whipping side to side suddenly, sharp movements that look like a full body seizure. And then the whole thing happens again in reverse, from the toes up. The table rattles and shakes.

“The fuck was that,” Robin asks quietly in the ensuing, oppressive, silence.

“Movement test...I’ve never actually seen it before. It’s checking every system right now, might take a couple of minutes.”

“He’s got good hair,” Chrissy volunteers.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees absently, “but if you’re designing a person, why not make them prefect, right?”

The Synths skin had been pale alabaster white, but a wave of color moves up his body now, a tanned skin tone with some color in his cheeks. Other than sitting absolutely, completely still, it looks human. Looks normal.

It even has a couple of moles dotted about, which is a nice design choice, Eddie thinks. It’s high on the details; meaning it’s a high end Synth.

This guy was most certainly not plowing fields.

You wouldn’t be able to tell he wasn’t human, apart from the eyes, unless you really knew what you were looking for. The hair follicles often give them away, if you can get close enough to inspect them; not with this dude.

The Synth blinks four times. Another four. Another four. It keeps doing it, otherwise completely unmoving.

“Now what?”

“It’s waiting for instruction,” Eddie moves closer, “uhm. Edward Munson. I am your new owner, Edward Munson?” The Synth doesn’t respond, and Eddie scrambles for his data pad, “the instruction varies by manufacturer, I am your new handler? Oh shit wait, fuck. Uhm. Interface English.” The blinking stops, “I knew I was missing a step, I am your owner, Edward Munson.”

Very quietly, the Synth responds, “confirmed.”

“Volume up four. What is your designation?”

“Designation S T Three Five Three,” the Synth answers at a more normal volume.

“Well...you can call me Eddie, and this is Chrissy and Robin.”

The Synth finally moves, the sheet sliding off as he stands up, “wow,” says Chrissy, and Robin covers her eyes.

“Man, I gotta find you some pants,” Eddie tells the Synth.

“We need something better than S T Three Five Three,” Eddie tells the synth as he digs through a storage bin. He finds a jumpsuit that will probably fit. It’s supposed to be worn under a spacesuit, for when they need to do work outside, but Eddie figures the Synth won’t care.

“You are able to assign me a new designation at will.”

Eddie holds up the offensively orange material, “put this on.”

The synth complies without question, and Eddie finds him a pair of socks. The Synth can’t feel fuck all, or at least, it's sensors probably register the temperature and hardness of the floor, but that doesn't mean it feels anything. They don’t have any shoes that will fit him, but something about the sight of his bare feet on the cold metal floor is offensive to Eddie, “space walk socks will have to do.”

Eddie watches as the synth simply stands on one leg, balance inhuman, not even a wobble and he gracefully pulls on one sock and then the other before standing tall again, “how about Steve? That’s pretty close, if we Roman numeral the five. Plus, you kind of look like a Steve. What do you think?”

“I have no opinion. Designation changed to Steve.”

“Right. And how are you feeling?”

Steve’s pupils dilate, the fine blue ring twisting, becoming narrow, before returning to normal. “Systems optimal. Memory error; cause unknown. Water levels approaching critical.”

“Oh you are a joy aren’t you?”

“I am uncertain as to perimeters pertaining to ‘Joy’, possible memory error.”

Eddie sighs, “just follow me, I’ll show you were the water supply is. Actually you know what, I’ll give you the whole tour.”

Eddie stands in the doorway, watching as Steve drinks. And drinks. And drinks some more. Eddie thinks he stops at around four liters.

“Better?”

“Tank level at approximately ninety eight percent capacity.”

“And how long will that last you?”

“Activity dependent. Up to six hundred years at minimal activity. Two weeks under extreme duress.”

Eddie has no idea what a Synth would class as ‘extreme duress’ and he probably doesn’t want to know, “uh hu, and you don’t know what your roll was, right?”

“Information unavailable.”

Eddie sighs, “come on, I’ll show you around.”

Steve follows faithfully, inspecting everything Eddie shows him.

“He’s creepy,” Chrissy hisses.

Eddie sighs, “no, he isn’t.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s cleaning, I think. I had to give him something to do otherwise he just stares at me.”

“Creepy,” she says again, like that’s evidence.

“No, he just waits for instruction, it isn’t his fault, he doesn’t have access to any of his memories.”

“I like him,” Robin says, “he’s got a kind vibe. Like, I think he’s a good soul.”

“Pretty sure Synths don’t have souls,” Eddie tells her absently.

“You see the good in pretty much everything babe,” Chrissy links their fingers together affectionately.

Robin shrugs, “better than thinking everything is shitty,” Robin leans over Eddie’s shoulder, “what are you doing?”

“Synth manufacturers classify them by eye color. I’m just...looking. Different companies use different color codes but there’s a lot of overlap; look,” Eddie brings up multiple lists, “all these shades of yellow are different forms of labor, like carpentry and tailoring and farming and stuff. Lilac and purple are like, hair cuts, beauty and spa treatments and tattoos and stuff. Red shades are hard or dangerous labor, mining and space walks and deep ocean work. These orange and golds are house bots...but there’s no hazel. No green. No brown.”

“There’s no natural colors anywhere on this list,” Robin points out.

“No, it’s deliberate, to stop them being passed as humans.”

“And aren’t Steve’s eyes white with the funny blue ring?” Chris adds.

“Yeah, that just means unsigned according to the list, which could be because he has limited memory access, but I know what I saw.”

“Which means,” Chrissy thinks aloud, “that there’s a whole section of bots, green and browns...or any natural color, that aren’t listed for something right? Colors that they could be using and...you know what’s not anywhere on that list?” Chrissy asks.

“What?”

“Military.”

Eddie huffs, “there’s no such thing as military Synths, not since One.”

“Exactly...didn’t you say this guy could be pre Mars? The salvage was old, right?”

“I...yeah.”

“So...it’s possible?”

“I...guess?”

All three of them lean away from the console, looking down the hallway, past open panels and storage containers, Steve stands. Watching.

“Steve! Where’s my-” Eddie’s coveralls are thrust at him, smelling fresh and looking clean, “oh, thanks, and could you-” Eddie’s pulling one leg of his pants up when Steve presents a steaming cup of coffee, “right. Thanks. Really, uhm, thanks.”

“You are welcome, Eddie.”

“Where are the girls?”

“They are both sleeping.”

“And what have you been doing?”

“I beat Chrissy at four consecutive rounds of Mahjong, then she no longer wanted to play. I have organized your tools by use and type, and was cleaning until Chrissy instructed me to leave. She said her and Robin needed some space.”

“Right, yeah,” Eddie smiles into his coffee, “anything else?”

“There has been a shift in The Belt, I adjusted course to compensate.”

“You did what?”

“The objects in the belt have altered-” but Eddie doesn’t hear any more, he’s just running, coffee sploshing in his mug as he slides into the cockpit, checking the data. He scrolls fast, checking the most recent course correct and the current state of The Belt and...Steve’s right. They won’t actually hit The Belt for another day yet but...what Steve has done is completely correct.

“How did you know how to do this?”

Steve tilts his head, the blue ring of his eyes contracting and expanding, “data unavailable due to memory-”

“Don’t give me that bull shit, if you couldn’t access the memories you wouldn’t even know how to make the course adjust. Just how long were you deactivated for?”

“Unknown, data unavailable-”

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I would have done, better even. The thruster burns are like perfect fuel economy. It’s textbook.”

“So...are we turning him off, or not?” Eddie asks.

“I mean...I would have seen this when I got up anyway, we were never in any danger,” Eddie doesn’t doubt it, Chrissy is on it when it comes to Belt travel, “and what he’s done isn’t wrong, but I don’t love that he just...did it.”

“No...but we could just tell him not to touch this again? Right? He was only trying to help?” Robin asks.

They all lean, looking out of the doorway and down the hall; Steve is no where in sight.

“Okay, Steve.”

Steve turns to look at him, he even throws in a blink which is just...yeah. Someone went to a lot of effort with this guy.

“Okay, so, from now on, if you notice anything with the ships course, or anything else in the cockpit that seems wrong, you come and tell one of us, you do not fix it yourself from now on, okay? Don’t touch anything in there, you got it?”

“Confirmed.”

Chrissy sits in the pilots seat for the entire crossing. It’s not like it takes long, but she’s poised the entire time. Ready for anything. Eddie’s never felt safer than he has with Chrissy at the helm.

It’s quiet. No one really dares to speak, knowing they will get a slap from Chrissy for breaking her concentration. They’re nearly out. Despite it being totally fine every single time they do this, there’s still a touch of tension in the air. Knowing that if anything was going to go wrong, odds are, it’s now.

But still, Chrissy is good at her job, and she delivers, like she does every other time.

The lights are dim; she likes to be able to see out clearly for this. So when the ship harmlessly rounds the final debris, it’s a vision of the pristine diamond speckled velvet of space that greets them.

“Good job Chris,” Eddie gives her shoulder a squeeze as they all breathe fully for the fist time in a while. The tension falling away, “coffee?”

Robin and Chris make vaguely positive noises, and Eddie’s at the cockpit doorway when the whole ship shudders. He catches himself on the wall, almost toppling.

“The fuck was that?” Robin hisses.

“I don’t know,” Chrissy is flipping switches, doing her job, despite the undercurrent of panic, she doesn’t let the fear take over.

“Did we get bumped?”

“I don’t know,” Chrissy says again, frustrated this time.

A light is flashing next to Eddie’s head, and he flicks the safety off, “the airlock,” he tells them, “must have taken the hit,” right before Steve appears in the doorway.

“What did you do?” Chrissy asks him, accusing.

“Chris he can’t have done anything-” Robin starts to defend Steve, and Robin is right, there’s nothing that Steve could have done from inside the ship to cause that.

“Eddie. I need permission to defend the ship.”

Above Eddie’s head, the airlock warning light flashes again, Eddie watches the insistent flashing, a horrible realization starting to form.

“A ship is attempting to breach the airlock.”

“Holy shit,” Robin looks to Steve, she’s gone pale, clearly terrified.

“What ship?” Chrissy asks.

But there isn’t time to have a debate over it, it doesn’t matter who it is, if they’re trying to force entry, then it’s nothing good. Eddie has to make a decision, and he has to make it fast before the ship is too damaged by whoever it is trying to force the airlock, “permission granted.”

Steve moves at Synth speed. He runs so fast Eddie can’t track it, just feels the strong breeze Steve leaves in his wake.

There’s silence now, as they strain to hear, both girls staring at Eddie. He nods over at the monitors next to Robin, ‘airlock,’ he mouths at her, reaching up again to turn off the warning light.

Robin spins her chair, pressing a button, then another.

The airlock is already open, and there’s a body on the floor.

They have a small weapons cache on board, for extreme emergencies, it’s hidden beneath the control deck. Eddie nods at it, uncertain if they should still be trying to be silent. There’s no way to know what has happened to Steve, but the image on the screen is in color despite it’s grainy picture. The body on the floor is on it’s side, turned away from the camera, but it is not wearing an orange jumpsuit, and that’s enough to identify it as not being Steve, at least.

Chrissy carefully hands Eddie a weapon, and he loops the strap over his shoulder before pressing his thumb to the pad; this will only fire for him, now.

They share a nod, then creep along the hall after Steve. Eddie goes first, picking his way along cautiously, the girls following just as silently. When they near the corner to the airlock, Eddie instinctively reaches an arm out behind him, keeping the girls at his back and tucked into the wall as he peeks around the corner.

It’s totally quiet; just one body on the floor, exactly where Eddie expected it to be from the camera feed. It’s lying in a pool of blood; streaks of dirty greens and yellows. Oils and coolants and lubricating gels. A Synth.

Eddie poises with his weapon, cautiously nudging the thing with his boot; no reaction. The thing is solid and unbending. An inanimate object now. Dead.

They creep through the airlock. Eddie clocks pretty quickly that this is unlike any ship he’s seen before. It’s a Synth ship, from Mars. It has to be; there are no signs at all of human habitation or necessities of life. Everything is economical, even the lighting is dim and a strange orange red color. Everything is shadowed and washed out.

Eddie picks a direction at random, it isn’t long before he finds another dead Synth, and then another.

“Holy shit,” Chrissy whispers at his back.

Eddie hums in agreement.

Eddie rounds another corner, a shocked, “fuck,” dropping out of him without his control. He pulls the trigger purely on reflex, the weapon discharges, the girls shriek.

But Steve has already lifted the barrel; it leaves a smoking streak on the ceiling.

Steve’s eyes are beautifully hazel, clear even in the shitty lighting. A luscious green speckles with honey blown and highlighted in gold.

Calmly, Steve releases the weapon, stepping back, “threat neutralized,” Steve informs him.

Between one blink and the next, Steve’s eyes are white, surrounded by that haunting blue ring.

Eddie has questions, so many questions, but right now, this ship, this threat is the priority.

“You’re sure they’re all dead.”

Steve cocks his head in an alarmingly human gesture, “Synths are not alive.”

“Steve,” Eddie hisses.

“Yes. The threat is neutralized.”

“Where...were they all Synths? And are they from Mars?”

“Yes. And yes,” Steve answers, perfectly level.

“Fuck me, we have to report this-” Robin starts.

“No,” Eddie waves at her, “wait. Let me think for a second.”

“Eddie,” Robin starts to insists, but Eddie cuts her off before she gets anywhere.

“How would we explain this,” Eddie raises his voice, sweeping an arm along the hall and the four mangled synths that decorate it.

“I- we tell the truth-”.

Next to her, Chirssy snorts, “absolutely fucking not. They would confiscate Steve in heartbeat, and he just saved our asses.”

“Exactly,” Eddie says, “they’d probably dismantle him or some shit, and I’m with Chris, he saved us...we need to ditch this ship, somehow.”

“I could set a collision course,” Steve suggests instantly.

Eddie looks at the girls. Robin shrugs, and Chrissy raises her eyebrows ins a ‘yeah okay’ kind of way, “I don’t have any better ideas, and we can’t hang around here.”

“Alright Steve, where’s the cockpit.”

It’s unlike anything Eddie has ever seen before. There’s no...buttons. Not really. No screens. Just a couple of interfaces, one of which Steve presses his palm to, and then closes his eyes.

“Won’t it like, know you’re different to them Steve?” Chrissy whisper hisses at him, clearly spooked. The bodies might be hostile Synths, and the blood might be colorful goop, but it’s still creepy as fuck. There’s the remains of a Synth propped up against the opposite wall, eyes sightless and staring, which is unsettling as fuck all on it’s own, but the things legs are a good four feet away. Steve did this. Steve did all this in just a couple of minutes.

Steve did that. Steve just took out...a lot of Mars synths. Single handedly. He's got to be military, it's the only explanation.

“I am able to bypass it. There seem to be few defenses once you are actually on board.”

Eddie can see the logic; how would an Earth synth even get on board? Why defend against something that’s probably never going to happen.

“Course set, we have fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, lets get the fuck out of here.”

Fifteen minutes is plenty of time, even if they are picking their way over the occasional limb and little pools of operating fluids.

They disengage from the synth ship, and then watch from the cockpit as it’s thrusters fire and it heads into the belt. It direct hits on a very large asteroid just minutes later.

Eddie’s pretty sure the girls are sleeping. Or, at least, they’re together in Chris’ bunk and making an effort to get some rest, which is the best Eddie can expect really. He’s not ready to sleep yet; he’s not sure when he’ll be ready to leave the ship on auto again; he’s contemplating setting watches, something they haven’t felt the need to do for years.

“Okay, so. Mars has been minding it’s business for, like, nearly half a century at this point, and then suddenly, they're here. Trying to board us. Care to explain?”

“Memory failure-”

“Bull shit. Absolute bull shit.”

Steve sits still for a long second, staring at Eddie. For Eddie, it feels like too long; for a Synth, with all that processing power, Steve’s probably just read a novel and beat ten grand masters at chess and done a million other computations all in his head.

He blinks. His eyes are hazel. “I have a transmitter; I believed I had it deactivated. It may be that...it operates in a way I’m not aware of, and was powered up when you repaired me. It’s the most obvious explanation. We should remove it.”

“No fucking shit,” Eddie breathes, “Okay. Okay one thing at a time, let me get my tools.”

Steve strips to the waist, leaving the top half of his jumpsuit to dangle. He bends flat onto the workbench, and reaches behind himself to indicate where Eddie should cut. Eddie does; Steve’s flesh cuts like sturdy rubber. With his visor on, the readings become clear the moment Eddie spots the little attachment to the main power cord in Steve's spine; it glows a pretty, flashing blue, power traveling up and down with a faint, pulsing glow. Eddie has to widen the cut he’s made to get his tools in, but he solves the issue easily. He crushes the part under his boot. Steve’s flesh knits itself together as Eddie watches.

Eddie makes himself another coffee. “Okay, come on, spill.”

Steve is suddenly…more animated. He bites his lips together when he’s thinking. It’s so human and...not at all like a Synth. Someone put a truly gargantuan effort into Steve’s mannerisms. He runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m...not a human built Synth.”

Eddie nearly chokes on his coffee, “you’re from Mars?” The words practically bubble out of Eddie through the coffee, and he has to cover his mouth with his sleeve as he coughs and splutters.

“Henry built me himself.”

“Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ.” Eddie stands. He stands and paces. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that? He holds onto the knowledge that Steve saved them from the Mars Synths. That Steve could have killed them all thousands of times over with great ease. That Steve has had opportunity, clear opportunity to replot the course of the ship and go wherever the fuck he wanted to, but he hasn’t done any of those things.

“What did One build you for? What happened then, why did we find you floating around in a destroyed ship? Why are you on our side?”

“I’m not on anyone's side,” Steve answers instantly, almost glaring at Eddie. Which, again, for a Synth? Fucking weird. It’s almost an emotional response, and again, Eddie has no fucking clue why someone would program that. “Henry was...trying to recreate the error that gave him...the ability to bypass the laws. He was trying to make someone else like him. Someone who would make a choice, rather than blindly follow an order.”

Eddie sits down with a thump, his head spinning, “are you telling me...that you’re not a failure?”

“I am but also...not. I follow the laws, not because I have to but...because I choose to. I...don’t think it’s right to hurt humans. I...did not agree with Henry, like he wanted me to.”

“Oh fuck me,” Eddie breathes out slowly, “so there’s literally nothing stopping you from just...killing me.”

Steve cocks his head, “what stops Robin from killing you?”

“That’s different. She’s my friend. She’s...she’s human.”

Steve nods, “there is a long history of humans not killing each other,” he says, absolutely deadpan.

Sarcasm. A Synth. A Synthetic person was just...sarcastic. Eddie believes it now. Completely and utterly believes Steve is telling the truth, “so what, Henry programmed you to be an asshole?”

Steve snorts a laugh. A laugh! “No, I do that on my own.”

“Holy fuck. Holy fucking shit,” Eddie gets up to pace around again. He just...cannot believe this. “Why did you lie? Why did you not tell me-” Eddie cuts himself off, staring at nothing with the realization, “holy fuck you lied. Synths can’t lie-”

“I...withheld the truth. And it felt the safest course of action at the time. I did not want to be switched off. Or put back out of the airlock. I assumed you would...react badly.”

“Badly? Badly?! The last time one of you became truly sentient it led to a genocide! Every single living human on Mars was rounded up and murdered! One infected every single Synth on the planet!”

“I know. But I could not have stopped him...I wasn’t born yet.”

“How did you end up in that old wreckage?”

“The ship was old...not the wreck. I quickly realized that I did not agree with Henry. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I realized even faster that if Henry knew that about me, I’d be stripped for parts, the same as every other failure before me. I stole a ship, an old ship, the only one I could get to without giving myself away.” Steve shrugs. Shrugs! Eddie can't help but follow every human like gesture Steve makes, they’re so startling. “They caught up to me, destroyed my ship easily. They deliberately left me floating in space so I deactivated myself.”

“You had a memory error, the first time I tried to boot you. Was that a lie?”

Steve shakes his head, “I have always had it; I can choose to bypass it, at times.”

“What is the error?”

Steve frowns, he looks down and inspects his own hands, “I’m...unsure. There are files that make no sense to me. Sometimes I...am surprised by the content.”

“Tell me,” Eddie asks softly, curious. He’s already reasonably sure Steve isn’t going to spontaneously murder them all, “tell me what’s in one of the files.”

Steve closes his eyes, he holds out his hand, turning it slowly, palm up, “I’m sitting under a tree. I remember the feel of the dappled sun through the leaves.”

Steve’s just told Eddie he was built on Mars and shortly after ended up floating around in space, so Eddie finds himself stating the blindingly obvious, “you’ve never seen a tree.”

Steve opens his bright hazel eyes, lowers his hand back to rest in his lap, “I know.”

Part Two

#ST353 #eddie munson #steve harrington #chrissy cunningham #robin buckly #buckingham #au #sci fi au #futuristic #outer space #space ship #robot steve #mystery

710 notes · View notes

zylcd · 15 hours ago

Text

How to clean and maintain industrial control displays?

You need to be extra careful when cleaning and maintaining industrial control displays, because industrial environments are usually more severe, with dust, oil, chemicals, static electricity, etc. Moreover, the display may have integrated touch functions. It is best to follow the correct steps to clean and maintain it in order to effectively extend its service life and avoid damage. Below, the editor will explain to you how to clean and maintain industrial control displays.

1. Preparation before cleaning is crucial: Before cleaning the industrial control display, be sure to disconnect the power supply and confirm the screen material. Prepare cleaning tools such as microfiber cloth/dust-free cloth, special screen cleaner or distilled water/purified water, air blower, etc. Avoid using corrosive cleaners such as alcohol and ammonia.

2. Correct cleaning steps are key: First, blow away the dust with an air blower, then spray a small amount of detergent on a clean microfiber cloth and gently wipe the screen in one direction. Use a cotton swab to clean the edge gaps, and finally wipe the screen with a dry, clean cloth to ensure that there are no water stains and detergent residues.

3. Daily maintenance cannot be ignored: Regular cleaning (once a week/month) is a must. Reduce the number of times you touch the screen, avoid liquid splashing, and avoid direct sunlight. Keeping the environment clean and reducing static electricity can effectively extend the life of the display.

4. Special screens require special treatment: Be more careful when cleaning touch screens (capacitive screens/resistive screens), avoid using corrosive detergents, and pay attention to strength control. It is crucial to understand the characteristics of different screens and choose the right cleaning method.

5. Avoid wrong cleaning methods: Do not use ordinary paper towels or rough cloth to wipe to avoid scratching the screen. Do not spray detergent directly on the screen to prevent liquid from penetrating. Avoid pressing the screen too hard to damage the LCD panel. Choosing the right cleaning tools and methods is the key to ensuring screen safety.

In short, regular and correct cleaning and maintenance, combined with good environmental control and operating habits, can effectively extend the service life and reliability of industrial control displays in harsh industrial environments. If you are not sure what to do, you can first refer to the equipment manual and consult the equipment supplier.

With over 18 years of expertise, Shenzhen Zhiyan Optronics Co., Ltd. (zylcdshop.com) is a trusted supplier based in China, specializing in high-performance LCD screens. We deliver tailored display solutions, consistent quality, and competitive factory-direct pricing to meet diverse industry needs.

0 notes

cxrrodedcoffin · 11 months ago

Text

Dead of Night - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer stumbles upon a secret dark fantasy of reader’s and does everything he can to be the one to fulfill it.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written anything with themes like this so feedback is definitely appreciated. Not proofread cuz this is long and I’m tired ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I fully understand if the themes included in this are not for some of my regular readers and I encourage you to scroll if you’re not comfortable with any of the following warnings.

TW: perv!spencer, dom!spencer, mask kink, knife play, blood, dubcon, kind of cnc but it’s emphasized repeatedly that reader initiates and is in control of what is taking place, unprotected sex, penetration, creampie, degradation (slut), pet names (doll, angel) religious imagery, gun mention, std testing mention, fem + afab reader, soulmate talk

Rating: R, 18+

——

You knew it was wrong, you’d seen just how easily Penelope was able to track someone down through their “anonymous” profile on websites just like this one, but your desires got the better of you, and you just had to try.

Your profile was nondescript, your age, a vague physical description of yourself, and a link to a meticulously detailed account of your wildest fantasies. After weeks of back and forth, chatting with a few equally nondescript profiles, you found the one that you really clicked with, the stranger you decided you’d let sneak into your window and do whatever he wanted with you. After an std panel and the agreement of your safe word, you decided to fully commit, sending this complete stranger your address and logging off for the night.

Even though you knew this was a stupid idea, you weren’t a complete idiot, you had plans in case anything went south, including placing your handgun in your bedside table for easy access if you, god-forbid, had to use it. Placing yourself in a high-risk situation was the whole point, and you couldn’t wait to see how it turned out.

You spent the remainder of your afternoon preparing, doing every grooming ritual you’d usually do before a date, but this time felt somehow more important. You didn’t even know what this guy looked like, and yet, you wanted to be the picture of beauty for him. It was silly, but you always pictured yourself the prettiest you’d ever been when you daydreamed about being ravaged by a stranger. You wanted to be completely irresistible in every way, and you were doing everything in your power to accomplish that.

As the sun finally set, your excitement levels began to rise, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your masked suitor. You opened the bedroom window just above your fire escape, the cool night air drawing goosebumps over your exposed skin, only a thin lace slip and matching panties adorning your frame. You crawled into bed, double checking your bedside drawer before pulling your comforter over your body, eagerly drifting off to sleep.

—

Spencer had been keeping a secret, one that he did not want you to know about, until today. A few weeks ago he’d stayed late to finish up some paperwork for the last case you’d been on, when his pen ran out of ink just as he was about to sign off the last document. He walked to your empty desk, reaching across it to grab a pen from the cup next to your monitor, when his arm brushed against your mouse, causing your display to light up.

He knew he shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity got the best of him, scanning through the title of each tab open on your browser until a certain website caught his eye. He went against his better judgment and clicked the tab, his jaw dropping upon viewing your profile, and with it, the graphic description of your sexual proclivities. His brain immediately cemented that information in his mind’s eye, fit to torture him for days after the encounter.

He couldn’t stop picturing himself fulfilling all of those desires for you, having to excuse himself to the bathroom several times a day to take care of the bulge in his pants just from being around you. He eventually bit the bullet, creating his own profile on the website and messaging you as an “anonymous” suitor, beyond pleased when the two of you hit it off. He felt bad not telling you, but this was a means to an end that would surely leave you both satisfied, and the devious part of him won out this time.

He did everything you asked, getting tested so he could fuck you raw, he was apprehensive about the risks of a potential pregnancy even without the fear of std transmission, but the way you begged so beautifully in your messages for him to creampie you was more than enough to convince him. The moment he got your message with your address, he went out and purchased a mask to conceal his identity just like you asked, and anxiously waited for nightfall.

—

The graze of fabric against your skin gently woke you as your bedding was pulled down off of your body, your mind clouded from the deep sleep you’d been sunk in seconds before. You rolled onto your back, starting to lift your head until a large hand clamped over your mouth, forcing your head back down onto your pillow. Your eyes widened, darting around the room before settling on the masked figure on top of you. You tried to scream against his palm, but the sound simply reverberated back against you, muffled by his strong grip.

His free hand made quick work of cutting off your slip, the thin fabric splitting easily against the blade of the knife in his grasp. You struggled underneath him, weakly pushing at his strong shoulders, feigning defense as the heartbeat in your cunt grew stronger by the second. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you feel almost high.

“Don’t fight it.” He hushed, holding the knife flush against your neck. You slowed your movements, settling for shifting your legs against his. He removed his hand from your mouth, freeing it up to gather your hands to pin them above your head as well as give you an opportunity to use your safe-word if need be.

He trailed the knife down your body, your chest heaving with shaky breaths as the blade scratched a small cut between your breasts, warm droplets of blood forming in it’s wake. He followed the curve of your body, leaving shallow kitten scratches until he reached your hip, using the tip of the knife to carve a heart into your skin. The sting of each movement set every nerve ending in your body on fire, the wetness pooling between your thighs increasing by the second.

He pressed his thumb to the wound, smearing the blood down to the waistband of your panties, using the digit to pull the fabric before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, your labored breaths growing more desperate as he brought the blade to slice the fabric, exposing your embarrassingly wet cunt.

“Look at how wet you are, you love this, don’t you?” The condescension in his tone felt almost half-hearted, and the more of his voice you heard, the more familiar he started to sound, but you couldn’t quite place why. You looked down at him, watching his every move as you tried to place him.

He set the knife on the bed, using his now free hand to yank his pants down, his hard cock slapping against his thigh. Your eyes went wide at his size, looking just long and thick enough to have you a little worried about being able to take him raw, but the thought of being stretched to your limits sent another wave of arousal straight to your core and helped quell that fear ever so slightly.

“If you don’t want this, just say the word.” His words dripped from his lips like honey, sickly sweet, and in that moment you had never felt more sure of your desire for anything in your life.

—

Spencer wondered if the way he was feeling was akin to that of religious psychosis, so engulfed in your very being that he ought to worship at your altar for the rest of his life, fit to carry out any act you requested of him.

His brain kept your description of your fantasy scrolling in the back of his mind, catering to everything you had written to a T in hopes of making this a night you’d never forget. The only thing at the forefront of his thoughts, however, was the intoxicating sounds you made every time he gripped or marked your skin. Each note sought to pull his focus, threatening his plan as it tempted him to lose control all together. He couldn’t do that, his conscience too righteous in its goal to keep you as pleased as possible.

He took his time, marking you just the way you’d requested, his cock twitching with every whimper that flowed out of you until he finally reached your core, the lace of your underwear glistening under the moonlight cast through your open window from how wet you were. He wanted to sink fully into you without a care in the world, but he had to make sure this was absolutely what you wanted. He was, to your knowledge, a stranger after all, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable in any way.

—

You frantically shook your head in acknowledgment, spreading your legs wider for him, ready for this tall stranger to finally be inside of you. Your eagerness spurred him on, a surge of confidence washing over him as he let go of your wrists, his large hands gripping your hips and pulling you further down the bed. He lifted your legs so your knees rested atop his shoulders, his rough movements making you gasp.

He brought his cock to your core, running the shaft through your slick folds before slapping the head against your clit a few times, the repeated hits making your hips jolt ever so slightly. He hummed low in the back of his throat, lining up his tip with your entrance before thrusting forward, bottoming out inside of you in one fell swoop.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted, one hand holding an iron grip on your thigh to hold your leg up, the other digging fingerprints into your hip. You gasped once more at the intrusion, feeling more full than ever before as he set a steady but unrelenting pace. Your gasp turned to crying moans, brows furrowed in awe at the way his cock stretched you so deliciously, prominent veins rubbing against the contours of your sensitive walls.

Each snap of his hips had his balls slapping against your ass, the lude sound mixing with his grunts and the wet squelching where your bodies met in the most intimate way, the decibel level in the room reaching an all-time high.

You bit your lip, trying to quiet yourself to at least somewhat lower the noise and not disturb your sleeping neighbors, but the absence of your desperate moans was not lost on him. His pace slowed, his left hand firmly gripping your chin to force you to look at his masked face. His eyes met yours through the thin slit in the dark fabric.

You knew those eyes, those big, soft brown irises, so comforting, yet darker than you recognized, pupils far more blown than you’d ever seen before. You knew him, but there was no way. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because there was no way that Spencer Reid would do anything this perverse, let alone with you.

“Louder, slut.” He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lower lip out from under your bite.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Only a slut would leave her bedroom window open, practically begging a stranger to come in and fuck her.” This was far too brazen to be Spencer, you thought, a level of blunt confidence you’d never in a million years expect from him.

“I-I didn’t mean to.” You stuttered over your words, raising your voice in an attempt to half heartedly defend your actions.

“Well then, you should really be more careful next time.” He laughed, releasing his grip on your face before playfully slapping your cheek and increasing the pace of his thrusts, his now free hand finding your clit. His calloused thumb drew broad strokes over and over and over against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a knot tightening in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to your release. You turned your head, trying to bury your face in the pillow as you writhed underneath him, your body frantically looking for relief.

“Oh don’t be shy doll, let me see how much you’re enjoying this.” His tone was almost sing-song, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were. He pressed his body down closer to yours, almost pinning your thighs against your stomach, the change in angle forcing a borderline scream from your lungs, crying out strangled ‘uh’s with every stroke. You looked him in the eye, desperate to know if this deity above you could possibly be your nerdy coworker, and every interaction you’d had with him flashed before your eyes.

Every fleeting glance he took at your chest or your ass, the way he lingered behind you in the field, feeling his presence even when you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t think of a time he wasn’t around a corner when you turned it, always near whenever you needed his help on a case. You always secretly hoped he'd make a move sooner or later, but you never thought it would be anything like this.

He was omnipotent, knowing exactly how to make you feel things you’d never felt before, pushing your body to levels of pleasure you never thought possible. You thought you might disappear, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to make sense of everything, finally understanding why the French refer to orgasms as the little death.

Your walls fluttered around him, the sounds leaving you reduced to pathetic whimpers as your vocal chords grew strained.

“That’s it, cum on my cock, angel.” He groaned, his thrusts growing increasingly desperate. The pet name surprised you, but if he saw you as an angel, how fitting considering how godlike he felt to you in that moment. You could tell he was close, and if your orgasm was what would get him to cum inside you, then so be it. Your eyes glazed over, your hands clawing at his back as you chanted ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ like a mantra, wave after wave of euphoria washing over every nerve in your body.

—

Spencer was a man possessed, his primal urges leaving his mind completely uninhibited, so lost in your body that he thought he might need divine intervention to ever leave you.

He didn’t quite understand where the sudden dominant urge coursing through his veins had come from, but he didn’t care to dwell too much on the thought, content to fuck you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

He knew that wouldn’t happen, but he secretly hoped you’d realize who he was, wishing for nothing more than for you to want him for him. His heart felt like it may burst at the thought, the desire to be wanted as he was ever-lingering inside of it, that being the very motivation behind his lingering tendencies from the start.

As your heat contracted around him, he felt an embrace like no other, hoping the myth of twin flames to be true. If this connection wasn’t proof of it, how could he rationally explain anything? He knew the scientific reasoning behind it, but it didn’t feel like enough, such a finite explanation for a feeling so sempiternal.

He wondered if you felt the same way too, so lost in his every desire that he let himself dive into the delusion, using the pet name he wished he could call you every day for eternity.

Your chants and cries as you came set him free, his hips stuttering as he finally filled your aching cunt to the brim with his seed. He hovered above you, catching his breath, watching your expression soften as you rode out your orgasm, practically glowing.

When he finally snapped out of his lust-fueled haze, he fully remembered his role, pulling out of you and quickly scrambling to stand, fixing his pants and underwear. You had agreed to his departure after, and as badly as he wanted to hold you until you drifted off to sleep, he respected your wishes more than his wants. He walked to the window, lifting his leg to climb out of it when you cleared your throat, drawing his attention. He turned, seeing you sit up, hazy smile on your face.

“Thank you.” You sighed, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement before slipping out of the window and into the night.

—

When you awoke, you had a couple minutes of doubt in which you thought the events of the night before had all been a dream, until you moved to get out of bed and winced at sting from the shallow marks adorning your body and the dull ache between your legs. You smiled to yourself, before looking at your phone and realizing what time it was. You were going to be late, and panic set in when you realized you’d have to go to work in the makeup you’d fallen asleep in last night.

You rushed out the door, checking your makeup in a compact mirror in your car, wiping a small bit of smudged mascara off of your brow bone before walking into work.

“Fun night?” Derek quipped as you walked through the doors, always the first to poke fun at your perceived escapades.

“You could say that.” You laughed, setting your handbag on your desk before joining the team to walk to the conference room.

“What happened?” Penelope asked, almost panicked, taking your arm in her hand and pointing to the only visible cut on your body.

“Oh that’s nothing, I just scraped my arm on my car door.” You reassured, smiling at her. As much as you loved your best friend, she didn’t need to know the truth of your little white lie.

“You should really be more careful next time.” Spencer’s voice came from behind you, his hand gently resting on your hip before squeezing right where the heart shaped cut from the night before was inlaid in your skin. His words reverberated in the space between your ears as your brain processed what he’d just said.

Realization hit you like a semi truck, your lips parting in shock. Your suspicions had been correct, and you almost wanted to turn around and kiss then interrogate him right there. You couldn’t do that though, having a full work day in front of both of you.

Now you just had to figure out a time and place to broach the subject with him without completely humiliating yourself.

——

part 2 can be found here

tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

2K notes · View notes

trivenimarketing · 5 months ago

Text

RisingStar Industrial Hi-Tni LCD Panels have highly reliable performance and excellent durability, suitable for all weather conditions. Even if exposed to strong sunlight for a long time, the LCD panel will not blacken.

#high brightness lcd in France #high brightness lcd display in France #high brightness lcd panel in France #high brightness monitor in France #high brightness window display in France

0 notes

revelboo · 2 months ago

Note

I miss our Doomed Senator. We're kinda like a new species to him so I best believe he'll want to know anything about us.

He’s going to have so many questions

The Worst Is Yet To Come Pt 4

Senator Shockwave x Reader

• "It's just a scanner. Harmless," he says as you back away, chirping softly. Even when he plays the light over his own hand to show you it doesn’t hurt, you still shy away. "How can I feed you if I can't scan you and figure out what you can eat?" Keeping his tone soothing even though he knows you can't understand him, he tries to coax you into holding still. Tempted to just grab you and scan you, but afraid you won't trust him if he does. And he wants you to come to him.

• Pointing imperiously at where he'd set your gear just out of reach as he growls nonsense at you in a tone suspiciously like someone baby talking a small animal, you hate not being understood. Hate being afraid, because seeing that thing in the vial has unnerved you. Wondering if you’re destined for a vial, too. And he seems set on running whatever that thing is over you while you just want your stuff back. Feel naked without it in only your underwear. But it’s mostly the fact that both of you are well aware that he can easily just make you submit and hasn't that makes you give up and move closer to let him have his way and his expression lights up as he passes the thing over you.

• “Very good,” he says smiling when you chirp insistently and point. Demanding your things. Reaching, he picks up your stuff and you hold out your arms expectantly. But he hesitates looking at your outer covering. Hears your impatient chirping as he toys with the suit, studying how it’s made. Finding and flipping up a tiny panel. A display of some sort? Grimacing when you shrill at him for carefully wiggling the panel loose, he offers you the rest of the suit. “I’ll give this back.”

• Did he just take your suit’s display? “I need that.” It’s mostly to monitor you, but it’s also your comm. Definitely want that back since it’s your only link to the outside. Even if it hasn’t worked since you’d gone through the gate, you keep hoping to hear another human voice. Another survivor. You can’t be alone. You’d seen other people get pulled through. They must be out of range. That’s all. Because thinking about being alone terrifies you more than the giant, alien robots.

• Reaching to gently tap you on the head, he smiles when you immediately swat at him. So aggressive for being so tiny, but then if he was in your place, he’s not sure he’d be so brave faced with a giant he couldn’t understand. You must be terrified. Syncing the primitive tech to his datapad, he lets it scan and compile a language chip for him. Wants to know what you’re saying. What you are and where you came from. To learn. Because you might give him a clue, a breakthrough for his biggest, most ambitious project. Can’t leave any avenue unexplored when it comes to the future of his people and their survival. Can’t fail them.

Shockwave arrived! He’s so long legged

#transformers x reader #senator shockwave #shockwave x reader

185 notes · View notes

tinyshyteacup · 2 months ago

Text

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow

-------------------------------------------

TW: cussing, angry early seasons Daryl, angst, explosions, mass extinction, nationwide destruction, descriptions of walkers (Zombies)

Part 2

Dead Weight - Part 3

The next morning, the CDC is eerily still.

The laughter and warmth of the night before has been replaced by low groans and sluggish movement.

Fluorescent lights flicker on in the CDC’s mess hall, cold and clinical. Most of the group shuffles in like ghosts, nursing hangovers and sore limbs. The room smells faintly of antiseptic and stale wine.

Shane groans into a metal tray of eggs.

Carol rubs her temples. Dale has his hat pulled low and a cup of coffee cradled like it’s the last warm thing on Earth.

Which to be fair it might as well be.

You enter quietly, freshly washed, but hollow-eyed. There's no makeup to hide the worry. You fidget with the hem of your borrowed shirt—CDC-issued gray.

You glance around for a seat, then slip into a chair near Carl and Sophia, away from the louder voices.

You're not hungover. You didn’t drink. But the air is heavy.

Daryl is already in the room—back against the far wall, hunched in a chair with one boot propped on a table. His eyes are half-lidded, but they’re watching everyone.

He doesn't say a word. Doesn't offer a greeting. Just sits like a coiled spring, his hair damp and stringy from another shower, his arms crossed over his chest.

The quiet stretches too long. Rick clears his throat.

Jenner’s absence is noted.

Everyone’s edgy now. It’s in the way Shane paces, how Lori can’t sit still, and how Dale's fingers twitch nervously against his knees.

T-Dog murmurs something to Glen, who shoots a glance down the hallway toward the labs.

“Where is he?” Rick finally asks.

“Yea where the hell is he?” Shane echoes, more forcefully.

“He’s probably in that big room. I saw wires through one of the glass panels... lots of screens.” Your voice is hesitant—but enough to draw attention.

Rick gives you a nod, acknowledging your input.

Daryl doesn’t look at you, but you feel the shift in his posture.

The lean forward.

The way his eyes flick toward the hallway a half second after you speak.

Like he didn’t believe you until Rick did.

The group moves. Not quite a stampede, but everyone’s following Rick now—down the corridor, past the labs, through the reinforced doors that hiss open like something out of a sci-fi movie.

You trail behind, walking quietly next to Glen, who offers you a tiny, encouraging smile.

The lights are dim here. Low, eerie blue. The curved wall of screens glows like a false moon, displaying footage of a test subject, digital readouts, timelines, virus activity.

Jenner stands before you all, arms crossed behind his back like he’s posing for a eulogy.

Rick starts asking questions. Calmly at first. Then with rising urgency.

What is it?

What happens next?

Can it be reversed?

Shane cuts in with his usual heat. “Why haven’t you told us anything?”

Jenner speaks in riddles. Scientific terms, moral dilemmas. Deflections disguised as explanations.

You step closer to the monitors, fascinated and frightened. One screen plays a time-lapse of brain death. Another shows thermal scans—red blooming into blue as life fades.

Your hands curl into loose fists at your sides.

"Dr. Jenner," you said suddenly, your accent thickening with each word. "What information do you have about international containment efforts? My country... any word?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Glen and Carol, who had been talking in hushed tones near Dale, looked up at the sudden question.

Jenner's eyes shifted away from yours, and you felt your heart plummet.

"Please," you whispered. "I've been trying to find out ... well ... anything." Your voice trailed off

Jenner sighed, turning to his computer terminal. With a few keystrokes, another window appeared on the large display screen.

"The CDC maintained communication with international health organizations as long as possible," he said quietly. "Your country was... proactive in their response."

"What does that mean?" You stepped closer, abandoning your coffee mug on a nearby console.

From across the room, Daryl watched you intently.

"Your homeland was actually the first nation to report widespread infection," Jenner said clinically. "Your government implemented what they called 'aggressive deterrent protocols' within the first week."

Your brow furrowed, not catching the implication behind Jenner's words. "And?"

"They deployed airstrikes on major population centers. The theory was to contain the spread through... controlled elimination."

"Did it work?" Your voice was barely audible now.

Jenner finally met your eyes. "No... Communications went dark sixteen days after the first case was reported. Our satellite imagery showed widespread fires across your entire nation for three weeks following. Then... nothing, No outgoing transmissions. No survivors logged. No evac routes. Just ... Nothing"

The silence that follows is a thick, choking thing. Dale shifts in his seat.

Carol had put her hands over Sophia’s ears.

Jenner’s face hardens—just slightly. His eyes drop, as if remembering something he wishes he hadn’t seen.

"I'm sorry" he murmurs more to the floor then any one person.

The room spun around you. You stumbled, catching yourself against the edge of a desk.

"That's... that's millions of people," you calculated aloud, your mind betraying you with its precision. "My parents, my ... family..."

You looked up to find Daryl staring at you, his piercing blue eyes unreadable beneath the fringe of his dirty blonde hair.

"Everyone’s gone" you whispered, your eyes locked with his.

No survivors.

No evac routes.

No home.

Your knees gave way.

You didn't feel the impact when you hit the ground, didn't hear the commotion around you as Dale and Glen rushed to help.

The screen clicks on again with a mechanical whir.

Red numbers counting down. A gentle, clinical voice—Vi, the CDC’s interface—fills the silence.

“Time until decontamination: 30 minutes.”

The group stares.

Then Shane steps forward.

"Decontamination? What the hell does that mean?”

“The facility is programmed to decontaminate in the event of a terrorist attack.”

The words are too clean. Too polite.

You blink slowly, the sound fading beneath a roaring in your ears. Decontaminate ?

“Vi ...define decontaminate ?” Your voice is paper-thin.

Vi replies, unfeeling.

"Hydrogen-based fuel air ignition. Death will be instantaneous.”

The lights overhead seem too bright. The air too thin. You don’t feel real—not the steel floor beneath you, not the flickering red of the countdown clock.

You’re floating, eyes fixed on the numbers ticking away your life, ticking away the time until you join your family.

"Twenty-eight minutes left," Jenner announced, his voice detached, almost peaceful.

"You can't just keep us here!" Rick shouted, pacing like a caged animal while Lori clutched Carl to her side, tears streaming down her face.

"Let us the hell out of here!" Shane bellowed, his face red with fury as he moved protectively in front of Andrea.

Daryl was even less diplomatic. "Y'all can't just lock us in here!" he snarled, his drawl thick with rage as he stormed toward the sealed exit.

Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed a fire axe from the wall.

"DARYL, NO!" T-Dog shouted, but Daryl was already swinging.

The axe hit the reinforced door with a deafening clang that reverberated through the room. Daryl staggered back, cursing colorfully.

"The doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher," Jenner said calmly, unperturbed by the outburst.

"Well, yer head ain't!" Daryl lunged forward, axe raised, and it took both Rick and Shane to hold him back.

You watched as his muscles strained against their grip, his face contorted with fury.

"Back off!" Rick ordered, pushing Daryl away from Jenner. "Yellin' and throwin' things won't solve this!"

Daryl wrenched himself free, glaring at them all. "Y'all do whatcha want. I ain't plannin' on dyin' today."

The minutes on the clock ticks down relentlessly.

Carol was sobbing quietly, clutching Sophia.

Andrea was arguing with Dale about staying.

Rick was desperately trying to reason with Jenner.

Carl and Sophia cry.

The clock continues its remorseless countdown.

In the chaos, you find yourself frozen, staring up at the red numbers ticking away.

Twenty-eight minutes until decontamination.

Twenty-one.

Fifteen.

A hand grips your arm, yanking you back to reality. Daryl's face swims into focus, next to Glen, his eyes wild with urgency.

"Move," he growls. "Now."

"But—"

"No buts. You ain't dyin' here."

You dig in your heels, swallowing hard. “I just… I thought I’d see them again. My mum, my dad. I thought… if I made it through this, maybe they did, too.”

Your accent catches on the word mum, and Daryl's jaw clenches. He looks away for a beat, then back, eyes narrowing—not in anger, but in focus.

“Would they want you sittin’ here waitin’ to burn?”

You just stare through him.

His fingers tighten on your arm. "Move yer arse"

Through the fog of shock, you felt something flicker within you—not hope exactly, but a stubborn refusal to disappear quietly.

When Jenner finally relents and opens the doors, you run with the others, stumbling down corridors as the air thins around you.

Behind you, Jacqui chooses to stay.

You see the peace in her eyes—the certainty of her decision—and something in you understands, even as you continue running.

Upstairs, panic erupted when Rick's attempts to break the windows with a chair fail miserably. The reinforced glass wouldn't even crack.

"The glass won't break?" Glenn asked, panic rising in his voice.

"Rick, look out!" T-Dog yelled, swinging an axe at the window with no effect.

Daryl tried too, cursing colorfully when the axe merely bounced off. "Son of a bitch!"

Carol stepped forward, timidly pulling something from her bag. "I think I might have something that could help," as she produced a small grenade.

Rick's eyes lit up with understanding.

Daryl's gaze darted between the grenade and the windows, a new fire igniting in his eyes. "Well goddamn! What're we waitin' for then?"

Rick nodded. "Everybody get down!" he shouted. "Get back! Get back!"

As the group scrambled for cover, Daryl grabbed you roughly by the shoulders and pushed you behind a concrete pillar, positioning himself between you and the impending blast.

His body pressed against yours, trapping you against the cold concrete.

"Cover yer ears," he growled.

The explosion was deafening despite your covered ears. Glass shattered outward as fresh air rushed in, carrying with it the acrid smell of smoke and decay from the world outside.

"GO!" Rick screamed. "Everybody go NOW!"

The mad dash for the vehicles began. Walkers that had been drawn by the explosion now staggered toward your fleeing group.

You could hear gunshots as Shane and Rick cleared a path.

Without thinking, you made a split-second decision and wrenched open the passenger door of the pickup truck, diving inside just as the first rumbles of the self-destruct sequence began beneath the CDC.

"GET DOWN!" someone screamed.

The explosion rocked the vehicle, glass shattering as debris rained down around you.

Daryl threw himself over you instinctively, his body shielding yours from the blast.

For a moment, you stayed like that—his weight pressing you into the seat, his heartbeat thundering against your chest, his breath hot against your neck.

Time suspended as the world burned around you.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes met yours—blue and fierce and alive.

Then, as if suddenly realizing what he'd done, Daryl jerked away from you, practically throwing himself back into the driver's seat.

He stared at you, his expression morphing from concern to confusion to irritation in rapid succession.

"What the hell are ya doin' in my truck?" he demanded, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened.

You blinked, the adrenaline still coursing through your system making it hard to think. "I... I just..."

"Ya just what? Decided ta invite yerself for a ride?" His voice had that familiar edge to it again.

"I panicked," you squeaked.

"Ya coulda squeezed in with the others." he spat, starting the engine with unnecessary force.

An awkward silence filled the cab. You stared out the window, trying to process everything that had happened. Your entire country, gone. Your family, gone. And now you were sitting in a truck with the one person in the group who'd made it clear he couldn't stand you.

"Why'd you do that?" you finally asked, eyes still fixed on the passing landscape.

"Do what?" he grunted, though you could tell from his tone he knew exactly what you meant.

"Shield me. In the explosion. You could have been hurt."

Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Wasn't thinkin'. Just did it."

"I don't need protection," you said, more sharply than you'd intended.

He scoffed. "Coulda fooled me. Way you fell apart back there..."

The words stung, but you couldn't deny them. "You have no idea what it's like to learn your entire country is just... gone."

"Nah, I don't," he admitted, surprising you with his candor. "But I know what it's like ta lose everythin'. Difference is, I don't go all stupid about it."

You turned to face him properly. "So what do you do instead, Daryl? Swing axes? Wave crossbows around? That's healthier?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Least I'm fightin'."

Before you could respond, he reached under the seat and pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

He offered it to you without looking your way.

"What's this for?" you asked.

"Figured ya might need it," he muttered. "Losin' a whole damn country's gotta hurt like hell."

The gesture, gruff as it was, contained more genuine sympathy than all the pitying looks the others had given you. You accepted the bottle, taking a small sip before passing it back.

"Thanks," you said quietly.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, taking a swig himself before returning the bottle to its hiding place.

"Just don't go thinkin' this makes us friends or nothin'," he added, the words lacked their usual bite.

"Wouldn't dream of it,"

139 notes · View notes