#Cyber Six

[syppys-den]

Some of my favorite characters that I consider to be "Like Superman" in that they feel like and/or are they're extremely different from those around them but are still extremely kind and/or heroic

[birdhouseblog25]

[dolliesrot]

Fuckin love your cybersix icon, gotta do a rewatch now

cybersix hell YEAH. I need to read the comics! I wish Adrian was real and that I could kiss Lucas 👉🏻👈🏻 or Adrian.... Or.... Both....

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

This was a ride.

[lilmisskiwi-art]

Almond and Roguefort cookie~ 🍪

[den-kunn]

Six (MK) Fanarts

Characters requested by:

Cyber Smoke - @mangolon

Deception Raiden - @bloody-arty-myths

Kobra - @ash-shark

Kung Lao - @eemr1000

MK12 Noob Saibot - @jentasticart

Cyber Sub-Zero - @thedragonholder

[blasianboiwwhitegurlswag]

vinyl !!!

(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ❀(*´◡`*)❀

shld i make other mlp moodboardz ? :pp

[sinkingtime]

It's Cyber Six. Utahraptor is talking about Cyber Six.

even vats have been affected.  time was, you could fall into a vat of anything and get powers.  these days vats just aren’t what they used to be, credible origin-wise

[bonefydskeleton]

A courier and their companions 💜

My Christmas gift to my most cherished Millie!!!! @arvadthecursed is such a sweet friend and watching their journey through Fallout New Vegas has been one of the great highlights of my year. Especially seeing them collect Boone up, wipe out the Legion, and adopt a cyber dog to complete the rag tag gang.

[plugnuts]

CYBER AU PART FIVE: PROMISE

PREVIOUS | START | NEXT

Panels under the cut:

[sparkles-rule-4eva]

I have no impulse control

Whipped this up like cake over the last hour. ObSESSED with the new trailer and already counting down till September 29!!!!

[her0isms]

i just dropped a TON of new designs on my website! windbreakers, coach jackets, bombers, hoodies, t-shirts and stickers!

https://her0isms-creations.creator-spring.com

still out of work, so i will take all of the help i can get. i keep my prices as low as i can without sacrificing a profit for the printing / shipping.

please feel free to share if you can't buy!

[mukky-world]

Neutra - Six Impala - Fanart

[pitagain]

#365DaysOfVGM Day 187:

Tsukiyoi Castle/Tsukiyoi Castle Battle Theme (Virtua Fighter Cyber Generation: Ambition of the Judgement Six/Virtua Quest [2004])

Another ancient area theme, this one sounds like how I’d want my own desert stage themes to sound like; emotional yet catchy, and never focusing on a single melody for too long, as to communicate a clear focus, something I feel most desert tracks seem to struggle with. The overworld theme containing Drums (The Tabla, perhaps? Just a guess I made in the dark) contributes to the atmosphere, one that’s kinda on the tragic side of things too.

In my imagination, if this game was more popular (And better designed to earn said popularity; mainstream competition for this early 2000s multimedia cyber-world RPG trend included .Hack// and Mega Man Battle Network, and the 90’s still-running Digimon, so it needed something more to coexist in the public space), most people would be here for the battle theme variant, which takes everything a step further; an Electric Guitar and faster pace to indicate the tension of combat, with an expanded melody that surpasses the length of the original even with the higher speed!

The other Strings also get more spotlight inis battle theme, changing in pitch more often throughout. I’d say more, especially about some other instruments I didn’t mention, if I wasn’t so behind schedule. There, a lot to appreciate here, that much is clear

(Length before loop [Normal]: 1.5+ minutes, [Battle]: Nearly 2 minutes)

[mina-org]

part one - part two (youre here) - part three - part four - part five- six

warning for smut, 141 are panty sniffers! and more yanderery than the last! I have another part written but I just felt like was already dragged a lil so lmk if you want the next part! also not edited bc im lazy

“The birds just not fuckin’ into ya johnny. She never took this long to respond to me.” Simon smirks, truthfully he didn’t really remember but he was fucked off with this entire thing, not only was Johnny after his bird but texting you became a group sport, even the double text.

Simon seethes, usually you would've crawled back to him by now, you'd get drunk and call him sobbing from whatever pub you were at and you'd owe him, rinse and repeat.

At least if you were into Johnny he'd know what you were doing but now your absence started to eat at him, he just wondered your were like a deer fresh out the womb, learning to walk, how would you survive when Simon wasn't there to pick up your the pieces when you inevitably fell apart again.

simon couldnt take them fawning over you anymore so he returned to his bedroom, he had a little secret that he had to keep from those closest to him, your underwear. A collection really.

to start with, they were just tucked in his bag for when he was deployed, he’d push a pair around his cock, satin felt nice but the cream pair with little berries on? they were too cute and so you. He’d pump his cock until they were stick with his cum.

then when he was home more often and you were fucked too dumb to bounce on his cock, neglecting him after hes giving you so many? he'll remember that for next time. and really left him no choice but to scout out your discarded panties, maybe a fresh pair if you packed them, and he'd finish himself off before tugging them up your legs, his cum from earlier still leaking out your pretty pussy. something about you walking home in shame, carrying him with you, a sense of ownership simon loved.

now these panties were all he had, and he wasn't gonna share them. maybe with Johnny, if he was good.

after a week it just wasnt doing it for him anymore, he needed to see his girl but all his texts weren't sending:( and he hadn't seen you at the gym or the pilates class you spent so much money on. almost like your little temper tantrum was serious this time.

okay so it took simon a week or two to turn up begging, well demanding your forgiveness.

or he would've, if you answered the fucking door? after coming over and almost fighting your door guy a few times, he gets the hint, stealth is wealth and all that.

now here he is, staring at you through binoculars, on the rooftop opposite your building, like he's gathering intel or some shit. originally he was gonna keep this to himself, threes a crowd after all but it was chilly on the rooftop and simon is all about efficiency and your safety of course!

thing is, that pesky door man knows who simon is, and its doubtful a stick on moustache and boiler suit is gonna convince him that simon is also the buildings engineer!

through this process they've found out your building has a lot of security issues, nobody even thought about cyber security so when gaz sends out an email with a list of apartment numbers and a time, stating some maintenance was needed, no one bats an eye.

and of course you dont want any awkward conversations, like offering them tea or coffee 50 times while they try to focus but they'd think you rude if you dont and you can't ignore them, thats rude too. so you have to go out and stay out.

so you go shopping, you've been needing more underwear anyway!

soon enough John and gaz are in your apartment, putting up hidden cameras, slipping trackers into the linings of your most worn clothes, rifling through your belongings and testing out your perfume, trying to figure out which one you use daily from the memories of your scent lingering on simon and around the flat.

however gold is struck when they come across your laundry basket! feral is the best fitting word, Johnny will froth at the mouth once they tell him and of course share the bounty of their conquest.

taglist: @skeletonsucker @supernova2205 @wh0re4-alexademi @grr457

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ignorantia Neminem Excusat

(Ignorance excuses no one, lat.)

"Commissioner."

Jim Gordon doesn't jump. They are years and years into this rodeo, he's stopped actually jumping at Batman's silent approach a long time ago. Yet, Bruce still notices the way his shoulders twitch just the tiniest bit, and his hand makes an aborted motion to his gun holster. Still got it.

The man turns around. Bruce can see the 'must you always do that?' in his slightly narrowed eyes. He presses his lips tightly together in order to not smirk: Batman doesn't do that, even if it's admittedly funny to see the seasoned Commissioner get spooked every time.

"There's a kid that wants to speak with you."

Bruce frowns. A kid that warranted a BatSignal? Not that he minds, but this is highly unusual for several reasons; however, Jim is not the kind of man that would fall for puppy eyes of any level, so it must be something more important than an autograph session or a victim of any of the recent cases.

Besides, the way Commissioner worded it implies that the kid, whoever they are, requested Batman specifically.

"He is a hacker," Jim puts both his hands in the pockets of his coat — he is either cold or uncomfortable, and Bruce highly suspects it's both. What's more, he starts to understand why. "I'm sure you're aware we were trying to track the person responsible for the few recent cyber attacks on GCPD servers," Jim glances at him, and Bruce nods. He is aware, yes, but the case was low-priority — it wasn't even an attack, really, someone just accessed the system foregoing the passwords and clearance levels, went through a few files, seemingly at random, and did a fairly decent job of hiding their traces. Bruce would have even thought it was Tim, if this happened a few years ago, when the boy was just learning the ropes.

Commissioner sighs and looks away, "But when we brought him in, the boy said he will only speak to you, and none of us have been able to make him say a word since." He pauses, a grim kind of expression on his face, "This was six hours ago."

Bruce is grateful for the way his cowl hides how his eyebrows raise. There are hundreds of scripts officers, detectives, and social workers can use to establish contact. Quite a lot of them could be attempted in the span of six hours.

Whatever the kid wants to tell him, Bruce decides it's worth a try. If not anything else, he can at least admire the sheer stubbornness.

—×—×—×—

The kid sitting in the interrogation room looks... younger than Bruce expected. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. He is dressed like any other homeless kid in Gotham — a hoodie and a jacket over it, jeans that look a size too big on him, sneakers with mismatched shoelaces — but he clearly hasn't been out in the streets for that long. His hair is braided into cornrows, and it looks professional, even if the roots have grown out so now it's just messy. What's more, he is missing that telltale wariness in his posture that Bruce has seen in every other street kid that has been brought into a police station. They always slouch and curl into themselves.

This boy is sitting with his back straight. Yet, there's a tension in his body that Bruce can only associate with a battle stance — give him the slightest reason, and the kid will lunge.

He steps into the room.

The boy — he hadn't given a name, and there wasn't a single ID on him — zeroes on him instantly. His eyes are a very pale, almost translucent green: a rather strange feature for a black-skinned person, genetically speaking, but Bruce doesn't dwell on it. Yet.

But then, the face recognition program comes up empty.

As in, 'there's not a trace of this person's prior existence' empty. Not a single camera footage, no records or reports of missing, no pictures, no social media, nothing. Bruce frowns.

"Hi," the kid says, his voice raspy, "My name is Tucker Foley. According to the government, I don't exist, so if your recognition program doesn't find anything on me, that's why."

Bruce doesn't say anything. Tucker wanted to speak with him, and previously, he was only merely intrigued by that request. However, as of right now, he wants to hear everything the kid has to say before asking any follow-up questions.

Because that always present, cautious and bordering on paranoid voice in the back of his mind tells him he is about to get into something way more serious than he expected.

Tucker moves — he kept both his hands on the table, palms open and visible, but now he closes one into a fist. Although, before Bruce can react to it, he opens it again. A small, the size of a flash-drive, dimly glowing green object rests inside.

"Do you know what this is?" The boy asks. He hasn't looked away from Batman's face once; Bruce is not even sure he blinked at all since he entered the room. Come to think of it, even with his tense, rigid posture, Tucker is too still, almost unnervingly so.

Bruce glances down to the boy's hand.

"Yes," he answers curtly, and there it is, the smallest shift in Tucker's face: he clenches his jaw like he's trying to hold the words inside his mouth. Bruce doesn't like it.

"What is it?" Comes the next question, but it's not curiosity that prompts it. It's a test of some sort. Bruce likes that even less.

"A power source," he decides on a neutral answer, not entirely certain what the boy is expecting to hear.

It seems to be a wrong answer because for the first time, Tucker's emotions slip from under his mask, and he takes a sharp breath in, looking like Bruce had just slapped him across the face. It lasts only a moment — Tucker closes his eyes for a moment, slowly exhales, and speaks again, calm and focused once more.

"And what exactly powers it?"

It's an important question, judging by the desperate, searching look in Tucker's eyes. His hands are not shaking, and there are no visible signs of distress, but for some reason, Bruce just knows that the boy's whole life seems to depend on the answer.

But.

"It's classified." Bruce doesn't take his eyes off the boy, but he still fails to see when he gets to his feet; the movement is quicker than the blink of an eye. All he knows is the aftermath of it, the screech of the chair legs on the floor and the loud slam of Tucker's palms on the table.

"Fuck the classified!" The boy yells, his face twisting in an awful mix of anger, hurt and a broken, terrified sort of hopelessness that almost breaks Bruce from the inside. "I need to know what they've told you, I have to- Tell me you think it's just a battery! Tell me you've never broke one to see what's inside, tell me you believe in science! They've showed you the research, didn't they?" Tucker's voice, so agonizingly different from the composed way he was talking before, breaks into a sobbing, almost hysterical laugh. His pale eyes are wide open and almost panicked, searching Batman's face for something he is not sure he can find.

"Tell me you've never seen one being made," this time, the boy doesn't yell, he whispers, his breath hitching and his knuckles white. "Please," he adds a moment later, and Bruce knows this kind of plea.

It's the plea of someone who is begging for the world to have mercy on them. A plea of a boy standing on their parents' grave, a plea of a man kneeled in front of his son's corpse.

Bruce swallows the bitter taste on the back of his tongue and takes a step closer. He sees the boy in front of him lean back and bend his knees, like bracing for impact, but he answers before any more misunderstandings can occur.

"I have seen the research. It provided enough information that I've never investigated further," he offers, and Tucker's shoulders slump like months and months of living in a constant state of fight-or-flight leaving his body all at once. Then, the boy's hands start trembling just slightly.

"Really?" He quietly asks, his eyes still glued to Batman, and there it is, the hesitant, uncertain hint of hope in his voice.

Bruce suddenly feels like not only this talk will be much, much worse than he ever feared, but also like in the end this will be another one of the things he will be blaming himself for. Things he could have prevented if he just tried a little harder.

"Really," he nods, taking a seat opposite from Tucker. "So explain what I've missed."

The boy keeps looking at him for a few more seconds, like trying to x-ray his thoughts for any sign of a lie. But then he blinks — for the first time, maybe — and rubs his face with his palm before all but dropping back in his own seat.

"Okay," he breathes out, evidently trying to collect himself and go back to the strong, focused self, "Okay."

[ part 2 -> ]