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pathologicalreid · 11 months ago

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for the fear of falling apart | part two

returning to Everett Lynch's case, you try to redefine normalcy with Spencer and JJ, but Grace Lynch has other plans for you

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: angst, hurt/comfort content warnings: gun violence, spoilers/references to: 9x6 "in the blood", 9x14 "200", 9x23 "angels", 9x24 "demons", 13x22 "believer", 14x1 "300", 14x15 "truth or dare". rewrite of 15x1 "under the skin", 15x2 "awakenings". a lot of dialogue is pulled directly from the show. hospitals/medical information. diana's alzheimers. marriage talk. roslyn's suicide. the parentification of jennifer jareau. mommy AND daddy issues. fear of drowning. word count: 7.48k a/n: it's two days late, but it's three times longer than part one. welcome to the abyss of my brain. it's scary in here.

Your name was being called. First, it felt far away, slowly coming closer and closer, lifting you to the surface as if you were being pulled. The sound was muffled until you broke through the barrier, a female voice clearly called your name, prompting your eyes to fly open, and there you were, sitting up on Penelope’s velvet couch, cocooned in a crocheted blanket with what was sure to be a remarkable bedhead.

Lifting your hand and placing it over your racing heart, you looked up at Penelope, the blue streak that you had redone for her last night prominent against her blonde hair. “Hey,” you said, widening your eyes and letting the blanket fall from your shoulders.

She crooked a brow at you suspiciously. For someone who wasn’t a profiler, she did have a knack for reading people, but you supposed it came with the territory. “My darling girl, you are always more than welcome to sleep on my couch, it’s a wonderful couch, I have spent my fair share of nights sleeping on it,” she rambled, sitting down next to you and taking your hands in hers. “You’re hiding,” she told you softly, “What are you hiding from?”

Penelope reached out to you, sweeping a messy strand of hair behind your ear as her big, brown eyes looked at you sympathetically. The gesture and the way she was speaking to you nearly approached being sisterly. At the idea of developing a supplemental sororal relationship with the technical analyst, you pulled away from her. You shook your head, “I’m not hiding,” you told her simply, leaving her with a half-truth as you stood up and began folding the blanket that had kept you warm overnight.

Nodding incredulously, she looked up at you, “If your Luddite boyfriend is blowing up my phone, then something has to be going on.” Her tone was urgent, but she stayed seated, giving you an advantage.

“Nothing’s wrong, Pen,” you reassured her, shaking your head and shrugging simultaneously.

Her face filled with doubt, glancing over at your cellphone as it buzzed on the coffee table, Spencer’s contact flashing on the touchscreen as you ignored the call. “Why didn’t you tell him you were staying with me last night?”

Pressing your lips in a thin white line, you briefly considered coming clean. You envisioned the truth coming out of you in puddles, everything you had been holding close to your chest for the last month pouring out like alphabet soup, but Penelope didn’t deserve that burden. “I just forgot,” you told her, watching the screen go dark.

Spencer was a worrier by the influence of his environment. Adamantly against getting a new phone, he couldn’t see your location at any given moment. His first course of action was usually calling your sister before resorting to Penelope, who not only has your location on her phone but also has access to your location in the bureau database. It wasn’t a fault of his, members of the BAU did have a tendency to disappear in the dead of the night.

She urged you to call him back as her phone started going off, her shoulders slumping forward, a tell-tale sign that the BAU was being pulled in on a case. If you were lucky, you would be able to slip through the cracks, claiming to put all of your focus into the case so that you didn’t need to have an in-depth conversation with your boyfriend. Or your sister, for that matter.

“Where are we headed?” You asked, rolling up your sleeves and crossing your arms in front of your stomach.

Penelope frowned at the tiny screen in front of her, “Baltimore,” she said hesitantly, “Uh, we gotta go. I’ll drive? You can call Spencer on the way,” she suggested before bolting into the bathroom.

You ended up avoiding the call to Spencer yet again, claiming you’d see him at the office anyway, and instead opening yourself up to a barrage of questions.

Was there cheating? Are you pregnant? Were you pregnant? Did he propose? Did you say no? Did you say yes?

The two of you parted as she went to prepare files and you waltzed into the bullpen, clocking the vase of flowers on your desk immediately. They, of course, weren’t just flowers, but a carefully calculated decision made to try and get into your good graces. This was the fifth vase that had been delivered in the last month.

First, there were honeysuckles, a symbol of devoted affection. Red carnations told you that his heart ached for you. A bouquet of daisies because he truly loved you. Last week, white lilies were left on your desk, a symbol of pure love.

Now, a bunch of apple blossoms sat on your desk, telling you that he preferred you before anyone else. How poignant.

Your eyes burned as you looked around the bullpen, hoping he was around so you could return the flowers to him, but the only people you saw were Emily and Rossi, sequestered in her office in the middle of what seemed to be a tense discussion. Choosing to ignore the flowers, you walked over to your desk, tucking your go-bag underneath and starting to power up your computer.

“Hey, Y/N?” Emily called from her office, “Can you head to the file room and pull everything from the Lynch case?” She didn’t even wait for an answer before closing the door again.

Concerned, you turned around and started making your way to the file room. If Everett Lynch was back, that would explain the worried look on Penelope’s face when the case came in. Even more, that would explain why Emily and Rossi were hidden in her office. Every member of the team wanted to see Lynch locked up for what he’s done, but for Dave it was personal.

Opening the file room, you pulled open the drawer of active cases from the past three months, starting to strip the drawer of anything even remotely related to Everett Lynch. The revelation that Grace was his daughter took everyone by surprise, but Spencer still felt responsible for Luke getting knifed. You should talk to him about it, you thought to yourself, if he didn’t talk about it, he’d just continue to internalize it.

“I need to talk to you,” a voice said suddenly from behind you, jolting you away from your train of thought. Spinning on your heel, you looked at Spencer.

Alarmed, you huffed, “You scared me,” you informed him, clutching the files close to your chest as you studied his stature. He looked fine, his hair was a bit of a mess, but he was wearing the red cardigan that you had gotten him for Christmas last year. You didn’t even want to begin to consider the implications of his outfit choice.

He furrowed his brows at you, “I scared you? You disappeared last night without a word, and I scared you?” There wasn’t even a hint of anger in his voice, instead, his words dripped in sweet melancholy, and you couldn’t look away from him.

You thought about your sister, snatched from the nation’s capital in the middle of the night as vengeance for her work with the CIA. Spencer and Penelope, both taken from what should have been a secure FBI building by a cult that bore a decade-long grudge against the BAU. You had frightened him, probably tripping his overactive mind into believing you were destined to meet a similar fate – dying in a warehouse somewhere. Blinking absently, you shook your head at him, “I’m sorry,” you told him, and you meant it.

“You’re punishing me,” he accused, crossing his arms in front of his chest before quickly dropping them, being hypervigilant about his body language.

Skimming your tongue over the backs of your teeth nervously, you hesitantly met his gaze. He seemed to be convinced that you were punishing him for the events that had taken place last month, but you were inclined to believe that you were punishing yourself, he was caught in your crossfire. “It’s not a punishment, Spence,” you whispered, watching how his brown eyes shone under the fluorescent lights.

His shoulders dropped, disappointment plain on his face, “I missed you at the baby shower,” he confessed.

“Sprinkle,” you corrected.

“Semantics,” he retorted, and it almost brought a smile to your face.

You looked down at the files in your arms, not even realizing that you had been white-knuckling the classified information, “I was there,” you disputed. “I saw you. I brought the gift and put both of our names on it. What more could I have done?”

Rolling his eyes, he gave you a tilted look, “Standing together in the group photo would’ve been nice.”

In response, you straightened up your back, “Ah, you were too busy standing with my sister,” you quipped, bringing the conversation back to the root of the conflict.

“Will you come home tonight? Stay with me?” Your heart clenched at his question.

Hesitantly, you nodded, “I’ll be there,” you assured him, securing the last of the files before sneaking around him, skillfully avoiding the remainder of your team as you made your way to the roundtable room.

“I’m worried about Dave,” you whispered, looking at the other end of the couch at your boyfriend, the two of you dressed in pajamas, your old Georgetown sweatshirt frayed at the cuffs, but it remained your favorite.

The orange print of his Caltech t-shirt was peeling up on the edges, sometimes, at night, you’d pick at the emblem – it drove Spencer crazy, especially when he woke up in a pile of picked vinyl. His mug was carefully resting in his hands as the two of you had a nighttime cup of tea, something you used to do when you had just started dating, and that you decided to try to bring back – chamomile for you, lavender for him. “I talked to him tonight,” he told you, turning to face you, “He’s.. he’ll be fine. He has Krystall.”

And I have you, you thought to yourself, lifting your mug to your lips and taking a sip. Sometimes you felt special for getting this side of Spencer, the ratty college t-shirt and flannel pajama pants that he wore while lounging on the worn leather couch.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” He asked when you didn’t respond, leaning forward and setting his mug on the coffee table.

Shaking your head, you followed suit, setting your mug on a coaster next to his before crawling closer to him on the couch, taking him by surprise. “Not yet,” you whispered, sitting down next to him, relieved when he responded by putting an arm around you. “I’m not mad at you,” you told him, “I just needed time.”

His arm was warm and familiar over your shoulders, having the same effect as a weighted blanket, calming you down with a simple touch. “To think,” he said, “you keep saying that. Are you… do you need more time?”

You closed your eyes, leaning into him, “I don’t think so, but I’m,” you faltered, frowning, “I’m having a hard time talking to my sister.” It wasn’t a secret that there had been some sort of falling out between the Jareau sisters, but the reasoning behind the rift remained a mystery to most people.

“I am too,” he admitted, skimming his fingertips up and down your arm. “I keep recalling everything that happened, and I don’t fully understand how everything got so messed up.

Raising your eyebrows, you remained in the crook of his arm, “People say a lot of things with a gun to their head.”

What you hadn’t considered was that following her admission, your sister would avoid Spencer. When you decided to avoid both of them, you had no idea what you were taking from him. “What would your truth have been?”

“I’m afraid that everything surrounding me is destined to fall apart,” you admitted. “I was brought into my family in an attempt to rescue my parents’ marriage, but it didn’t work.” Your sister slit her wrists open when you were only four years old, but somehow your father had put her death on your shoulders. JJ left home as soon as she could, leaving you at twelve years old with your grief-stricken mother, who had spent the last several decades waiting for the day her daughters would all be reunited.

Spencer was quiet for a while before responding to you, “We should go to bed.”

He was probably right, the team was expected to be in early tomorrow morning. After leaving well past dark, the last thing you wanted to think about was going back in before the sun had a chance to rise. “Wait,” you said, “What’s your truth?”

Briefly, his eyes flickered, looking down the length of your body, “My truth is that I’m tired, we should go to sleep,” he told you, herding you toward your shared bedroom.

“Same time tomorrow?” You asked, walking through the bedroom and into the ensuite, grabbing your toothbrush off the counter.

Nodding, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, “I’ll be there.”

Maybe you should’ve taken it as a sign that you were unphased by the revelation of a crazy doctor with a fetish for skinning people. The world had strange ways of telling you that you needed to take a step back, for every sign you had been given, you took a step forward. That was how you ended up in the backseat of an SUV with your sister at the wheel and Spencer in the passenger seat.

Everett Lynch had invaded the BAU’s territory, coming in like an infestation in the district, and he was trying to break his daughter Grace out of jail. You heard through the phone that they were scrambling tactics, using the walkie-talkies in the U.S. Attorney building to prevent their own capture.

The car came to a screeching halt, and the three of you piled out, “There’s no time,” your sister said, looking around, “We’ll cover this one,” she informed Spencer, looking back at you as you adjusted the strap of your Kevlar.

“I’ll take the garage on Piedmont and 10th,” Spencer responded dutifully, nodding at the both of you before turning around and running to the parking garage two blocks over.

You and your sister started to make your way into the larger of the two parking garages, both of you pulling your firearms and pointing them down, keeping yourselves aware of your surroundings. There was movement in front of you, two bodies moving toward a white van with federal plates – the Lynch’s. “Everett Lynch,” you called out, “Drop your weapon and put your hands up, now!”

The man in front of you – the so-called Chameleon – scoffed in disbelief, “Take it easy. There’s no reason to gun down a daddy in front of his little girl, right?” You kept your Glock aimed at him, watching intently as he carefully set his gun on the ground. Sirens started going off in your head, a premonition of things to come.

“Alright,” JJ shouted, “Kick it over. Grace, you too. Drop your backpack and let me see your hands. Come on, now!”

Putting her hands up, Grace let her backpack fall to the ground in a heap of fabric, you kept your gun trained on them as JJ lunged to the side, reaching over to pick up Everett’s gun from the ground. “Grace!” You shouted, watching the girl bring her hands down as she reached for something, “Put your hands back up!”

It was a split-second decision, but you watched as Grace lifted that gun in her hands, and you jumped. You knocked your sister over as three shots rang through the air, the first one grazed her arm. The next two lodged themselves in your side as the two of you fell to the ground, your body rolling along the ground as the father-daughter duo loaded themselves in the van before driving off.

JJ grabbed her weapon and shot after them, hoping to blow out one of their tires or at the very least slow them down, but with only one good arm, her aim was off. She scrambled to her feet, “Come on, Y/N,” she huffed, not checking behind her before running out of the parking garage.

You wanted nothing more than to follow her. Being angry wasn’t worth it anymore, you couldn’t freeze out your older sister anymore. You tried to breathe, you tried to call after her, but when you opened your mouth, the only thing that came out was blood.

For your entire life, you had followed her. When asked what you wanted to be when you grew up, you’d tell them you wanted to be like your big sister. You wanted to follow her, but you couldn’t move.

You followed her from East Allegheny to Washington D.C. You had followed her into this very parking garage. Now, all you could think about was following Roslyn, bleeding out on the cold hard floor, alone.

“Y/N, what’s your location?” Spencer’s voice rang through your radio.

You had never been shot before. You had always thought it would be cold to be shot, but instead, your whole body felt like it had been set on fire.

“Y/N, do you copy?”

The wetness of the blood should have made it cold.

“Y/N?”

Your fire was slowly fading, the blaze that had gone up so quickly began to ebb as you stopped feeling anything at all. The tapping of shoes echoed through the parking garage as you lay on the cement.

“No,” that all too familiar voice said, “Y/N is down, she’s been hit. We need an ambulance now,” Spencer called into the radio, he was out of breath as he looked down at you.

He studied your appearance, clocking the entry wounds on your side and moving his fingers in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. An odd, choked noise escaped your throat as the pressure on your side stoked the fire.

Spencer’s fingers trembled even as he maintained pressure on your side, “I know, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He took a deep breath, “here, turn- turn your head,” he instructed gently, using his free hand to coax your face to the side. You choked and came to the horrifying realization that he was trying to stop you from aspirating on your own blood. “Get it all out, baby,” he cajoled as blood spurted from your mouth, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

That would have to be enough. It wasn’t enough for you to hope anymore. You had spent so long with the Anger and Resentment from your Pandora’s Box that you completely failed to notice how Hope had slipped through the cracks, lost in a sea of emotions.

“Do you hear that? That’s the ambulance,” he told you, an unspoken plea in his voice.

But you couldn’t hear the sirens, pretty soon, you couldn’t hear anything at all.

The EMTs had all kinds of things to say, none of them were even remotely comforting. The bullets had entered through the thin opening of your Kevlar, a sort of Achilles heel where you couldn’t be protected. He should have double-checked, he should have paused to adjust the straps before running to the other parking garage.

He watched the doctors shock you in the emergency room, looking on in horror as your heart stopped beating. “Are you her husband?” One of the nurses had asked.

Spencer’s mouth had gone completely dry, “I’m- almost,” he answered, earning a sympathetic look from the nurse as she proceeded to ask him questions about next of kin and extraordinary measures. One of the bullets had pierced your lungs, causing catastrophic bleeding.

The nurse guided him to a surgical waiting room, but no one came out to him with updates, leaving him to sit. Someone brought his go-bag by, letting him change into clothes that weren’t blood-soaked.

He sat in a pile of limbs on the hospital’s couch, picking at the crusted blood that he hadn’t quite managed to wash off, and he wondered if he could ask one of the nurses for a surgical scrub brush, wondering if that would get the last flecks of blood from the ridges of his fingernails.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, rushing through the hallway, Will trailing close behind her.

Her arm was wrapped with gauze, probably stitched up before someone told her what had happened to her little sister. “Hey,” Spencer said, standing up as they approached, wiping his clammy hands on his slacks.

JJ held her hands out, “What have you heard? Anything?”

“It’s gonna be a while,” he said, repeating the only words that he had been told. They had taken you to the OR an hour ago, and all they had to do was wait it out.

The clinical white walls of the hospital were enough to make Spencer stir crazy, when Will offered to get him a cup of coffee, he was almost aggressive in his rejection. The sunlight reflected off the drywall as your surgery continued to test his patience.

Eventually, your mother called JJ back, and your sister walked away in order to explain the situation under the guise of privacy, leaving Spencer alone. “Dr. Reid?” Someone said, maintaining the reverent tones of the hospital that were beginning to make him want to pull his hair out.

“Yes,” he said, standing up in front of the nurse.

The nurse gave him a gentle smile, and he braced himself for the worst. “Ms. Jareau is out of surgery,” she informed him.

You had been in there for nearly six hours. “She…” he faltered, “Can I see her?” He asked, looking past the nurse as if he could see all the way into your recovery room from where he stood.

Nodding, the nurse continued to smile at him, “I can take you to her now if you’d like. She’s still under sedation,” she advised, gesturing for Spencer to follow her through the winding hallways of the hospital.

“Is she going to be okay?” He asked, checking to make sure he had his phone in his pocket so he could text JJ if he needed to.

The nurse’s smile tightened, “We won’t be able to know if she’s sustained any neurological damage until she wakes up.”

He frowned slightly, bracing himself for an answer that he wouldn’t like, “Could she hear me if I talk to her?” He asked, stopping in his tracks as the nurse stopped outside of a room – your room.

“It’s unlikely,” the nurse answered.

That made sense to him, there weren’t any studies that could prove that people could hear external stimuli while comatose. At least, there wasn’t enough for the medical community to reach a consensus. “Thank you,” Spencer said, nodding at the nurse as she turned away, letting him know that the doctor would be by to talk to him soon.

Your skin was pallid, a sickly sheen covering your skin as tubes and wires worked together to monitor you and keep your body going. Spencer set your patient bag in the corner of the room before dragging a chair over to your bedside, cringing at the sound the chair made against the linoleum before taking a seat next to you.

The steady beeping of your heart monitor quickly became the only thing preventing him from falling apart entirely. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, keeping his voice down so that no one else would hear him. “I keep going over it in my head and I don’t know how I didn’t realize you were missing sooner,” he spoke to your silent body, chest rising and falling with even breaths. “I’m so sorry,” he echoed, “You should’ve… you should’ve been my priority. Before Grace. Before Lynch. Before any of it.”

He inhaled shakily, glancing over at your vital monitor, taking comfort in the consistency of the numbers, “I should’ve put you first and now I- I can’t take it back,” he said, eyes burning with emotion. “I know things between the two of us have been kind of weird lately… ever since the pawn shop, I mean. I just,” he paused for a moment, giving himself grace, “I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know if she meant it and if she did, what does that mean? When you didn’t bring it up after the wedding I didn’t either because I just didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

Somewhere along the way, the two of you had gotten lost. In the midst of not talking about the pawn shop, you had stopped talking altogether. “Now, all of a sudden, none of it even matters. All that matters is that I need you to wake up because I need to have more time with you,” he sniffled, the first hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it,” he whispered.

“Please don’t leave me,” he begged, thinking of all of those nights the two of you had stayed up talking about the future. Your dream wedding. Your children’s names. He needed it. More of it. More of you.

Mindful of you, he laid his arms on the armrest of your hospital bed, lowering his head and watching the consistent rise and fall of your chest, listening to the whistling of your nostrils as he waited for the doctor to come.

The doctor seemed confident that you would wake up, it was just a question of when. He sent JJ, who had gone home to change into fresh clothing, an update once the doctor left.

Every once in a while, your nose would twitch or your finger would tap on the hospital bedding, and he would allow himself to get his hopes up. It never lasted long, once the fluke ended, he went back to thinking about the situation realistically. You were still having blood transfused, there was a tube in your chest depositing fluids into a bag at your bedside, and even if you did wake up, there was a long road to recovery with an injury like this.

He was terrified that you’d wake up alone and in excruciating pain, so he refused to move, having any paperwork brought directly to him in your room. Nearly every fifteen minutes, he smoothed out the blanket that rested on top of you, careful when putting his hands near your body, even though you couldn’t tell whether or not your blanket was wrinkled. Spencer thought of it as tucking you in, keeping you safe, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was too little too late.

You didn’t make it to the beach as often as you’d like. Spencer hated the beach, and you weren’t interested in swimming in the ocean so much as you wanted to go and people-watch. Families on vacation. Marriage proposals.

The first time you had ever gone to the ocean, you were three years old. JJ and Roslyn hadn’t been in years, but it was all new to you. JJ wanted to bring you to the water, and Roslyn hadn’t even wanted to go on the trip. The water hadn’t scared you then, the endless abyss of blue had seemed more inviting than anything you had ever seen before.

Now, you lay on the sand, all of it cold beneath your skin, the rest of the beach seemingly abandoned. Try as you might, you couldn’t move anything. You wanted to lift your arm to brush hair out of your face. You wanted to sit up. You wanted to go home.

You couldn’t even see the water from where you lay, you opened your mouth, hoping to call for help, but were surprised when the only thing that came out of your mouth was a dark, black sludge. It spurted from your mouth as it ran down your cheeks, staining the white sand of the beach beneath you. You were drowning on dry land, and there was nothing you could do.

Nothing but open your eyes.

The ominous white sky of the beach turned into white walls, as you fluttered your eyes open, the ocean made way for you, parting so that you could return to yourself. Laid in a hospital bed, trying to remember how to breathe, and meeting Spencer’s stare.

“Hi love,” he whispered, gently placing one hand on top of yours, drawing circles on the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb, careful not to knock your pulse oximeter off.

Your brows pinched together as you looked over at him, he looked tired, waiting for you to say something. Your chest felt tight as you looked at him, hundreds of thoughts bubbling to the surface, but only one bubble popped, “I had a nightmare.”

Spencer nodded slowly, messy curls falling over his forehead, “It’s okay, angel. You’re awake now. It can’t hurt you.”

It can’t hurt you. It can’t hurt you. It can’t hurt you.

You watched as Spencer reached over and pushed the call button on your bed. Each moment you spent awake became increasingly painful, signified by the slow rise of your heart rate, the pain only exacerbated when your breathing quickened. Alarm grew, “Shh, hey,” Spencer consoled you, reaching his hand out and smoothing your hair back, looking to the door and hoping someone would come in and help you.

They did, pushing pain medications through your IV and watching your heart rate stabilize before giving you something to help you calm down. Spencer probably knew what they all were, making mental notes to keep track of everything as he kept his hand in yours. Your pain level dwindled from a nine to a six, leveling out in the middle ground.

You settled back into the pillows, cringing as a nurse moved your bed so that you were sitting up slightly, nodding softly at the things that she told you about rest. She checked your vitals, before leaving the two of you alone, silence swirling around the two of you as you constructed a bubble to keep yourselves warm.

“I should’ve found you sooner,” he whispered, looking over at you, a distressed look in his eyes.

Moving at a turtle’s pace, you shook your head, “You saved my life.”

It’s okay. I’ve got you, he had told you in the parking garage, and he did. He still had you, even now. If they had let him, Spencer might’ve waited for you outside the operating room, just to be in the vicinity of you.

“Don’t go anywhere,” you murmured, eyes opening and closing slowly. Your eyelids felt sticky like there was still tape residue on them from your operation, but you didn’t dare move. You didn’t dare agitate any wound on your body. “Is JJ okay?” You asked, your voice tight. Checking in on your sister took all of your strength.

Spencer kept his hand in yours, moving his free hand to wipe at tears that had spilled over your lower lashline. “She’s fine, just a graze,” he reassured you, “I’ll call her when you go back to sleep.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if you were allowed to have any water, “I missed you,” you breathed, fighting to keep your eyes open. “I wanna talk to you,” you sniffled.

“You should sleep, my sweet girl,” he answered, not wanting you to get into a hefty conversation in your condition. “We have all the time in the world to talk when you wake up.”

Except you didn’t. You had thought there was time for you to be angry, but then you had been shot. As much as you hated the idea of being someone who had a near-death experience and suddenly let bygones be bygones, alienating those close to you seemed exhausting. You took a deep breath, thankful for the nasal cannula on your face, “I’ve been so distant,” you admitted.

Spencer hesitated, not sure if you needed to get into this while so vulnerable, “I don’t know if she meant it,” he breathed.

“I don’t need to know,” you told him, surprising yourself as much as him with your admission. “JJ is… She’s one of the most important people in my life, but so are you. Maybe even more so.”

He frowned, “You can’t possibly mean that.”

You closed your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again, “JJ’s my sister, we share the same family, but I chose you, Spence. I will continue to do so,” you told him, deciding against adding until the day that I die. Watching him as he looked at you with tear-filled eyes, “Oh,” you sighed, “please don’t cry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Waving off your concern, he wiped at his eyes before taking one of your hands in both of his, “I love you so much, but I don’t want you to forget your anger.”

“Huh?” You hummed groggily.

“You’ve been mad for months,” he whispered, the strokes of his thumb on the back of your hand putting you to sleep. “It doesn’t need to fade away in the blink of an eye.”

You let your eyes slip shut once again, “I’ll still give you a hard time.”

He laughed slightly at that, “Good.”

“Spence?” You breathed.

“Yeah, baby?”

Humming, you settled back into the bed, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make our tea date tonight.”

When you woke up again, a familiar blonde was sitting at the foot of your bed, hunched in a plastic hospital chair while Spencer remained at your bedside, hands still intertwined, but sweaty now. “Jennifer,” he said, getting the attention of your sister.

She jumped up from the chair and sat on the edge of your bed, in your periphery, you saw Spencer retreat, ambling into the hallway to talk to Emily. Letting him go, you turned your attention to your sister, “Hey, Jayg,” you greeted, words coming easier now than they did before, the swelling of your throat had gone down.

Her finely chiseled eyebrows pinched together on her face, “I thought you were right behind me,” she admitted miserably, looking at your torso.

“It’s alright now, though,” you tried to reassure her. You had lost half of your blood volume, much of it on the parking garage floor, but you were here now, that had to mean something.

She shook her head in abject self-disappointment, “I should have protected you,” she insisted, scrunching up her nose as she fought back tears.

You were too tired to fight emotions, water falling from your tear ducts as the two of you tried to mend what had previously been torn apart. “You don’t need to protect me,” you insisted. The decision to take the hit had been entirely your own, driven by a need to protect her.

“I always have though,” she reminded you, “When Roz died, dad left, and mom checked out, I took care of you.”

When you were a child, you thought that having your pre-teen sister do everything for you was the way things worked. It didn’t last long, things unraveled from there, but you always had JJ. “I’m all grown up now,” you reminded her. You didn’t need her protection in your early thirties in the same way you needed them as a child.

JJ took a shaky breath, cupping your cheek with her hand affectionately, the way a mother would to their child, “You’re always going to be my little sister.”

You looked at her, seven years your senior, and you sighed, “Do you know why I did it?” You asked her, studying the sad look in her eyes.

She smoothed your hair back, grabbed a cup of water from your bedside, and brought the straw to your lips, “Why, Ducky?”

The childhood nickname chimed in your ears, one of the only things that you retained from your eldest sister. You smiled at her, “Your boys.” The answer came easily to you, “You have Will and your tiny people, and I just thought… I couldn’t let you leave them.”

“But I almost lost you,” she countered, it wasn’t aggressive, it was almost like she was trying to make you see the value in your own life. The people in your life didn’t make you valuable, you had value as an individual.

Shrugging, you looked at her sympathetically, “Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’, “You’re stuck with me.”

She gave you a sisterly, knowing look, “Your heart stopped. Twice.”

You concurred, “Yeah, because you’re just that stuck with me.” You insisted, watching as Spencer answered a phone call in the hallway. “Did you call them?” You asked her, giving her a quick glance as you craned your neck to keep an eye on your boyfriend.

“Mom’s on a flight in tomorrow morning, but dad hasn’t responded to my voicemail,” she informed you, she didn’t look surprised, and you didn’t feel it.

Where your father was concerned, some things were better left unsaid, but you wouldn’t necessarily mind if he never responded to your sister’s calls. There was no reason to drag him and his new wife from their cushy life in Florida. Spencer reentered the room as JJ’s phone started ringing – Will – and the two of them traded off, amicably splitting time with you.

Greeting him with a content smile on your face, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your hairline, “I have to go,” he told you reluctantly.

You tried not to let any disappointment show on your face, “Why? What’s wrong?” You asked, studying his face for any sign of what his phone call had been about.

“That was Brookfield on the phone,” Spencer said, checking all of the monitors that surrounded you.

The grim look on his face made sense to you. Moving his mother into Brookfield had been the right choice for everyone, but her condition was never going to get better. Last time he had gone to visit, Diana hadn’t even recognized him, and you spent the rest of the day holding him, letting him know it was alright. “You have to go,” you echoed his earlier sentiment, nodding reassuringly.

He hesitated to leave you, sitting on the edge of your bed that had been previously occupied by your sister, “But you- you’re…”

You shook your head in dismissal, “Sometimes everything happens all at once, but you have to go.” If Brookfield was telling him to get down there, then he needed to go.

The next several hours passed slowly, Emily gave you an update on the case – the reader’s digest version, avoiding any gnarly details in an attempt to protect you. Will brought you and JJ dinner, eating the meal with them and your nephews, you were grateful to not have to eat the hospital cafeteria food. Slowly, the day came to an end, you sent JJ home when visiting hours ended, letting her know that you didn’t need to be protected while you were in a hospital.

You fell asleep not long after one of your nurses lowered the volume on your vital monitor, the dark peace of the hospital lulling you into a sense of safety. There hadn’t been word from Spencer, and you worried about him and his mother.

A tapping sound dragged you from what was thankfully a dreamless sleep, you recognized the sound of the footsteps, those shoes made a similar sound on the hardwood floor of your apartment, “You’re noisy when you wear your fancy shoes,” you mumbled drowsily, opening your tired eyes and tilting your head in the direction of the sound.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, “Go back to sleep,” he told you gently, slowly making his way around your hospital bed and to the fold-out chair next to your bed.

You hummed, following him with your eyes as they adjusted in the dark, “No, you woke me up. Now you have to talk to me,” you told him, reaching over to switch on a lamp, cringing at the way the light burned your eyes.

Unprompted, he inspected your vital monitor before reaching out to adjust your nasal cannula, “Where’s JJ?” He asked, cupping your cheek affectionately before taking his seat.

Reaching out for your cup of water, you smiled to yourself when Spencer moved it closer to you, “I made her go home. Our mom will be here in the morning, and she’ll need all the rest she can get.” There was also the fact that Michael had been freaked out by seeing you in a hospital, so he needed some extra love from his parents tonight. “Wait,” you said, “How did you get in here? Visiting hours are over.”

“I might have told a small lie about you needing security,” he admitted sheepishly, but beneath it, he was smug. You didn’t fault him on it, you probably wanted him here just as much as he wanted to be here, if not more.

Smiling in the dim lamplight, you inclined your head toward him, “Did you misrepresent the bureau?”

He rolled his eyes, “I’d do it again if it meant I get to spend the night with you.” Helping you put your water cup back on your tray, Spencer took your hand in his, “How are you doing?”

You were exhausted, not in the sense that you wanted to sleep, although that probably couldn’t hurt, but in the sense that your entire body ached. There was a pinch in your side that wouldn’t ease up, and you didn’t feel comfortable with asking for more pain medication. Part of you was afraid that in the process of being shot, you developed a fear of drowning. You almost died today. Huge strides had been made in an attempt to repair your relationship with Spencer and with your sister. None of these thoughts escaped your lips, you just looked at him sympathetically, “How’s your mom?”

All he gave you was a tight smile, squeezing your hand tightly, “She’s ah… she’s alright,” he told you, your chest tightening at the emotion in his voice. “They’re calling it an awakening,” he continued, sounding unsure of himself.

“Terminal lucidity,” you breathed, a term you had only read about briefly when Diana was first diagnosed. The two of you had made many cross-country calls, trading information while Spencer stayed with her in Las Vegas.

He nodded, “Yeah… they don’t know how long it…”

How long she had left. How long she would remain lucid. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he answered quickly, too quickly for your liking.

You wiggled your fingers in his hand, getting his attention, “I want you to go back tomorrow,” you ordered him. It wasn’t something you were willing to budge on, insisting that he go back to Brookfield tomorrow to spend more time with his mother.

“She asked about you,” he admitted, leaning back in the chair, keeping your hands intertwined, “She wondered why we never got married. I told her it was never the right time. Do you know what she said to that?”

Watching intently as he shared the story with you, you shook your head, “What did she say?”

He chuckled lightly, “She said that might’ve been the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard me say.”

You smiled as he recounted the story for you, mimicking the hand gestures that you were sure his mother had used. “Obviously she’s never seen your Dirty Harry impression,” you reminded him, trying not to giggle at the memory.

“The right time will never come if we keep waiting around for it,” he told you, reciting the words of wisdom that his mother had imparted upon him.

Your breathing hitched in the dark of the night, “Spence?”

He nodded, “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you going to ask me to marry you?” You asked him hesitantly, wondering if that was what he was getting at.

Spencer shook his head, “Not tonight, angel.” He looked around the hospital room, cards and balloons and flowers had made their way in through the afternoon and evening. Penelope had even brought your apple blossoms from your desk. His flower language seemed so inconsequential now. “Go to sleep,” he whispered, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Will you tell me a story?” You whispered, settling yourself back into the flat hospital pillows, resigning yourself to the end of the marriage conversation.

He hummed, dimming the lamplight, “Which one?” There were a few stories that he had memorized specifically for you. When work or life or nightmares got to be too much, he would recall them for you.

“Can we do Portrait of a Lady again?” You raised your eyebrows, smiling impishly.

He rolled his eyes sardonically, “Your love for Henry James should be studied in a lab.”

You waved him off, “Okay, and? It’s story time.”

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the-original-skipps · 6 months ago

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|| Yandere Hacker!Scaramouche x Reader ||Headcanons || Genshin Impact ||

so I was watching hoyofair and this came up so I thought I’d do a quick something mehehe I mean I did spy scara before so might as well continue the tradition

cw: mentions of cyber stalking. privacy breach. slight mention of violence involving firearms.

Hacker!Scaramouche has your phone and laptop/computer bugged with his own personally made virus, which basically acts as a listening device. He can also remotely access both devices without you even knowing.

Hacker!Scaramouche who basically knows everything about you. He can hack into the government database to find out any personal information you have. Any records, all the names of your family members; he can just find out with a tap of his finger.

Hacker!Scaramouche knows your whereabouts at all times, a tracking software installed into your phone which you’ll never find. You can be in any part of the world and he’d still be able to find you. You don’t have your phone with you? Not a problem, he’ll just assess the satellite and look for you.

Hacker!Scaramouche who because of the virus on your phone, he pretty much listens to you go about your day. In this day and age, a person’s smartphone is an essential tool after all and he knows you’d always have it with you. He can be going about his day and your voice would be heard from this headphones. What you’re saying as you browse the internet, your personal mumblings - he hears them all. Especially the phone calls you have with other people.

Hacker!Scaramouche knows your current interests and wants. He knows you have that item in your basket on your shopping app that you’re putting off buying. So, he makes things easier for you and buys it for you. He’ll have it delivered straight to your house. A little gift from him.

Hacker!Scaramouche who has access to your phone’s photo gallery. He saves all the pictures you’ve taken into his own personal computer and phone. The pictures of the food you’re about to eat, the pretty scenery of the sky - they’re all backed up and saved. Though, he has a special folder for pictures with you in it.

Hacker!Scaramouche can hack into any security camera in any part of the world. He has a live stream of the security camera feed running in front of your house/apartment so he’d know when you’re home. He also keeps watch in case you bring any visitors home. If you do, a simple facial recognition program is all he needs to know who they are and if they’re a threat to him.

Hacker!Scaramouche who spends majority of his time behind a screen but isn’t afraid to come in person when needed. This new person you’re seeing? He already knows who they are and where they live. He’ll ruin them - drain them of their assets, enter false criminal records; anything to get them away from you. If they don’t get the message, a gun to the face will be sure to change their mind.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin scaramouche #genshin scara #scaramouche #wanderer #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x y/n #wanderer x reader #wanderer x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact reader insert #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #skipps writes

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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The reason you can’t buy a car is the same reason that your health insurer let hackers dox you

On July 14, I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! On July 20, I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

In 2017, Equifax suffered the worst data-breach in world history, leaking the deep, nonconsensual dossiers it had compiled on 148m Americans and 15m Britons, (and 19k Canadians) into the world, to form an immortal, undeletable reservoir of kompromat and premade identity-theft kits:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2017_Equifax_data_breach

Equifax knew the breach was coming. It wasn't just that their top execs liquidated their stock in Equifax before the announcement of the breach – it was also that they ignored years of increasingly urgent warnings from IT staff about the problems with their server security.

Things didn't improve after the breach. Indeed, the 2017 Equifax breach was the starting gun for a string of more breaches, because Equifax's servers didn't just have one fubared system – it was composed of pure, refined fubar. After one group of hackers breached the main Equifax system, other groups breached other Equifax systems, over and over, and over:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/equifax-password-username-admin-lawsuit-201118316.html

Doesn't this remind you of Boeing? It reminds me of Boeing. The spectacular 737 Max failures in 2018 weren't the end of the scandal. They weren't even the scandal's start – they were the tipping point, the moment in which a long history of lethally defective planes "breached" from the world of aviation wonks and into the wider public consciousness:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_accidents_and_incidents_involving_the_Boeing_737

Just like with Equifax, the 737 Max disasters tipped Boeing into a string of increasingly grim catastrophes. Each fresh disaster landed with the grim inevitability of your general contractor texting you that he's just opened up your ceiling and discovered that all your joists had rotted out – and that he won't be able to deal with that until he deals with the termites he found last week, and that they'll have to wait until he gets to the cracks in the foundation slab from the week before, and that those will have to wait until he gets to the asbestos he just discovered in the walls.

Drip, drip, drip, as you realize that the most expensive thing you own – which is also the thing you had hoped to shelter for the rest of your life – isn't even a teardown, it's just a pure liability. Even if you razed the structure, you couldn't start over, because the soil is full of PCBs. It's not a toxic asset, because it's not an asset. It's just toxic.

Equifax isn't just a company: it's infrastructure. It started out as an engine for racial, political and sexual discrimination, paying snoops to collect gossip from nosy neighbors, which was assembled into vast warehouses full of binders that told bank officers which loan applicants should be denied for being queer, or leftists, or, you know, Black:

https://jacobin.com/2017/09/equifax-retail-credit-company-discrimination-loans

This witch-hunts-as-a-service morphed into an official part of the economy, the backbone of the credit industry, with a license to secretly destroy your life with haphazardly assembled "facts" about your life that you had the most minimal, grudging right to appeal (or even see). Turns out there are a lot of customers for this kind of service, and the capital markets showered Equifax with the cash needed to buy almost all of its rivals, in mergers that were waved through by a generation of Reaganomics-sedated antitrust regulators.

There's a direct line from that acquisition spree to the Equifax breach(es). First of all, companies like Equifax were early adopters of technology. They're a database company, so they were the crash-test dummies for ever generation of database. These bug-riddled, heavily patched systems were overlaid with subsequent layers of new tech, with new defects to be patched and then overlaid with the next generation.

These systems are intrinsically fragile, because things fall apart at the seams, and these systems are all seams. They are tech-debt personified. Now, every kind of enterprise will eventually reach this state if it keeps going long enough, but the early digitizers are the bow-wave of that coming infopocalypse, both because they got there first and because the bottom tiers of their systems are composed of layers of punchcards and COBOL, crumbling under the geological stresses of seventy years of subsequent technology.

The single best account of this phenomenon is the British Library's postmortem of their ransomware attack, which is also in the running for "best hard-eyed assessment of how fucked things are":

https://www.bl.uk/home/british-library-cyber-incident-review-8-march-2024.pdf

There's a reason libraries, cities, insurance companies, and other giant institutions keep getting breached: they started accumulating tech debt before anyone else, so they've got more asbestos in the walls, more sagging joists, more foundation cracks and more termites.

That was the starting point for Equifax – a company with a massive tech debt that it would struggle to pay down under the most ideal circumstances.

Then, Equifax deliberately made this situation infinitely worse through a series of mergers in which it bought dozens of other companies that all had their own version of this problem, and duct-taped their failing, fucked up IT systems to its own. The more seams an IT system has, the more brittle and insecure it is. Equifax deliberately added so many seams that you need to be able to visualized additional spatial dimensions to grasp them – they had fractal seams.

But wait, there's more! The reason to merge with your competitors is to create a monopoly position, and the value of a monopoly position is that it makes a company too big to fail, which makes it too big to jail, which makes it too big to care. Each Equifax acquisition took a piece off the game board, making it that much harder to replace Equifax if it fucked up. That, in turn, made it harder to punish Equifax if it fucked up. And that meant that Equifax didn't have to care if it fucked up.

Which is why the increasingly desperate pleas for more resources to shore up Equifax's crumbling IT and security infrastructure went unheeded. Top management could see that they were steaming directly into an iceberg, but they also knew that they had a guaranteed spot on the lifeboats, and that someone else would be responsible for fishing the dead passengers out of the sea. Why turn the wheel?

That's what happened to Boeing, too: the company acquired new layers of technical complexity by merging with rivals (principally McDonnell-Douglas), and then starved the departments that would have to deal with that complexity because it was being managed by execs whose driving passion was to run a company that was too big to care. Those execs then added more complexity by chasing lower costs by firing unionized, competent, senior staff and replacing them with untrained scabs in jurisdictions chosen for their lax labor and environmental enforcement regimes.

(The biggest difference was that Boeing once had a useful, high-quality product, whereas Equifax started off as an irredeemably terrible, if efficient, discrimination machine, and grew to become an equally terrible, but also ferociously incompetent, enterprise.)

This is the American story of the past four decades: accumulate tech debt, merge to monopoly, exponentially compound your tech debt by combining barely functional IT systems. Every corporate behemoth is locked in a race between the eventual discovery of its irreparable structural defects and its ability to become so enmeshed in our lives that we have to assume the costs of fixing those defects. It's a contest between "too rotten to stand" and "too big to care."

Remember last February, when we all discovered that there was a company called Change Healthcare, and that they were key to processing virtually every prescription filled in America? Remember how we discovered this? Change was hacked, went down, ransomed, and no one could fill a scrip in America for more than a week, until they paid the hackers $22m in Bitcoin?

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2024_Change_Healthcare_ransomware_attack

How did we end up with Change Healthcare as the linchpin of the entire American prescription system? Well, first Unitedhealthcare became the largest health insurer in America by buying all its competitors in a series of mergers that comatose antitrust regulators failed to block. Then it combined all those other companies' IT systems into a cosmic-scale dog's breakfast that barely ran. Then it bought Change and used its monopoly power to ensure that every Rx ran through Change's servers, which were part of that asbestos-filled, termite-infested, crack-foundationed, sag-joisted teardown. Then, it got hacked.

United's execs are the kind of execs on a relentless quest to be too big to care, and so they don't care. Which is why their they had to subsequently announce that they had suffered a breach that turned the complete medical histories of one third of Americans into immortal Darknet kompromat that is – even now – being combined with breach data from Equifax and force-fed to the slaves in Cambodia and Laos's pig-butchering factories:

https://www.cnn.com/2024/05/01/politics/data-stolen-healthcare-hack/index.html

Those slaves are beaten, tortured, and punitively raped in compounds to force them to drain the life's savings of everyone in Canada, Australia, Singapore, the UK and Europe. Remember that they are downstream of the forseeable, inevitable IT failures of companies that set out to be too big to care that this was going to happen.

Failures like Ticketmaster's, which flushed 500 million users' personal information into the identity-theft mills just last month. Ticketmaster, you'll recall, grew to its current scale through (you guessed it), a series of mergers en route to "too big to care" status, that resulted in its IT systems being combined with those of Ticketron, Live Nation, and dozens of others:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/05/31/business/ticketmaster-hack-data-breach.html

But enough about that. Let's go car-shopping!

Good luck with that. There's a company you've never heard. It's called CDK Global. They provide "dealer management software." They are a monopolist. They got that way after being bought by a private equity fund called Brookfield. You can't complete a car purchase without their systems, and their systems have been hacked. No one can buy a car:

https://www.cnn.com/2024/06/27/business/cdk-global-cyber-attack-update/index.html

Writing for his BIG newsletter, Matt Stoller tells the all-too-familiar story of how CDK Global filled the walls of the nation's auto-dealers with the IT equivalent of termites and asbestos, and lays the blame where it belongs: with a legal and economics establishment that wanted it this way:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/a-supreme-court-justice-is-why-you

The CDK story follows the Equifax/Boeing/Change Healthcare/Ticketmaster pattern, but with an important difference. As CDK was amassing its monopoly power, one of its execs, Dan McCray, told a competitor, Authenticom founder Steve Cottrell that if he didn't sell to CDK that he would "fucking destroy" Authenticom by illegally colluding with the number two dealer management company Reynolds.

Rather than selling out, Cottrell blew the whistle, using Cottrell's own words to convince a district court that CDK had violated antitrust law. The court agreed, and ordered CDK and Reynolds – who controlled 90% of the market – to continue to allow Authenticom to participate in the DMS market.

Dealers cheered this on: CDK/Reynolds had been steadily hiking prices, while ingesting dealer data and using it to gouge the dealers on additional services, while denying dealers access to their own data. The services that Authenticom provided for $35/month cost $735/month from CDK/Reynolds (they justified this price hike by saying they needed the additional funds to cover the costs of increased information security!).

CDK/Reynolds appealed the judgment to the 7th Circuit, where a panel of economists weighed in. As Stoller writes, this panel included monopoly's most notorious (and well-compensated) cheerleader, Frank Easterbrook, and the "legendary" Democrat Diane Wood. They argued for CDK/Reynolds, demanding that the court release them from their obligations to share the market with Authenticom:

https://caselaw.findlaw.com/court/us-7th-circuit/1879150.html

The 7th Circuit bought the argument, overturning the lower court and paving the way for the CDK/Reynolds monopoly, which is how we ended up with one company's objectively shitty IT systems interwoven into the sale of every car, which meant that when Russian hackers looked at that crosseyed, it split wide open, allowing them to halt auto sales nationwide. What happens next is a near-certainty: CDK will pay a multimillion dollar ransom, and the hackers will reward them by breaching the personal details of everyone who's ever bought a car, and the slaves in Cambodian pig-butchering compounds will get a fresh supply of kompromat.

But on the plus side, the need to pay these huge ransoms is key to ensuring liquidity in the cryptocurrency markets, because ransoms are now the only nondiscretionary liability that can only be settled in crypto:

https://locusmag.com/2022/09/cory-doctorow-moneylike/

When the 7th Circuit set up every American car owner to be pig-butchered, they cited one of the most important cases in antitrust history: the 2004 unanimous Supreme Court decision in Verizon v Trinko:

https://www.oyez.org/cases/2003/02-682

Trinko was a case about whether antitrust law could force Verizon, a telcoms monopolist, to share its lines with competitors, something it had been ordered to do and then cheated on. The decision was written by Antonin Scalia, and without it, Big Tech would never have been able to form. Scalia and Trinko gave us the modern, too-big-to-care versions of Google, Meta, Apple, Microsoft and the other tech baronies.

In his Trinko opinion, Scalia said that "possessing monopoly power" and "charging monopoly prices" was "not unlawful" – rather, it was "an important element of the free-market system." Scalia – writing on behalf of a unanimous court! – said that fighting monopolists "may lessen the incentive for the monopolist…to invest in those economically beneficial facilities."

In other words, in order to prevent monopolists from being too big to care, we have to let them have monopolies. No wonder Trinko is the Zelig of shitty antitrust rulings, from the decision to dismiss the antitrust case against Facebook and Apple's defense in its own ongoing case:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/documents/cases/073_2021.06.28_mtd_order_memo.pdf

Trinko is the origin node of too big to care. It's the reason that our whole economy is now composed of "infrastructure" that is made of splitting seams, asbestos, termites and dry rot. It's the reason that the entire automotive sector became dependent on companies like Reynolds, whose billionaire owner intentionally and illegally destroyed evidence of his company's crimes, before going on to commit the largest tax fraud in American history:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/billionaire-robert-brockman-accused-of-biggest-tax-fraud-in-u-s-history-dies-at-81-11660226505

Trinko begs companies to become too big to care. It ensures that they will exponentially increase their IT debt while becoming structurally important to whole swathes of the US economy. It guarantees that they will underinvest in IT security. It is the soil in which pig butchering grew.

It's why you can't buy a car.

Now, I am fond of quoting Stein's Law at moments like this: "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." As Stoller writes, after two decades of unchallenged rule, Trinko is looking awfully shaky. It was substantially narrowed in 2023 by the 10th Circuit, which had been briefed by Biden's antitrust division:

https://law.justia.com/cases/federal/appellate-courts/ca10/22-1164/22-1164-2023-08-21.html

And the cases of 2024 have something going for them that Trinko lacked in 2004: evidence of what a fucking disaster Trinko is. The wrongness of Trinko is so increasingly undeniable that there's a chance it will be overturned.

But it won't go down easy. As Stoller writes, Trinko didn't emerge from a vacuum: the economic theories that underpinned it come from some of the heroes of orthodox economics, like Joseph Schumpeter, who is positively worshipped. Schumpeter was antitrust's OG hater, who wrote extensively that antitrust law didn't need to exist because any harmful monopoly would be overturned by an inevitable market process dictated by iron laws of economics.

Schumpeter wrote that monopolies could only be sustained by "alertness and energy" – that there would never be a monopoly so secure that its owner became too big to care. But he went further, insisting that the promise of attaining a monopoly was key to investment in great new things, because monopolists had the economic power that let them plan and execute great feats of innovation.

The idea that monopolies are benevolent dictators has pervaded our economic tale for decades. Even today, critics who deplore Facebook and Google do so on the basis that they do not wield their power wisely (say, to stamp out harassment or disinformation). When confronted with the possibility of breaking up these companies or replacing them with smaller platforms, those critics recoil, insisting that without Big Tech's scale, no one will ever have the power to accomplish their goals:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/18/urban-wildlife-interface/#combustible-walled-gardens

But they misunderstand the relationship between corporate power and corporate conduct. The reason corporations accumulate power is so that they can be insulated from the consequences of the harms they wreak upon the rest of us. They don't inflict those harms out of sadism: rather, they do so in order to externalize the costs of running a good system, reaping the profits of scale while we pay its costs.

The only reason to accumulate corporate power is to grow too big to care. Any corporation that amasses enough power that it need not care about us will not care about it. You can't fix Facebook by replacing Zuck with a good unelected social media czar with total power over billions of peoples' lives. We need to abolish Zuck, not fix Zuck.

Zuck is not exceptional: there were a million sociopaths whom investors would have funded to monopolistic dominance if he had balked. A monopoly like Facebook has a Zuck-shaped hole at the top of its org chart, and only someone Zuck-shaped will ever fit through that hole.

Our whole economy is now composed of companies with sociopath-shaped holes at the tops of their org chart. The reason these companies can only be run by sociopaths is the same reason that they have become infrastructure that is crumbling due to sociopathic neglect. The reckless disregard for the risk of combining companies is the source of the market power these companies accumulated, and the market power let them neglect their systems to the point of collapse.

This is the system that Schumpeter, and Easterbrook, and Wood, and Scalia – and the entire Supreme Court of 2004 – set out to make. The fact that you can't buy a car is a feature, not a bug. The pig-butcherers, wallowing in an ocean of breach data, are a feature, not a bug. The point of the system was what it did: create unimaginable wealth for a tiny cohort of the worst people on Earth without regard to the collapse this would provoke, or the plight of those of us trapped and suffocating in the rubble.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/28/dealer-management-software/#antonin-scalia-stole-your-car

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

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ariestrxsh · 7 months ago

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sub!pizzaboy!chris x cop!reader

🍕 content warning: smut, use of handcuffs, coercion (?), praise, pain kink, edging, begging, unprotected sex, dick riding

🍕 summary: during a routine traffic stop with the same pizza delivery boy you've pulled over many times before, you decide to teach chris a lesson about breaking the law. will you let him get off with a warning?

Pizza Guy

chapters: | intro | 1 | 2 |

Chris had just dropped off his last delivery of the night, and he was on his way back to the pizza shop, cruising down a big hill on a backroad in his small town. Rap music was blaring through his speakers, and he had his windows rolled down to air out his car from the joint he'd just smoked in it earlier, ignoring the 25 MPH signs he sped past.

While Chris was drumming his fingers on his steering wheel to the beat of the song, blue and red lights started flashing in the reflection of his rearview. "Fuck," he groaned under his breath, rolling his eyes and pumping his brakes.

He just knew it would be you. The same officer who hassled him at least once every couple of weeks in that same area, but at least that meant he could probably get out of the ticket pretty easily with a little flirting.

He started rifling through his glove compartment for his registration and proof of insurance as you sauntered up to the driver's side of his car. "Don't you know to wait with both hands on the wheel until after I approach your vehicle?" You scolded him, shining your flashlight in his face.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, what kind of rule is that?" Chris asked, squinting up at you and glancing at your badge. Sure as shit, same cop who's been harrassing me for several months, he thought to himself.

"The kind of rule you follow when you don't want some rookie to pull a gun on you because they think you're reaching for a weapon," you dryly responded, studying his red, bloodshot eyes.

"Why didn't you pull your gun out on me then, ma'am?" Chris smirked, pulling his license out of his wallet. "Because you're hardly a threat, Chris Sturniolo. And I'm not a rookie."

"Would've been kind of hot if you had," Chris flirted, running his fingers through his luscious hair and smiling at the you before handing over his information. You did your best to hold back a smirk, shining your light on his documents.

"You know why I pulled you over?" You asked, holding intense eye contact. "Respectfully, ma'am. I know better than to answer that question. But I think the reason you specifically keep pulling me over is because you're too shy to ask me for my number," Chris winked at you.

A micro-expression of desire crossed your face. "I'm gonna go run your information," you responded, ignoring his comment and making your way back over to your car to run Chris' name through the database.

Chris' light flirting usually awarded him immunity when it came to your threats to give him speeding tickets. You were still going to let him go, but you wanted to make him sweat a little first, maybe in more than one way. Chris was a chronic law breaker, and what a perfect opportunity to teach him a lesson.

You strolled back over to the car, handing Chris his license back. "Step out of the vehicle, Chris," you ordered, crossing your arms over your chest and tapping your boot on the pavement while you waited. Chris took his time, slowly getting out of his Honda Accord and nervously biting his lip.

This was the first time you'd asked him to get out of the car, and your demeanor was less playful than usual. "Ma'am, am I in trouble?" His asked with his sparkly eyes locked on yours, giving you a submissive look.

"Your music is breaking sound ordinance, you were going almost 20 over the limit, and your car reeks of marijuana. What do you think?" You gave Chris a stern look, narrowing your gaze. "I know, ma'am. I was just taking the edge off after a long day of work," Chris shot you an innocent smile.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your back," you ordered him. "Bet you've been dreaming about this, haven't you?" Chris peered back at you over his shoulder as you clicked the cold, hard, metal restraints shut around both his wrists.

"Chris Sturniolo, you're under arrest," you started before reading him off his rights and patting him down. You knelt down, running your hands along the sides of his jeans. "You don't have any weapons or anything sharp on you, do you?" You asked, continuing to frisk him.

"No, ma'am. Nothing like that," Chris answered, feeling the blood rush below his waist as your hands brushed against his chest, lingering a moment longer than necessary. You brought your attention to his shoulders and his arms. God, his arms. Your fingers danced across his biceps and the muscles in his forearms, and a subtle moan passed through your lips.

"Turn around, Sturniolo," you ordered him. "Yes, ma'am," Chris said, eager to do anything you told him to. He was such a sucker for a woman in charge.

You started from his ankles, running your hands along the seams of his pant legs, and you bit your lip as you came across something hard in the front of his jeans. Your eyes were drawn to his hard cock that began twitching against the denim fabric.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I can't help it. Being cuffed by an attractive woman and being felt up like that.. it does something to me," Chris innocuously blushed and grinned, turning his gaze away from yours. It was getting harder for you to maintain your professionalism.

"Chris, you can't keep flirting your way out of the inevitable," you shot back, studying his features, glancing between his plump lips and blue eyes. "Ma'am. Please. If I lose my license, I lose my job," Chris replied, giving you a pouty look. "You should have thought about that before you broke several laws," you answered, being cold with him.

"You wanna ruin my life?" He softly whimpered, tears beginning to well in his eyes. You yanked him by his cuffed wrists and started walking him back to the cop car. You secretly got off on his desperation.

"You've got me handcuffed. You could do anything you want to me, you know? And you're gonna choose to be mean to me," Chris pouted at you as you opened the police car door and pushed his head down as you shoved him into the back seat. Instead of shutting the door and getting into the driver's seat, you stopped and looked at him a moment.

"I'm gonna let you go. But I'm gonna have a little fun with you first," you smirked at the blue-eyed boy. His lips curled into a devious smile as he started to pick up on where this was going. "Please, don't punish me, ma'am. I'm such a good boy," Chris half-heartedly whined, going along with the roleplay.

"If you're really a good boy, then you'd do anything to get out of this ticket, hmm?" You cooed in response, beginning to unbutton your uniform, slowly revealing your black balconette bra. His eyes dropped to your breasts and how gorgeous they looked in the lacey, see-through material.

"Yes, ma'am. Anything," Chris responded, nodding at you, tortured by the fact that no matter how badly he wanted to grab them, he couldn't. You climbed into the back seat, kicking off your boots and undoing your pants.

Once you were in nothing but your sexy black lingerie, you began to straddle him, immediately going for his belt, unfastening the buckle, and fiddling with his zipper. You couldn't get his cock out of his pants fast enough. You peered down at his hard on that was drooling with precum and twitching at the thought of being caressed by you.

The only lighting provided was from the dim overhead light above the two of you, but it was enough for you to take in each other's bodies. "Holy shit, Sturniolo. I thought you said you weren't packing a weapon on you," you bit your lip, your eyes flicking up at his after you studied what he was working with.

"Oh, ma'am. It's not even all the way hard yet," he humbly admitted, his gaze glued to your breasts. You raised as eyebrow at him, pulling your panties to the side with one hand, and with the other, you held Chris' dick still as you directed it towards your heat.

Your breath caught in your throat as you descended onto his swollen tip, sliding down his length until you were filled to the hilt. As you started to ride him, you felt him grow bigger and harder inside of you.

"Oh my, you weren't kidding," you moaned as he stretched you out. "I'd never lie to you, ma'am. I'm a good boy," Chris responded lustfully, desperation bleeding into his expression. He looked at you needily, his glossy eyes boring into you and all the muscles in his face relaxing.

Chris needed this. He'd been so stressed out at work lately, his bitch of a manager always on him and his coworkers always taking advantage of the fact that he could never say no to them. He needed a dominant woman to cuff him, to tell him what a good boy he was, and ride him until he was seeing stars, and you were the perfect candidate for the job tonight.

He so badly wanted to break free from his restraints, run his hands all over your gorgeous body, but all he could do was lick his lips, watching how your breasts bounced and feeling the way your ass jiggled against the tops of his thighs.

The car lightly rocked from side to side as you found your rhythm, grinding against Chris' lap with his most precious body part stuffed inside of you. The condensation from your collective breathing started to fog up the windows. The sounds of whimpering, skin slapping against skin, and Chris' metal belt clanking against itself filled the space around you.

"You are such a good boy, aren't you? Always doing what you're told?" You panted, softly placing your hands on either side of Chris' face before your lips melded into his, your tongue begging for admission into his mouth. He allowed you in, sloppily making out with you while you rolled your hips forward, putting a wonderful pressure on his desperate dick.

"Mhmm," he moaned against your lips as you picked up speed, the two of you each periodically breaking off this kiss to catch your breaths. "Good boy," you whispered, brushing your thumb against Chris' cheek and looking back at his needy expression.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm such a good boy. I'll let you do anything you want to me. You can use me whenever and however you want," he offered, his bedroom eyes glazing over as he felt your walls fluttering around his girth. His words were like music to your ears, sending waves of pleasure through your body as you jounced urgently on his throbbing cock.

"Ma'am. Can I please cum? You don't know how bad I need it," Chris looked at you with flushed cheeks, parted lips, and a furrowed brow as he neared his climax. "Not yet, pretty boy. I'm not finished with you just yet," you seductively responded.

You'd dreamt of this moment since the first time you pulled Chris over and let him off with a warning, but the reality of it was even hotter than any scenario you could have imagined. You loved having him cuffed in the back of your cop car while you mercilessly rode him.

"Ma'am. Please. I need to cum," Chris urged you, holding eye contact while needy whimpers poured from his lips. "Awh. Does my pretty boy need to cum?" You teased him, caressing his face again. "Yes. Please," he replied, his voice cracking in desperation.

"Don't you dare," you said, grabbing him by his ear and tugging on it. He winced in pain. His hands were losing feeling from being pinned behind him for so long, and the metal from the cuffs was digging into his wrists, but he loved every second of being under your spell. He loved the pleasure, the pain, and the wonderful concoction the two sensations created in his system.

"It hurts so good. Please let me finish," he begged again. You shook your head, denying his request, a smug smile protruding in the corner of your mouth. He licked his lips, hissing through clenched teeth as he tried to ward off his orgasm a bit longer, but you could tell he was fighting a losing battle.

"Officer. Please. Ma'am. I've been such a good boy. I can't take it. I'm gonna bust," Chris warned you, his voice breaking as he begged you. "Only because you've been such a good boy, and you asked so politely," you answered.

A satisfied smile washed over Chris' face as he let go, allowing the knot in his stomach to snap. "Good boy. Cum for me," you demanded, clenching around his big dick and nearing your own orgasm. The two of you climaxed together, your bodies pressed up against each other and moving in unison.

His hips snapped up to meet yours, and you could feel him pulsating inside your heat, giving you his warm, sticky seed as you finished onto his rock hard cock. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you. Thank you so much," Chris whimpered in response, his voice saturated with lust and neediness. You slowed down to a stop, still rhythmically contracting around him, milking him dry.

Your radio started to go off, bringing you back to earth. Your captain was calling you back to the station. With Chris still inside of you, his breath sounding jagged and labored as he recovered from the intense feeling, you hit the push-to-talk button on the side to respond.

"Loud and clear. Sorry. Got caught up in a traffic stop. Over," you released the button, climbing off of Chris and slipping back into your uniform.

You helped Chris back out of the vehicle, releasing him from the restraints and leaving a trail of kisses down his neck as a parting gesture before seductively whispering into his ear, "Until next time, Sturniolo. Maybe next time I'll let you play with my gun."

part three here

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rcvcgers · 28 days ago

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Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter twelve: what i've become

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

previous part | next part coming soon

oh yeah, i made a spotify playlist for this <3

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you and caleb prepare for the professor's meeting. when you see each other again, caleb is unsettled by what he sees.

word count: 14.2k words

warnings: please, please, PLEASE read the trigger warnings before proceeding. lightly proofread...it ain't perfect!

author's note: thank you all so much for 10k hits on ao3! i love and appreciate you all so much! it means the world to me! <3

oh and remember...the narrative isn't completely objective!

trigger warning: death/murder, bodily harm, manipulation, self deprecating thoughts, experimentation, exploitation, self loathing, angst, professor lucius is a sadist, gun violence, lucius is a creep if you squint, slight suicidal thoughts, let me know if i missed anything

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @lemonwithstupidity

Caleb stares at the computer, his foot tapping against the ground. Something inside of his chest urges him forward, to close the distance between him and the small machine. He wears his Colonel uniform, the hat hanging on a hook on his bedroom door. He sits on the bed and his gaze never breaks away from the laptop, his foot slowly coming to a stop.

It’s a bad idea to try and access the database twice.

It’s an even worse idea to use Josephine’s login information to get inside.

Caleb has always played it safe. He has always followed orders like the good soldier he was trained to be. As the Colonel, he rarely ever questions his higher ups, except for the Professor, and always takes the time to figure out which route is the safest for him and his men. He drags his feet over any and all mission plans that he has but when it comes to you…he wants to be reckless. He knows that the Professor will be expecting a calculated plan to extradite you, to pluck you from amidst the chaos, so the last thing he will be anticipating is chaos.

Professor Lucius knows that Colonel Xia plays it safe, so what will he think when the boy whose flame he tried to smother as a child is the one to come up with the plan?

The Colonel inches towards the computer. The screen illuminates right as he sits down, the fabric of his uniform constricting his body, pushing into his flesh as if he is being held down by chains and restraints. His hands feel heavy as he navigates himself back to Ever’s database, leather gloves protecting him from the keyboard and its desire to dig deeper into Ever’s plans. He plugs in Josephine’s login information, staring at the screen, his heart thumping loudly inside his chest despite its slow beat, and watches as the server processes his information.

The screen refreshes and he is met with V-03’s project file — your project file — right in front of him, exactly where he left it. Caleb slowly draws in a breath, his shoulders growing tense as he navigates the folders, his eyes scanning the screen and plethora of files to see if any of them are new. His skin tingles from beneath the Colonel’s uniform, the weight of his role and rank causing his mind to splinter, forced to play it safe in this moment as to not cause any kind of alarm.

One of them are new. It is labeled For His Eyes Only and it sits at the very bottom of the list, almost as if it were hidden in plain sight.

Did Caleb miss this from before? He could have swore that the file wasn’t with the rest before, it has to be new.

The label, though, feels like some sick and twisted calling card, and invitation to look upon the mess that he has inadvertently created. Just another reminder to never leave your side once he gets you back.

He still clicks on the folder. He knows he has to see what he allowed to happen. He must look upon the actions of his consequences.

Has the Professor truly gone mad? Has he pushed you past the boundaries of morality and ethics, succumbing you to a fate far worse than death? Has he contorted your face beyond belief, turning you into a creature that children will have nightmares about?

Has the Professor turned you into Wanderer?

The screen is black. Caleb hesitates moving out of the folder, waiting for something to happen, his ears and back of his neck growing hot from shame and displeasure. He is about to move out of the folder when the video boots up, a small loading screen flickering to life before disappearing.

The screen transforms into the image of a cell with a lump hidden beneath thin blankets. A sire blares through the speakers, a sound that Caleb knows all too well. The mass from beneath the blankets begin to move, a pair of legs swinging over the edge of the bed, your tired face and messy hair being displayed to the camera that hangs in the corner of the cell.

You look exhausted, hunched over, clutching your stomach with closed eyes. Pain is carved into your face, a remainder that it is Caleb’s fault for you living and pushing through the worst of the worst.

If Caleb could remember what his time was like at Ever, only just a kid who had to look after himself and her, he bets that you have it worse than he did. He was just a kid, after all, or maybe the Professor is just a sick fuck who experiments on whoever walks through the doors or he deems to be interesting.

But you? You were caught in the crossfire, a loose end that Professor Lucius needed to tie, to eradicate your existence so you do not burn down what he has worked so hard to create and build for himself these past few decades.

Caleb leans towards the screen, his fingers sliding across the glass of the computer. He traces the small appearance of your face, his heart twisting and churning inside his chest, trembling at the idea of you being forever changed because of the professor’s evil ways.

You open your eyes and look around, a small yawn escaping your lips.

Oh, how Caleb misses watching you wake up, slowly processing that you aren’t asleep anymore. You’d look around the room while stretching out your body, letting out a big yawn while he laid in bed beside you, waiting patiently because he wanted to start his day when you start yours. You’d turn to him and have that cute, tired smile on your face, calling him a stalker for watching you sleep despite finding it annoyingly romantic. He would have pulled you back down with him and slowly covered your face in kisses while you tried to escape.

Escape…

Caleb shudders. You don’t stretch or look around. You look forward and straighten your posture. Your face remains stoic, void of any and all emotion, once the sleep has finally slipped from your body. You remain as still as possible, becoming just another one of Ever’s dolls that sits upon a shelf, forever waiting to see if the Professor wants to play with you today or if you’ll be spared of the pain and agony that comes with his games.

“Soon,” Caleb murmurs to the computer screen, speaking as if you can hear him, “you’ll be back in my arms soon.”

Your head twitches, slowly turning your chin up as you look straight into the camera.

The room is colder than you anticipated. One of the nurses were nice enough to gift you an extra blanket as the snowstorm raged outside Ever’s hidden base. You watched the snowflakes pass by your cell’s tiny window. It was one of the few ways to pass the time at the Ever facility, really. It was either that, being experimented on, or interacting with Viper alongside others in the common areas when you were allowed out of your cell.

To interact with others is a privilege, after all, a privilege that one earns. That is what the Professor taught you.

The blinking red light caught your attention first. One you were out of sleep’s haze, you couldn’t help but noticing the flickering light. It’s slow pulses luring you in. You turn your gaze towards it, tilting your head to the side. You push off of the bed and approach the corner of the room, looking up as the camera follows your movement. You slowly reach out for the camera, standing up on your toes, knowing that it is a losing battle to fight.

Aren’t all war consisted of small skirmishes? Perhaps this is one you are meant to lose, one that you know that you will not come back from. Or maybe, just maybe, this final battle will be decisive and show you what is in store for you and your future.

A piece of you wishes for a quick and clean death, to slip away into the darkness of permanent sleep so that you do not have to fight for your right to live.

Another part of you has a desire to live, to see through the pain and torture so that you will be able to have your revenge on the Professor and Ever for all of the things that they have done to you and others.

The red light shuts off. You let out a quiet sigh and lower yourself back onto the ground. The sound of dragging boots against concrete floors catches your attention. You lean back on your heels, eyes looking outside the close proximity of your cell. You push through the pain that resides inside of your stomach, the intense burning feeling as your intestines slowly stitch themselves back together, your intestinal lining returning to its previous healthy state.

You absolutely detest how your body puts itself back together. You hate how you can feel each and every one of your ripped muscles and tendons reach for each other, connecting in a fiery heat that can only be described as pure agony and pain.

You should be used to it by now. You know exactly what is to come when you wake up from the forced slumber, your dreams haunting your every waking moment as you remain curled up in your cell, your sobs and cries bouncing off of the concrete walls, deafening to those who listen.

The Professor claims that he is doing this to protect you, to prepare you for what the real world has to offer. He told you that the pain you feel will make you stronger, better, for the times when you will meed it the most. He says that you have been blind for so long, for allowing yourself to fall in love with an animal who needs to be caged.

You didn’t believe him at first, holding onto that hope that your loyal boyfriend, a lethal weapon who you have loved for so long, would burst through Ever’s doors and steal you away, saving you from eternal torture and leaping into paradise.

But he didn’t come.

The days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. About to be eight months to the day, to be exact.

Every day that Caleb did not save you, you were beaten and screamed at, berated for being a fool who thinks that she will be saved. So, what did the Professor graciously do?

He made you better. Upgraded you, evolved you into someone that you can barely recognize.

Sure, you are able to heal yourself at incredible speeds, a mere paper cut is gone within seconds and you can grow a finger back just a day after it has been chopped off. Your skin may remain the same color, your old scars having disappeared, fading into nothingness. You’re stronger now, too, reaction times hitting you at super speed. He’s made you better, yes, and has turned you into someone who can take care of themselves. At least, that’s what he wants the public to see.

But you know the truth. You know the ugliness that hides beneath your skin, the way your muscles are perpetually aching, the way your body is constantly in fight or flight, having to defend yourself from the environment that Ever has set in place among its test subjects. You know that no matter how much you bleed, you blood will come back just in time before you die of blood loss. You know that whenever you heal yourself, or others for that matter, that your sanity and mind fractures itself, the glass of your mind stressed beyond belief as you survive through the days. You are on the verge of a breakdown, your mental state hanging in a delicate state, teetering the line between remaining sane and the pure bliss of your animalistic instincts.

An animal that will obey Professor Lucius, of course.

What was it that the Professor said? Whenever an animal is trapped, it will chew off its own leg to escape?

It’s all thanks to him that you’ll be able to grow a new one.

You remember the first time they beat you. You were helpless, strapped to a chair. You begged the Professor and other scientists to let you go, that this is all one big mistake and that if they were to release you, you’d claim that nothing happened and

You silently return to your bed, sitting down with the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You stare straight ahead, your eyes focusing on the bars that keep you inside the small cage.

A maniacal cackle echoes down the concrete hallway. Boots drag against the concrete floor, the sounds of its scrapes putting you on edge. Your eye twitches, your hands fumbling with the corner of the blanket, plucking at the leftover strings, trying to busy yourself and your mind before he comes.

Viper is one ugly son of a bitch. His scaled skin has always left you feeling uneasy, his black forked tongue getting a little too close for comfort when he comes near you, invading your personal space. His laughter is never welcoming or warm. It is a sign that bad things are to come, that the Professor is about to put you through another night of extreme pain.

Your eyes flicker to the camera, silently wondering who it was that was watching you.

A small sliver of hope strikes your chest, hoping that he watched. To see where you are, to make sure that you’re okay. You hold onto that small tiny speck of hope and hold it close to yourself. Sure enough, that speck dies every time. It dies whenever you remember that it has been eight months since you’ve seen him.

Eight months of experimentation.

Eight months of torture.

Eight months of crying yourself to sleep as your arm grows back.

Eight months of shedding your old skin and stepping into your new body, a weapon that the Professor can use at his beck and call.

Eight months of losing every bit of yourself despite being able to remember every single fucking thing that they have done to you.

Eight months of your own Evol fighting against the Toring Chip that was implanted at the base of your neck, ready to send electric shocks throughout your body whenever you misbehave or disobey orders.

Eight months of falling out of love with the person who vowed to protect you.

“So,” Viper’s exaggerated ’s’ sounds are like nails being dragged against a chalkboard, shivers running down your spine, all of the hair on your body shooting up. He comes into view and stands before you, tilting his head to the side as his lips curl into a smirk. “What did he do to you this time?”

You don’t immediately respond. You blink at him, your fingers stopping when your eyes meet. He relaxes himself onto the bars of your cell, an open display for all to see the Professor’s latest success. His thin pupils irk you, the way his eyes dart back and forth, constantly taking in new information before striking.

“Come on,” Viper quietly cackles, pushing his face up against the metal bars. Your blood runs cold. “What did he do to you? You took a long time to die. Made me lose a bet with Frank.”

“Arsenic poisoning,” you respond, voice strong and definitive. You narrow your gaze on Viper, watching as his body shudders from his laughter. “He wanted to see what happens on the inside of a body.”

The high pitched screeches, the low chuckles when he tries to catch his breath…oh how he was mocking you.

“Next time, die quicker for me?” Viper’s laughter instantly dies, turning serious as he grabs the bars of your enclosure. “You’d save me a whole lot of money.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, looking him up and down before giving him a nod. The quicker you die, the quicker you can get the pain of healing yourself over with…and so Viper can get the measly twenty diamonds he recklessly bets.

“Breakfast,” he slips open the slot at the bottom of the metal door and kicks the tray through.

Food — well, slop is a better word for it — sprays the walls, sticking to the dark gray cement, slowly dripping and rolling down the sides as gravity tugs it down. You wipe your cheek where some of the slop hit you, the awful stench filling your nostrils. You turn your head away and hug the blanket closer to your body.

You don’t even take a bite out of the food or lick the excess off of the pad of your thumb. You don’t feel like being poisoned again so you’ll starve yourself until you give into the hunger that claws the inside of your stomach.

“The Professor has a surprise for you,” Viper continues and watches you with a close eye. Your gazes meet and he chuckles, his hands pushing through the barrier of the bars. “He finally gets to show you off, his special soldier…”

There is contempt behind Viper’s voice. You pay it no attention, though, always knowing that Viper lives off of the Professor’s constantly validation. He hates being out of the spotlight, inhabiting the darkness of the crowd, a place where you are so desperate to be. To Viper, you are in his place and he will be so happy when you eventually crash out and the Professor finds a way to permanently kill you.

Silence fills the cell. You look away and out the window, the snow coming down harder than you anticipated. It will be another freezing night. Two thin blankets are the only thing you have to defend yourself from the cold. Perhaps the Professor’s next experiment is to see the effects of frost bite on the body. Maybe he’ll throw you outside and see how long it takes for you to freeze to death.

“You’re quiet today,” Viper comments with a sadistic giggle, “is it because I’m not as handsome as the Colonel?”

You freeze.

“Are my eyes not the perfect shade of purple? It’s a shame they’re yellow instead,” Viper tilts his head, tongue swiping over the piercings that hang from his lips, the mechanical parts of his skull catching your eye. “I wonder…how will you react when you see him today?”

You do not respond. You stare out the window again and stare at the morning sun as it moves above the horizon, floating into the sky.

Do you even want to see him?

You do not know how to react whenever Caleb comes up. Whenever your mind drifts to him, you become so overwhelmed with emotions.

Anger. Hatred. Love. Yearning. Desire. Sadness. Lust. Resentment. Confusion. Desperation.

The Professor has beaten you countless times and has used him as the reason for why you are so broken, why you were chosen to be his special subject. If it weren’t for Caleb, you would have never been in this mess. If it weren’t fort for Caleb, you would not have died so many god damn times and be forced to feel your body rebuild itself after the Professor has destroyed it.

A piece of you knows that Caleb never wanted this to happen. You know that he has tried so hard to keep you away from the Professor, especially after the meeting the Professor forced you to translate not too long ago. Deep down, you know that Caleb Xia would never hurt you.

So where is he? Why is he not here to protect you from the people he has deemed to be the scum of the earth? Where is the man who vowed to protect you after endless nights together, the man who promised to put his life on the line to keep you away from the hands of men like the Professor?

Maybe Professor Lucius is right. Maybe he did want to hurt you, payback for when you shut him out as an angsty teenager, for running away after you promised to go back inside, for letting him in so easily after all of these years of desperately pushing away the boy you fell head over heels for in your childhood.

You’re weak. You’re so fucking pathetic.

Caleb Xia never loved you, did he? His sweet words have been deceptive from the beginning. Besides, the entire time of your clearly fake relationship, he has been so enamored with her that you have been an afterthought.

And yet, you still feel sympathy for the man. He himself was in the same position you are. He probably walked along these halls and touched the same parts of the wall you did. Caleb probably dreams of this place, being subjected to the atrocities that he endured as a child.

At the end of the day, though, your overwhelming emotions can only make you feel one thing: numb.

The funny thing about the whole experimentation and Toring Chip process is that you are forced to remember everything. Your body simply will not let you forget what has been done to you. Unlike the other beings who were subjected to the Toring Chip, Caleb included, their minds and memories have been wiped clean, a fresh start to Ever to imprint their beliefs onto.

But you? You remember.

In the beginning it worked. You could barely remember a thing when the chip was first implanted into the back of your neck. You didn’t even remember your name when you first came out of your sleep, the Professor had to remind you of your own identity what what your purpose is at Ever. You blindly believed him, allowed him to poke hundreds of needles into your skin, to tear your body apart layer by bloody layer.

When your body evolved, though…that’s when it hit you.

All of the memories flooded your brain, a painful relapse of everything that you have ever been through. You could feel your Evol, your power, fighting against the Toring Chip. The machines did not register this change. All it saw was that your body was putting itself back together again.

How could the Professor have missed the fact that your Evol helped repair your hippocampus? It completely undone all of his work to make you his beloved soldier, a weapon that he can use whenever he wishes. He simply cannot experiment on you and then press the erase button on the trigger, that doesn’t work anymore.

You are smart, though. Cunning. Adaptable. You learned very quickly that the only way to survive this place is to pretend that you are as clueless and blank as they wish for you to be.

That, my friend, is the truth. It is the cruelest punishment that will ever be dealt to you in the game of life.

You scoff and turn to look at Viper. His hands hang through the bars of your enclosure, mocking you that he can leave whenever he pleases despite still being under Professor Lucius’ thumb. You slowly approach the bars and the reptilian man does not move, he doesn’t even flinch as you give him a warm smile, luring him into a false sense of security.

You take his hands. Your fingertips glide across the scales of his hands, scales that morph into human skin. It unsettles you, the coolness of his body to your warm touch. Can’t let it show, though. You keep quiet, basking in the silence of your plan as Viper slowly pushes into your touch. Your eyes flicker to his, a teasing smile crossing your lips.

He must feel as lonely as you do in here. He probably has never felt the respectable touch of a caring person before, having been subjected to countless experiments and indoctrination before you ever arrived.

“Do you still wish to protect him?” Viper asks, his tongue poking out from between his lips before darting back inside. “Do you still love him?”

You grip on his hands begins to tighten. Slowly, you raise your gaze from your connected limbs, traveling up his body piece by piece, taking in the leather of his outfit, the snake skin that he proudly wears, before finally landing on the green and yellow hues of his eyes. Viper begins to struggle against your grip. At first, he begins to try and pull away but you don’t let him. He tries to take a step back but you keep him close, drawing him right back into the cell bars. His breathing grows frantic, eyes flickering between you and your connected hands.

“Love is such a funny concept,” you whisper to yourself, a small grin spreading across your face as you use all of the force you can muster up, snapping Viper’s wrists.

You go through the same routine when the scientists come to collect you. Alarms begin to blare out and soldiers line up outside your cell with their guns pointed at you, guns that are meant to kill Wanderers and Evoled humans, not normal people like you once were. You turn and face the wall with your hands behind your head, the clanging bars of the cell sliding to the side as a scientist cautiously approaches. They slap handcuffs around your wrists, the blue lights flickering from deep inside the darkened metal. The cuffs are a mere formality, a way to keep you in check instead of actually holding you back.

What you were truly afraid of were the soldiers. At any moment, they can unleash pure hellfire upon you, the metal bullets ripping through your body, tearing you apart with such ease.

It’s not like you can’t die. You’ll revive just a few hours later, sobbing and trembling as your aching and burning muscles reattach, your nerves on fire as it registers every single process of healing.

They move you from your cell and parade you down the hallway where all of the other experiments that the Professor has tucked away can see. They hoot and holler as you pass by. They launch taunts and threats at you, their words seeping into your skin despite you not showing them just how much it unnerves you.

To them, you are Professor Lucius’ most prized possession. The one person they should aspire to be. The toy that he plays with every single day. The one person they dream about killing so they can take your seat under Professor Lucius’ gentle eye. They wish to tear you limb from limb, ripping your beating heart out of your chest so that they are spared a sliver of the same kindness that he shows to you.

Little do they know that your existence is pure torture. Every breath you take is noted, jotted down in a scientist’s notes just in case you decided to strangle yourself inside your cell. They watch you at all hours of the day. The cameras in your cell and main areas are perpetually on, the red light slowly blinking — breathing — as you are forced to undergo the Professor’s sick and twisted fantasies.

He has put you inside a cell for all to see. Scientists and soldiers can pass you by at any time of the day, laughing and snickering at your plight. Some days, the days that Professor Lucius decides to punish you by starving you, they walk by with bits and pieces of food. Freshly basked bread, rations from the solider’s emergency food supplies. They wave it in front of your face, watching as you reach out to pluck the scraps from their hands before they pull it away, laughing at the idea of you begging.

Ever has changed you. Will it be for the better? Or will you completely transform into a monster that you never asked to become?

The door to the holding cell slides open. The echoes of the other experiments’ yells and cries are now muffled from the distance as you step inside, slightly nodding your head at the scientists who sit inside. The usual scent of bleach and chemicals stings the inside of your nostrils. It makes you nauseous as the memories of previous deaths flood your mind, the scientists already beginning to clean the room as you’re curled up into a ball on the floor, sobbing as pain overtakes your body. The door slams shut behind you and the handcuffs are taken off, your wrists sore from how tight they always are.

“V-03, you know the drill,” the first scientist says.

You suck in a breath and nod, knowing that if you speak you will be slapped or tased. You circle around the table and glance at what it holds: a Fleet uniform, hat, and a single gun. A shiver runs down your spine, the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

You bite back the questions that fill your mind. You do not say a word and sit in the metal chair. The thin material of your pants is not thick enough to combat the chill that seeps into your skin, putting you even more on edge than you already are. You try to steady your heartbeat, eyes flickering around the room until they settle onto the corner where the camera sits.

The scientists are at your sides. They begin to strap you into the chair, the restraints tight and coarse against your skin. The sensation is familiar to you. You two are no longer strangers. Your skin has adjusted to the constant restraints and is much thicker now but your trembling heart remains the same.

The red light slowly blinks. You draw in a breath, the red light grows brighter. You slowly exhale, and the light dies.

Are you watching me? You think to yourself. Do you see what you have done to me?

“Good morning, V-03,” Professor Lucius’ voice echoes from behind.

Your posture immediately straightens, the muscle memory of his particular routine settling into your bones, your eyes set to look straight forward and at the door of the holding cell. Your eyes do not move as he enters. He passes off a folder to one of the scientists and waves them away, mumbling something you can barely hear. They leave with a small nod, the door slamming shut behind them.

The Professor settles into the chair in front of you. There is a small, sick smirk on his face. There always is. It is unsettling, always making you feel as if there is something that he knows about you that you do not even know about yourself.

“Good morning, Professor Lucius,” you respond in a monotone voice. You have to be sure to keep it level, not too happy but not too sad…obedient. Just the way he likes.

“We have big plans for you today, V-03,” the Professor’s smiles, his yellowed and rotten teeth flashing at you. He leans back into his chair, his knees moving far apart as he spreads his legs, getting comfortable. “Do you remember your friend from the Farspace Fleet? The General?”

Your heart lurches in your chest. The blood in your veins grows hot, your ears warming as you try your best to keep your composure. All you can bring yourself to do is nod in response, slowly blinking as your body struggles to stay in place.

In the back of your mind you think about the time you were in middle school. You and Caleb were running away from a teacher after you decided to cut class early. The two of you hid inside the janitor’s closet, tucked away behind the brooms and mops, using the sponges and bottles of soap as a way to hide. The teacher passed by the closet and hesitated, the two of you breathing so quietly, faces close together as you hid behind one of the hanging towels. Caleb had the biggest smile on his face but you were so terrified, never having broken a rule before. He promised to keep you safe, that he will take all of the blame off of your shoulders and tell the teachers he dragged you away with him in case the two of you got caught.

Thankfully, you never did.

“You are deep in thought, V-03. Would you care to enlighten me what you’re thinking about?” Professor Lucius adjusts himself in his seat, his dark eyes trained on you.

You don’t make a sound and simply look around the room when your eyes on the camera. The red light fades for a moment before coming back to life. You match your breaths with its pace.

Are you going to help me get out of this one too?

“The camera,” you begin, slowly speaking the words as if you are under the influence of the Toring Chip, an image that you have perfect over the last eight months since arriving at the facility, “is it you watching me? Or is somebody else wanting to take a look?”

The Professor lets out an amused chuckle, turning around to stare at the camera that sits up in the corner behind him. He does not immediately respond, taking his time in turning back around and formulating a response inside of his head. You know that this is him buying time. He is trying to figure out a response that will satisfy you — well, his loyal and obedient solider.

“There is a guest who has been checking in on you,” each word sends chills down your spine, your heart pounding to every single word, squeezing and contracting in and out, contorting itself inside your chest. “You will be seeing him soon. He will take part in the…demonstration that we will put on for the General.”

A demonstration…what could he possibly mean by that?

“Do not worry, V-03, you are safe here, nobody is going to hurt you,” the Professor calmly states.

As much as you hate to admit it, you believe in what he says. You know that he is the enemy, but he has kept you safe from the outside world, keeping you hidden behind concrete walls that will never seem to fall.

Despite knowing how much he has hurt you, you know that your mind is fractured beyond belief. Grief and trauma absorb your actions and emotions. You have become just like the animal that he spoke to you about. It is just a matter of time until you gnaw off your limbs in order to escape from this place.

“Your baseline,” the Professor speaks.

“Weeping willows decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish,” you act on instinct, knowing that if you were to hesitate or push back that Professor Lucius will hurt you again. You try to keep your heartbeat as slow as possible, to keep your eyes still and steady, to not give away the erratic emotions and turmoil that crash throughout your body and mind.

“A dog with no purpose is as good as dead. Are you a pet? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

You stare into the camera and take a deep breath, watching as the camera gets closer, inspecting your eyes with a close look.

“What is it like to hold the hand of someone you love? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

Your heart skips a beat. You think about Caleb and the first time you held hands. The Professor scribbles something into his notebook.

“Your baseline.”

“Weeping willows decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish.”

You blink. Your hands grow clammy.

“Do you feel like something is missing from your life? Companionship? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

You heart yearns for a man that you do not wish to know anymore.

“Repeat after me: the void is dark and there is no one else there to help me.”

“The void is dark and there is no one else to help me.”

Where are you, Caleb? Why haven’t you found me yet?

“You are an integral part to the system. System. Interlinked.”

“System. Interlinked.”

Professor Lucius pauses. He does not speak. He leans forward, the camera moving with him, as they stare deep into your eyes. You try not to falter, remaining as still as humanly possible. You do not pull away from them, knowing that it will be a challenge to escape out of. Adding time onto your already lengthy sentence.

“Both baselines, V-03.”

“Weeping willows decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish. The void is dark and there is no one else to help me,” the words burn themselves into your memory, into your tongue. An invisible way of Professor Lucius branding you as his, marking his territory.

The two of you know that if you were to somehow escape his grasp, to flee from the prison he holds you inside of, he will be able to bring you back to him with those two simple sentences. You will revery back into the shell of a human being you are now, forever chained to him and his crimes, another casualty in the bloody massacre he has participated in as the ring leader.

The room falls silent, the whirring from the camera no longer filling your ears like an unpalatable white noise that you cannot escape from. Even in your dreams you hear the sound of his quiet interrogator, an unfeeling machine that will rip you to shreds the moment it gets the chance.

You truly are alone in this world, aren’t you?

The Professor snaps his fingers. The doors open and a single scientist enters the room. They hand him a date pad, one that you have only seen a handful of times before in the past couple of weeks. You gently bite the inside of your cheek, just enough of it so they will not be able to notice, and watch as the person leaves, the door slamming shut behind them.

“V-03, I will be regaining control of your body now. We will need to undergo a few last…measures to ensure that our demonstration for the Farspace Fleet goes as smoothly as possible. You can understand why we cannot allow ourselves to have any mistakes in front of the General, seeing how he is our most valuable customer,” the Professor speaks while typing away on the clear tablet.

You close your eyes, just for a brief moment, and slowly fill your lungs with as much air as possible. The taps of the Professor’s fingertips coming to a slow pause. You open your eyes.

A rush of ice covers your skin. Your consciousness is submerged beneath the shadows of your mind, your bodily autonomy being snatched from your very hands as it feels like you are forced to remain on a sinking ship in the arctic. You are forced to watch as your body scan is pulled up on the screen of his tablet, your once loose and relaxed limbs growing rigid and tough to move.

Your face relaxes and you can feel your lips curl up into a fake and plastic smile. The professor stands up and sets the tablet down. He extends his hands towards the restraints that hold you down. He slowly releases them from your body and you can feel the sensation of pins and needles stabbing into your skin as the material falls off of your body.

As much as you try to fight against the Toring Chip’s control, you are unable to move your body. Now that your tormentor has released you from the restraints, you are faced to reckon with the numbness of your hands and limbs, the way your brain has been detached from calling the shots and instead being replaced by a machine.

The Professor picks up the clear tablet and flicks his finger across the screen. Your body stands and takes a step forward.

“Good job, V-03,” his words make you scream but no sound comes out.

You are helplessly trapped inside of your own body. You will be forced to watch and bear witness to the acts he will make you commit, the sins of his actions being thrust onto your hands. The blood of his crimes staining your skin, leaving a mark as you cry on the inside of your mind, begging for release from this madness.

You know that your Toring Chip is different than Caleb’s. He explained it to you the night you two first came together during the summit. The two of you laid together in bed, his arm wrapped around you while you listened to his steady heartbeat. His chest was bare — a piece of significant jewelry absent from his neck — and he slowly explained to you the effects of his Toring Chip. He has one of the earliest version, which is inevitably bound to have flaws in its design. While the Professor can see his emotions through his bodily reactions, he could only persuade his emotions to complete missions. To suggest and give Caleb the push he needed to say yes to dire circumstances and jobs.

The Professor had no control over Caleb’s body. He can wipe away the cheeriness in Caleb’s eyes and try to erase the playful and fiery spirit that sits inside his chest, but he will never have full control over the Colonel. All he can do is give Caleb the push, to bend his emotions and cause his brain to rewire itself to do as he says.

You…you are a puppet while Caleb maintains some of his bodily autonomy.

The Professor stands close to you. A little too close. Despite not having control of your body, you still feel your body’s instinct to pull away, the nausea that festers inside of your stomach. He leans in, his oddly cold shoulder pressing into yours, the man fully turning to face you. He leans down and his nose grazes against your cheek.

You can’t close your hides. You have to watch from your peripheral vision as he closes the distance.

His breath his putrid. Teeth rotted, decaying inside his own mouth. He places a hand on your shoulder. Your body doesn’t react but you let out a blood curdling scream from inside your head.

“You are…magnificent, V-03,” he speaks, the words rolling off of his tongue like butter. It scares you. “You are my finest creation yet.”

He places the tips of his fingers on your collarbone and begins to slowly drag them across your shoulder and down your bicep, switching from the pads of his fingers to his nails, the somehow brittle lengths pushing into your skin. It teeters between the line of admiration and something more, something ravenous and lustful.

You know that Professor Lucius does not lust after you. He lusts after the power you hold inside of your body. He lusts after the influence that your presence will give him in the room full of high ranking military officers and officials, making him even more powerful and dominant than he could ever imagine.

After all, you are his most prized possession.

Not person.

Object.

A thing for him to play with. A doll for him to literally dress how he sees fit.

He’s done it before in the past, used the Toring Chip to have you come into his office, to put on dresses and clothes that he claimed was for his young daughter at home.

His office did not have any photos of his family. Not even a wife or portrait they took in the early years of their family life. Perhaps he did not want them to witness the ugliness he pours his life and heart into. Maybe he does not want to look upon their faces and come to realization that just like them — just like you — his experiments have souls and people who love them just as much as he loves his wife and kids.

“We need you to look the part for the Farspace Fleet,” the Professor continues to speak. He pulls his hand away from your arm and takes a step in front of you. He nods his head in the direction of the table where the Farspace Fleet uniform sits. “The General wants to see his shining translator transform into someone new…someone worthwhile and noteworthy. Someone…someone dangerous.”

Professor Lucius steps to the side and his nails drag against the metal table, quietly scraping before he flicks his fingers against the screen. He turns to look at you once again, the sickening smirk returning to his face.

Your body moves on its own, forced to look away as you hands reach up for the top button of your shirt. You listen to the Professor’s footsteps, the loud echoes coming to a close as he settles himself into one of the chairs. Your movements are robotic as you slip the shirt from your body, folding it, and place it onto the table.

Is it a blessing or a curse that you do not have to face him while you change. Many times before, especially after one of his experiments to see just how cruelly he can kill you and get away with it, he and other scientists take their time to examine your naked body, watching it heal, to see if there are any remaining scars to act as evidence of their crimes against you.

You push your pants off of your body. His footsteps move closer to you.

“Stop.”

You obey his command.

Professor Lucius’ fingertips press the bottom of your head, right where your hair ends and where the scar from the Toring Chip surgery remains. He drags his fingers down, tracing the fine, the line of your darkened and scarred skin from the very first surgery you underwent. It was way before your Evol blossomed and came into fruition. They inspected your spine, moving apart the nerves, rerouting them, obliterating your ability to walk before they fixed it.

“I’ll see if I can find a way to heal your skin,” the Professor whispers into your ear, sending chills across your body. He takes notice and chuckles, thinking that it is a positive reaction rather than one made out of pure repulsion and rejection. “Continue.”

You reach for the Farspace Fleet uniform. Your heart twitches inside your chest, disregarding the Professor’s control over your body as you feel the weight of the uniform in your hands. Professor Lucius continues to touch your body. He inspects every inch of your exposed skin, murmuring and humming to himself.

It is so utterly dehumanizing.

You slip the white pants onto your body and fasten the belt, the black holster strapped to your thigh. Next, you put on the black dress shirt, fastening the buttons with precision and ease before strapping the tie around your neck.

While your body moves, you think about the slow mornings you spent with Caleb just as the sun began to rise from above the horizon. He has been up for far longer than you. He worked out and showered, placing his clothes onto the bench at the foot of the bed.

You slowly woke up from the depths of sleep, a yawn escaping from your lips. Caleb always smiled at you. He slowly walked to your side of the bed and would sit on the edge, the mattress dipping down which made you roll towards him. He caught you in his arms and lifted you up, melting into his chest as he placed a kiss to the top of your head before he met your lips with his.

Caleb was in charge of making breakfast while you showered and got ready. He stayed in his sweatpants, shirtless just as you liked him to be, and brought the plates inside just as you finished putting your last shoe on.

The two of you would eat and talk about that day’s plans. He would ask if you were up for a date out or if you wanted to stay inside. You always joked that you needed to ask your boyfriend and see if it was okay with him. The two of you would share a laugh, the sounds of his chuckles forever echoing inside what is left of your crumbling sanity.

You would clean up the plates and quickly wash them, setting them to the side of the sink before moving back to the bedroom where Caleb stands, assembling his Colonel persona piece by piece. You watched from the doorway, waiting for the right moment to step in and assume your daily task of helping him with his shirt buttons.

It was always silent between you two. Silent, but comfortable. Safe. A time where the two of you can be you and Caleb, a moment of domesticity in your chaotic and demanding lives. As soon as you fastened the last button, he would sheepishly ask you for help with his tie, always ending his question with a kiss to butter you up.

The truth is that Caleb knows how to tie his tie. You knew it, he knew it, but it never failed to make you smile and make an off-handed comment about him being so co-dependent on you, asking him what he’s going to do when you aren’t there to help put him together.

Oh, the irony.

You slip the heeled knee high boots over your feet and pants, your body lengthening by a handful of centimeters. Of course the men of Ever and the Farspace Fleet chose for you, a woman, to wear heeled boots. No matter what aspect of life you are in — a cold war or in an office — their idea of a strong woman must always come with their idea of femininity, which is almost always laced in with impracticality.

The Farspace Fleet’s jacket is heavier than you anticipated. You have felt the weight of Caleb’s in the past, having wearing it around his apartment as he cooked dinner, a smile on your face as you tipped his own Colonel’s hat to him.

This…this feels different.

This is the weight of your own world on your shoulders of the life you have left behind. The constant reminders of him running through your mind no matter where you look or try to hide from. He always finds you.

You slip your arms through the sleeves and feel as Professor Lucius flattens out the wrinkles of the jacket from behind, smoothing out the shoulders and getting rid of any imperfections he may find. The leather gloves slip on like butter and you reach up to fix your tie, your movement causing it to tighten it tighter than you anticipated. A gasp slips through your slips and your hands fall to your side.

The Professor moves around you. You take a step back, your body receiving subliminal and silent orders from the man himself. His eyes never meet yours as his hands take liberties with you. He touches your stomach and his hands move up to your neck, grabbing your chin, and tilting it left and right so he can see is there is anything else he needs to change about you. Your hair is neatly put into a bun at the base of your neck, one to hide the nasty scar from the Toring Chip insertion. He brushes your hair out of the way and takes a step backwards, his gaze darkening the more and more he looks at you.

“Perfect,” he whispers, “you are…perfect.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek. The droplet has broken through the Toring Chip’s hold on your body’s agency, slipping through the cracks. The Professor is quick to catch it, though, since your hands are glued to your sides, unable to move as your soul and consciousness sob inside your fragile mind.

“Ah,” he breathes out, disappointment laced within his tone. Your body shudders as you begin to gain control of your body back from him.

Your once ice cold limbs begin to warm, thawing out as you wiggle your fingers. The Professor reaches up and wipes you tear away, observing the teardrop on the pad of his thumb. He turns back to you and lets out a huff of air, amused by your emotions.

“I see that you’re not as easily controlled. We’ll fix that,” the Professor whispers, leaning in. His rotten breath surrounds your mouth and nose, giving you nowhere to escape. He reaches for the tablet. You swallow the lump in your throat. He presses a button and everything fades to black.

Caleb clears his throat as soon as he exits the elevator while on route to the General’s office. It sits on the very top floor of the Fleet’s headquarters, just below the helipads on the roof of the building. Despite being so close to the top and where many of the Farspace Fleet’s aircrafts sit, the floor is surprisingly quiet. All that Caleb can hear is the click of his shiny leather boots against the freshly waxed floor as he travels down the hallway.

The top floor consists of the highest vetted employees. The General’s secretary is a Captain in his own right, earning his rank from within the Farspace Fleet before landing the job of a lifetime. Well, that’s what some people like to think.

Caleb has never found fulfillment in his duty as the Farspace Fleet Colonel. Sure, he has been able to find someone to fight for, someone to give him purpose as to why he is still with the Farspace Fleet, but now that you’re gone, the job has become, well, monotonous.

Maybe it is because he’s lost his purpose with you out of his life.

The Colonel raises his fist up to the door, waiting for a beat, before knocking. It is three loud knocks in a row, quick and decisive, that of a Farspace Fleet officer.

“Enter,” the General’s gravelly voice calls out. Caleb does as he is told, entering inside the office. The General spots him and smiles, leaning back into his hair. “Ah, Colonel Xia, what a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, sir,” Caleb responds, his voice having a hint of charm to it while his face remains neutral.

He closes the door behind him and the tail of his coat fights with his legs as he enters the heart of the room. He stands in the center and stands in attention, his hands stiff at his sides. The General pushes away from his desk and wave his hand at Caleb. The man immediately relaxes, folding his leather clad hands behind his back.

“Sir, the plane is ready for departure,” Caleb informs the General.

The old man, whose hair has become significantly more white than gray in the passing months, rounds his desk. He used to be the same height as Caleb in the prime of his life. With his old age, though, he has lost a few centimeters and now the top of his head sits just below Caleb’s eye level.

“Ready so soon?” The General asks. Caleb simply nods in return. The older man grunts to himself, nodding his head as his gaze moves away from Caleb’s.

Caleb watches him with a close eye. His Colonel’s hat covers his eyes just barely enough for the cameras not to see his gaze turn deadly when the General looks away. His eyes darken from his glare.

He remembers the day you left. He remembers exactly how the General smiled at you, how he lured you in with false pretenses of allowing you to leave before ordering his men — the Professor’s men — to capture you. Was it his idea to drug you? Or was he the sick fuck who offered your body up as a sacrifice for Professor Lucius to pick apart?

When the General turns back to him, the light comes back to Caleb’s eyes. The corners of his lips tug up, a mirage to make the General think that he actually takes pleasure in being his personal chauffeur to the meeting with Ever. The older man smiles back, a small chuckle vibrating his throat, as he passes by the young man, patting him on the shoulder.

“Come on, kid, let’s be the first ones there.”

The walk to the elevator is one taken in silence, at least it was on Caleb’s part. He stayed behind the Genral, allowing him to be the one to guide him up the stairs and to the dark asphalt of the roof where one of the Fleet’s aircrafts sit. As they walk, people stop what it is that they are doing and speak with the General. Their gazes flicker to Caleb, who narrows his eyes in return, and they look away before breaking free from the duo’s flight path.

They walk across the roof’s tarmac, the loud roar of nearby jet engines filling their ears. As soon as they approach their designated craft, a whole set of the deck crew scatter from the plane. Caleb inputs his code and the back door opens, slowly lowering itself towards the ground. They enter inside and Caleb assumes the pilot’s seat, taking his hat off and hanging it on a nearby hook.

The front glass is tinted, blocking out as much of the sun as possible. Caleb still reaches for his jacket pocket, plucking a pair of black aviators, setting them on the bridge of his nose.

“I saw that you were one of the best pilots that the DAA has ever had,” the General boasts from behind. He pats Caleb shoulder once again and leans down, laughing, “if we don’t make it there in under an hour, then I’ll have to give a stern talking to someone at the DAA about their qualifications of what a good pilot is.”

Caleb lets out a fake chuckle, one that sounds just real enough to anyone who is listening. The General moves to one of the back seats as Caleb’s Adjutant, Liam, enters the aircraft. He sits across from the General just as Caleb closes the back door, engines roaring to life.

Caleb places a headset over his ears. The aircraft is a passenger jet, made for transportation of government and city officials rather than one for Deepspace Tunnel missions or dog fights with other countries. It is still heavily armed and dangerous to those who think they can oppose it but lacks its agility and swift maneuvering abilities.

With Caleb behind the throttle, though, who knows what can happen.

Caleb flicks many of the switches and the aircraft’s engine roars to life, the body of the plane humming and vibrating. The engines begin to warm up as the passengers buckle in. Liam and Caleb share a quick glance with one another, nodding in sync, before turning back to their individual spaces. The General puts on his headset and begins to spew one of his many stories from his own pilot days, laughing their ears off as the aircraft begins to move.

Caleb’s pilot instincts take over. He maneuvers the aircraft out of its spot, docking it at the end of the tarmac. The runway is clear with the deck crew giving the thumbs up. Once Caleb receives the go ahead from the tower, the aircraft lurches forward, the throttle being pushed to the max.

In a matter of seconds, the aircraft takes flight, slicing through the air at top notch speeds. The General’s laugh echoes throughout the headsets but Caleb tunes it out, his sole focus on getting close to you as fast as possible.

Caleb lands the plane after forty five minutes. The once blue skies and endless green fields below have turned into dusk and a desert below. The plane, all thanks to Caleb's piloting, caught a tailwind and accelerated the flight. They even broke the sound barrier, the sly becoming silky smooth with nothing holding them back. The plane passed over hundreds of miles of land, crossing through different territories and countries.

They landed in Athas, a desert city far away from Skyhaven and Linkon, outside of the boundaries of any country’s jurisdiction. A place where everyone can be equals with no laws to abide by or rules to follow.

The aircraft screeches against the tarmac, Ever’s deck crew guiding Caleb and his plane on where to go after he lands. He follows their directions, sunglasses now off of his face, as he parks the plane close to a base built out of cement, a recent construction all thanks to Ever and the Farspace Fleet. Caleb was able to catch a glimpse of the contract while poking his head around during his search for you. He cannot believe that it is what led him here.

He shuts the engines off, listening to them cool down and feeling the vibrations cease to exist. He stands from the pilot’s seat, slightly stretching out his body, as he glances at the General. He makes his way down the length of the airplane, placing his Colonel’s hat back on the top of his head, covering his dark locks from the world.

“Colonel,” the General laughs with his entire belly, slapping him on the back just as he approaches, “that was one hell of a flight!”

Caleb feigns a smile, sheepishly chuckling. The General’s compliments mean absolutely nothing to him. They are meaningless, fake niceties that he must push through in order to get to you.

The back door drops open and the hot desert air wafts into the aircraft. Liam takes Caleb’s side, handing him a small note written on paper. The Adjutant follows after the General, leaving Caleb behind. He hesitates to walk, taking a quick glance at the note in his hand.

She’s the demonstration.

Caleb’s back stiffens. He crumbles the note between his fingers and slips into one of the crevices of his uniform, tucking it away where the world cannot see the truth that Liam has unveiled for him.

He knew that you were going to be at the center of it all. He held out for a sliver of hope, though, that you would be in the background, hidden from the eyes of bloodthirsty killers from other countries. He can’t even fathom just how exposed you will be, his mind wandering to all of the possibilities of what the Professor will have you do for a demonstration.

“Colonel!” The General yells over the sound of landing planes and the restless wind that creates havoc in the sky. His head turns to look at the man, eyes narrowing from the darkness of the craft. “This way.”

Colonel Xia nods, letting out a huff of air, and forces his legs to move, the aching sensation as the realization that you will be in the same room as him finally hitting. He passes by Liam and gives him a nod, the Adjutant remaining in the aircraft.

Caleb thought that he would feel lighter than air when he first sees you again. He dreamt of you floating down from the heavens, descending into his arms like one would see in in a vision from an otherworldly being. He knows that the idea of you literally floating down is ridiculous, but he wishes that it were that easy to get you back into his arms.

The cement building is taller than he expected. The closer the duo walks towards it, the higher and higher it pierces into the sky. It blocks out the setting sun and casts long and dramatic shadows across the freshly made tarmac. He follows behind the General, the Farspace Fleet duo the first of a handful of groups to approach the building. The General swings open the door, his course strong and unmoving. The other groups hang behind, speaking amongst each other as Caleb slips inside the building.

The lights are unusually bright. There is no decoration nor are there any other type of items to make the place feel like it has been worked in. Caleb and the General walk down winding hallways, descending deeper and deeper beneath the depths of the sand, the temperature dropping dramatically with every step down the stairs. The echoes of footsteps fills the cement stairwell, the exasperated huffs of air from the General being thrown into the mix.

It goes on like this for a couple of minutes until the stairwell reaches its end. Caleb pushes through the metal doors, holding it open for his superior officer, before moving inside himself.

Inside is a large hanger, larger than one would ever expect to be beneath the sands of the desert. It is a grotesque showcase of power, extravagant yet there is a sense of maliciousness in its constriction. A warning to those that would dare to oppose Ever with their advances of weaponry, transportation, and private militia.

The balcony overlooks the hangar. There are two lines on the side of the walls, large aircrafts meant for large transportation of goods — or soldiers — mixed in with fighter jets and even remote operated stealth jets made for reconnaissance and spying. Caleb saw a few of them in action while at the DAA, having shadowed a few of the pilots who flew them from hundred of miles away inside the Deepspace Tunnel.

In the middle of the hangar sits a large table. A small group of people sit below with a two soldiers standing off to the side. One of the men holds a cane, the Professor, as he speaks with people in white lab coats. Caleb is too far away to see what the soldiers look like, his eyes floating to the shorter one standing on the right in a black and white uniform, one that the Farspace Fleet dons, and an unsettling feeling ferments in his stomach, making him queasy, his feet dragging against the ground.

The General leads them down cement steps. They inch closer and closer to the table, finally gaining the Professor’s attention as he dismisses the scientists. They scurry away and flock the soldiers.

One of them looks remarkably similiar to you.

Caleb’s heart stops beating. He continues to walk but his purple eyes never leave your face. You stare off into the distance with your hands folded behind your back. You wear the Farspace Fleet uniform and the brim of the hat, donned with the Fleet’s insignia, shadows your eyes, concealing your full expression from his gaze. He clears his throat and looks away, following the General who approaches the Professor with a joyful smile.

“Lucius!” he exclaims, his hand slapping into the elder man’s, excitedly shaking his hand. “The day has finally come!”

“It has!” Professor Lucius smiles. Caleb holds back a wince at the sight of his yellowed teeth. “I am so honored to have you here, General.”

“The honor is all mine,” he responds. He turns to Caleb and waves him forward. Caleb obeys. “I brought Colonel Xia just like you requested.”

Caleb’s eyes meet the Professor’s. The old man places the entirety of his weight into his metal cane, leaning against it for support as his one excited grin turns sadistic in the blink of an eye. Caleb nods his head at the man.

“Colonel Xia…” the Professor’s voice drops an octave. Caleb’s eyes move away for a brief second, unconsciously moving to your face. The Professor snaps, catching his attention. “Eyes here, boy.”

Caleb’s back straightens. His fists ball at his side, eyes slowly darkening, narrowing.

“Good solider,” Professor Lucius comments and turns to the General, “always obeying orders.”

“The best of the best,” the General adds.

“I hope you will accept my invitation to be a part of the demonstration tonight…X-02,” Lucius smirks. Caleb’s body runs cold. He stiffly nods, clenching his jaw. Professor Lucius nods back. He turns to the General and the same aloofness he had before returns. “Please, take a seat. Have the Colonel stand behind you. We only have so many seats. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Without another word, the Professor turns around and wobbles away. Caleb stays where he is, his superior officer pushing past him with a soft chuckle. His jaw is set, stuck in its tense positioning, when he turns his head towards you.

You’re staring at him. Your eyes meet his purple gaze. Your face does not change. You do not flinch, remaining as still as a stone statue. Caleb moves backwards but his eyes remain trained on you. Your eyes follow him, refusing to back down, as he tales his place behind the General. The rest of the room settles, the other Generals and Colonels and Captains taking their seats at the table.

Caleb is the only one left standing. It is all a part of the Professor’s design.

“Welcome,” Professor Lucius begins, greeting the table. “I hope your journey was well and had no complications. I humbly thank you all for joining us, especially the Farspace Fleet for proving the materials necessary to set up a meeting place for us to gather.”

Nobody claps. Nobody cheers or greets the man back. They simply stare at the Professor, tilting their heads.

Caleb’s eyes flicker around the room. Many of the men inside have guns holstered to their hips and thighs. He can assume that the older man, such as the General, have guns inside their jackets and, well, the Professor has his super soldiers prepared and ready to protect him…including you.

“I know that my messages about what is to be unveiled tonight have been vague…they have been less than desirable, am I right?” There are a few nods across the table’s inhabitants. “Tonight, I have the honor to show to you the next phase of soldiers.”

The Professor holds his hand up and snaps his fingers. The sound echoes across the hangar. It captures the table’s attention, their eyes moving towards you and the soldier who stands beside you. Caleb recognizes the man beside you. He was in Caleb’s Farspace Fleet’s wing for awhile before he was honorably discharged, the reason unknown. He looks at him with a close eye, slowly breathing in, his chest puffing out, before exhaling.

You remain where you are, frozen in space yet again. Caleb’s heart aches for you. He has to hold back the urge to storm across the distance and pull you into his arms, to cry into your hair, and apologize for the sins that he has committed. He desperately wants to feel your skin against his. To feel the spark of your short-lived love for one another, to give him a reason worth fighting for.

“This is Staff Sergeant Hardy. He was one of the few lucky soldiers who received Toring Chip Version 2.0,” the Professor speaks. He holds his hand out to Caleb, the room’s attention turning to him. “This is Colonel Xia. He currently has Toring Chip Version 1.8 inside of him.”

You suddenly step forward. The sound of your step enamors the room, the deadly look on your face silencing the murmurs that sounded from around the table.

“And this…this is V-03. Her name isn’t important. She currently has the latest Toring Chip inside of her neck. Version 3.9 to be exact. She is the most advanced out of all of the soldiers here and she is here to redefine the way we look at and compete in war.”

Chills run down Caleb’s spine. His ears begin to ring as the Professor continues to speak. His mouth goes dry and he is unable to look away from the darkness that is inside of your eyes, the way you scan the room as if you are searching for your next victim.

From behind, the scientists roll up a large white board, one that towers over the people inside the room. A man towards the back tosses a newer and smaller version of OTTO into the air. Its wings buzz and it floats up, light flooding from its lens, projecting images onto the white board with vibrant colors.

“The Toring Chip initiative was a way for Ever to help governments and private militias to control their soldiers as well as yield their obedience. Ever since its origins, it has blossomed into something powerful, a tool that only men like us — men in power — are able to have control over,” the Professor addresses the room.

Their attention remains on him, their energy beginning to burst at the seams, wondering what he has in store.

“The first wave of Toring Chips proved that we are able to monitor a soldier’s emotions through their cognitive and cardiovascular charts. By using this information, it allowed its users to be swayed to complete missions and goals, making them think that what they are doing is for the good of mankind and not self serving purposes. It also allowed us to their memories, giving us leverage over their life by hanging their memories over their heads…a push in the right direction to do what is best for their minds and lives.”

Caleb swallows the lump that forms in his throat. He watches the Professor with a close eye, barely even paying attention to the images and words on the board. He notices an image of himself but does not pay attention, focusing on your face instead.

His eyes dip below the surface of your bust and he notices the gun that is strapped to your leg. It is sleek yet chunky, the barrel long and unforgiving.

“With the second version of the Toring Chip, we were able to hone in the skills from the previous version, allowing us to refine where we messed up and reign in our soldiers, keeping them on a much shorter leash so they have much more to lose…”

Caleb drowns out the Professor’s voice. He watches as your face twitches, eyes blinking rapidly, taking away the gloss that reflected the lights coming out of OTTO.

“With the third version…we were able to increase our reach over the soldier’s agency,” Lucius speaks, his voice not faltering, not one bit, as he holds it hand out. You step to his side and place a glass tablet into his hand. He holds it up into the air as you resume your spot on the other side of the board. “Unlike the others, it must be surgically inserted into the neck, unable to be dissolved, so they are forced to live with it for the rest of their lives. If you wish to remove it, well, it will have to be cut out from their bodies. Thank you, V-03. This is a data pad that holds all of her information. From it, I can control almost all of her bodily functions. Her consciousness is simply sedated, asleep while we take the wheel. I can tell her to stop breathing and she will obey. I can tell her when and what to eat, what to drink…she does it without question.”

A few of the men and officers at the table lean forward. Men from countries that are constantly at war with each other, ready to soak the ground beneath their feet with the blood of their enemies.

“Using this tablet allows me full access to her cognitive functions. I am able to fully control her…she is my puppet to use how I see fit,” Professor Lucius’ eyes move to Caleb. He stands still, unmoving as he listens to the way that the Professor has removed all of your autonomy with a smug smirk. “Whoever holds the leash is in control. They hold all of the power. They hold a soldier’s so called ‘free will’ in their hands.”

“Wait,” the General speaks up, “you are able to control her?”

“That is correct, yes,” Professor Lucius confirms. “She is fully mine to use. With the new Toring Chip, we have taken out all possibilities of rebellion or disobedience. She will complete whatever task is set in front of her.”

“Tasks such as…?” a man from the far end of the table asks.

“Who would want to play god?” a man murmurs from under his breath. “It is inhumane.”

“Is there a limit?” another one chimes in.

The Professor chuckles, shaking his head. The sound echoes inside of Caleb’s ears, the color draining from his face as the old man flicks his fingers across the screen.

In an instant, your body moves, hand reaching for the gun that is secure on your thigh. You pull it from its place and lift it into the air, aiming at Staff Sergeant Hardy. You pull the trigger, his neck exploding as blood bursts across the immediate area, splattering along the white board that sits behind you and the Professor. The Professor smirks, turning back to the men who dared to question him while you holstered your gun.

“Does that answer your question?”

The men remain silent.

“What makes V-03 special, though, is not the Toring Chip that is inside of her neck. No, no,” the Professor’s eyes darken. His chuckle is cold, heartless. He moves to the next image of his presentation.

A picture of your body is displayed on the screen. It is dated to a couple of months ago, the first day you were experimented on. You stand in the middle of the room with soldiers surrounding you, their frames massive and bulky compared to your small and fragile state — which angers Caleb beyond belief but he refuses to let it show — and the video begins.

The men surround you. They begin to beat you senseless, your cries filling and echoing across the grand aircraft hangar. Caleb flinches ever so slightly. Your head snaps to him, your glare burning into the side of his face.

Professor Lucius clicks to the next video. In this one, you’re being cut open while awake, no sedation or morphine to be used to ease the pain. You scream out for help, for them to show you mercy.

In the next slide sits a set of photos. You are dead on a lab table, face bruised and bloodied, disfigured beyond belief. There’s a lump on your neck from where it broke, your death slow and painful as you slowly suffocated to death.

“From a young age, I have been interested in the evolution of the human race. When Evolvers came about, entering our society with Evols and powers that surpass a normal person’s capability, I couldn’t help but wonder what the human genome can hold. What made Evolvers so special whereas men like me and you, you who sit around the table, are stuck with no ability to show or protect ourselves?” Professor Lucius pauses, the question seeping into the minds of the men around the room. “The key is in our DNA.”

He moves to the next slide that showcases the DNA sequences that belong to you. On one side is when you were normal. On the other sits your new DNA sequence, one with your Evol present.

“There was no way for me arrange V-03’s DNA, that is simply a fact. So I had to look back in our world’s history and do some research, needing to find the answer to this question…that’s when it hit me,” the elderly man leans to look behind him, staring at the still warm corpse on the ground. He turns back to the room, offering them a simple shrug and smile, “Survival.”

“Survival?” The General asks, leaning forward. The Professor nods. “Lucius, what did you do?”

“I forced the Evol out of her. I forced her to evolve into the superhuman she was meant to be,” he lets out a breathy laugh, a maniacal one that unsettles the entirety of the room. “If we stress out the human body enough, it will be forced with a choice: death or survival. She chose to survive and the DNA sequence she needed to evolve was forced out of her. It was once asleep inside her body — herblood — but it is now awakened and her Evol is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen!”

“Well…what is it?” the General asks, sitting on the edge of his seat.

“X-02, come forward,” the Professor waves Caleb over.

The room turns to look at Caleb. He hesitates to move, heart pounding inside his ears and chest. After a few seconds, he moves, walking around the long metal table as every single person in the room watches. The click of his boots is faint, the tip of his shoes dragging across the cement floor. You move and meet him in the middle, standing on the right side of the Professor while Caleb stands on the left, towering over you.

You look up at him, all of the color that was once in your eyes a dull gray, a cloud of fog overtaking it. It makes Caleb’s skin crawl at the sight. His eyes quickly examine your face, trying to see if you have been hurt or is there is a way for him to break you out of the haze.

His eyes flit to the tablet in the Professor’s hands. With that…he will get you back. It is the only way for you to escape and break free from his hellscape.

“V-03, if you would be so kind,” the Professor gestures his hand between you and Caleb.

Your movement is smooth yet there is a lack of humanity in it. You have fully been transformed into a robot, a servant for the Professor to use as he pleases. Your hand moves to the gun in your holster. You slip it out, a few specks of Staff Sergeant Hardy’s blood prominent along the silver metal. The gun spins in your hand, the barrel slipping into your hand, holding the gun out to Caleb.

He heart goes still. White noise fills his ears as he stares down at the gun. Caleb’s eyes move up your body. He stares at the Farspace Fleet uniform that you wear, a costume that you were undoubtedly forced into. It looks so foreign on you, the colors not fitting nor the shape of the jacket complimenting your body.

This…this is not you.

Has Caleb truly lost the love of his life? Has your soul been forced out of your body? Have you shed your skin and moved onto the next life?

“X-02,” the Professor says in a low and dangerous voice, “shoot her in the head.”

The air leaves Caleb’s lungs. His purple eyes slowly track up your body, observing the skin of your neck, watching as your chest slowly rises and falls, your breathing steady. When his eyes move back to your face, that is when he notices the sadistic smile on your face, your greyed out eyes making you look like someone he cannot even recognize anymore.

Caleb doesn’t ready for the gun.

The Professor huffs and swipes the weapon from your hands, forcing into Caleb’s. He moves to the side and lifts up Caleb’s arm. The Colonel’s soul has left his body, completely dissociating, drowning out the world that surrounds him.

Caleb did this to you. This is all of his fault.

The muzzle rests in the center of your forehead. Professor Lucius steps away. Both hands rest on his cane now, his eyes dark and lowered. His body vibrates from excitement. The room is silent.

“Do it,” Professor Lucius spits, “pull the trigger.”

Caleb’s finger rests on the trigger of your gun. The smile remains on your face. He can feel his body heat up, pulsating across his skin as his anxiety flares up, his heartbeat racing inside of his chest. Caleb’s breathing grows shallow, unable to keep up with just how fast his heart speeds inside his body. His ears ring, white noise the only thing he can hear besides the Professor’s voice.

Caleb stares into your eyes. He searches for any kind of humanity that you have left, wishing that you would give him a sign, anything to help him turn the gun towards Professor Lucius and blow his brains out instead. That would result in his death but it would be worth it if it meant giving you back your agency and autonomy.

“X-02! Pull the trigger!”

Caleb whispers your name, tears forming in his eyes.

To him, you are not V-03. You are your own person, someone worthy of love and admiration and not endless torture and despair.

He whispers your name, the sound ringing inside your ears. You try to fight against the Toring Chip, your screams only sounding off inside the confines of your own consciousness and mind. You beg and sob, wishing for him to break you free from this place while your world slowly crumbles from all around you.

“X-02! I order you to pull the trigger! Kill her!”

Caleb whispers your name.

You blink in response.

“X-02!”

Caleb becomes overwhelmed. He hears your joyous laughter in his head, the scent of your spiced apple perfume filling his nose. Memories of your lazy mornings together attack him. His eyes move down to your tie. He wonders if you needed help with it like he always does. Caleb shudders as the men in the room scream and shout at him, defying their orders.

You take a step forward, pushing your head into the muzzle, forcing him backwards. Caleb flinches.

BANG!

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

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#caleb x reader #caleb x non!mc reader #caleb x you #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #xia yizhou #lads caleb #caleb angst #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #love and deepspace angst #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace #lads caleb angst #rcvcgers writings #rotten apples ❦︎

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motherofdogs1010 · 4 months ago

Text

Guys Not My Age II (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: They say sometimes older men are better when it comes to relationships, but Y/N finds that isn't always the case when she wakes up in bed with a certain younger man after breaking up with a certain Winter Soldier

Warnings: 18+ only, age gap relationship, older woman/younger man!, everyone is over 18!, fratboy!Peter Parker, cheater!Bucky, computergenius!reader, hacker!reader, toxicex!Bucky, consensual sex, semi public sex, heavy smut, drinking, swearing, unprotected sex, eventual pregnancy Current Warnings: HYDRA, violence, toxic ex behavior

Banner by @vase-of-lilies Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist

Dating Peter felt so easy.

Or maybe it wasn't the fact that being with Peter was easy rather than it was like secondary; it was as easy as breathing. There was no pressure to look a certain way, act a certain way... it was just her and Peter.

Their first date had been quite the success and ultimately led to a multitude of dates to now, three months later, they were officially a couple.

Peter had all but essentially moved into her room over at the Compound, something that she found funny but Peter had argued that her bed was comfier than the one that his fraternity provided for them, which led them to now as she laid against the many pillows she had with Peter snuggled between her breasts and letting out content little sighs.

"You are way too comfortable here", she teased, Peter moved his head to met her eyes.

"Shush, I am currently releasing all my stress here", Peter said, she raised a brow.

"Between my boobs?"

"It's my happy place."

She playfully rolled her eyes as she ran her fingers through Peter's curly, chocolate brown locks and he hummed happily.

For the most part, those around them had accepted their relationship with ease. Nat and Wanda did slightly tease her once Nat had spilled where exactly she had been when she mysteriously disappeared that night at the club, but overall, the reception to their pairing was well-received.

Well, mostly well received considering she saw the nasty look that Bucky would throw Peter when they were in the same vicinity.

"You're such a boob guy", she teased, Peter looked at her and winked.

"I'm an everything guy, babe."

Being a part of the Avengers could be seen as glamorous if you were someone with enhanced abilities, a mutant or even some type of god but for Y/N, it was stressful as she quickly tried to hack into the HYDRA database of yet another base.

Unfortunately for her, this type of database required her to actually access the it on-site, leading her to cower slightly behind the computer as the sounds of gunfire, fighting and the occasional sound of Hulk roaring filled her ears.

She was lucky Nat was sent to guard her as she uploaded the data found before putting in the lovely little virus she had made to destroy the information HYDRA had accumulated.

"Don't you just love your job?" Nat playfully asked as she fired her gun.

"Not at this moment, Nat", Y/N said, ducking a little as something was thrown her way. "There's a reason I like being behind the computers."

"And here I thought you'd say you like being under Peter."

"Nat!" Y/N scolded over her shoulder. "Please... I like being on top too."

Nat let out a laugh as Y/N saw the computer notify her that the data had not only transferred but also the virus had finished uploading, soon enough exploding the computer and all inside.

"Okay, I got it all", Y/N said, "let's get the hell out of here!"

That was easier said than done as the sound of gunfire and fighting filled her ears as Nat hovered over, taking out Hydra soldiers left and right but it seemed as if more kept coming out.

"Fucking hell", Y/N said, "where the hell are they coming from?"

"Reinforcements were called", Nat said, "explains why comms are down for now. Must have jammed the signal."

Outside in the cold Russian land, she could see Thor landing lightning strikes after one another and the sound of Tony, and Sam's blasters ringing in her ears. She knew Peter was out there, swinging around and webbing up soldiers as he probably talked off their ears and she hoped he wasn't getting too hurt.

Alas, that was the life of an Avenger, wasn't it?

"Duck!" Nat shouted, shoving them to the ground as an explosion shook the earth.

"What the fuck?!" Y/N said, looking over her shoulder as best as she could.

She was met with a towering, mechanical machine that walked on two legs, firing missiles from its arms as the operator manned it from within.

"Lovely, of course they have one", she groaned.

The ground shook harder at the force of another missiles as Nat ushered for them to move as they move to hide behind some overturn jeep.

"You're gonna need to make a run for it", Nat said, her eyes stern. "You need to get that info back to the Quinjet and see what the fuck they're so desperate to hide."

"You're crazy! It's a good 20 feet away from here!"

"I'll distract it."

Y/N wasn't sure why she listened to Nat but she could hear the literal walking tank shake the earth behind as her feet struggled to run in the crunchy snow.

She could see the quinjet, it was so close but it was the sudden pain in her shoulder that knocked her to the ground as immediate fire flared into her muscles. She cried out as her hand grasped her now bleeding shoulder, the snow doing nothing to cushion her fall as she turned over with wide eyes to find a soldier staring at her.

Or as she saw the medals on his coat, she realized he was a high ranking Hydra official as he tucked his gun away.

"You have something that belongs to us", he spoke, the blood gushing from her wound coating her hand.

The flash drive was hidden away in a small compartment in her belt buckle and she hoped he couldn't notice how it bulged out a bit.

"Fuck you", she spat, her body shivering from the cold and adrenaline that was now coursing through her.

He tutted at her, wagging a finger.

"Such a dirty mouth", he scolded, "soon enough you'll find that you'll be very willing to hand over the drive to me."

"Like hell I will", she gritted, feeling as if her body was on fire.

"Either way, you should be honored." He kicked her square in the chest and squatted over her as she gasped for air. "You could make the perfect subject for our project. Perhaps you'll prove yourself useful rather than a annoyance."

Before she could register, he knocked her hand off her wound and dug his finger into it, twisting and tearing as she screamed. Hot tears rolled down her face as he continued to dig, she swore she felt his hot tongue lick up her tears before it was all ripped away from her.

Shakily, she opened her eyes to find Peter standing in front of her. His fist clenched and she could see his chest heaving before seeing the man having been knocked back, and the force of Peter knocking him off having knocked the man out.

She panted as sobs left her, and it seemed the sound of it finally made Peter turn around. She saw the eyes of his mask narrow in concern as he knelt down, scooping her up.

"It's okay", Peter cooed, "I'm here."

He must have known better to swing them to the jet as he rushed on his feet inside.

Once inside, Peter ripped off his mask, she could see little bruises forming on his face as his eyes swam in worry as he looked at her shoulder.

"It's okay, baby", Peter cooed, "we're already falling back, Bruce will be here soon enough."

She couldn't even form any words as sobs just left her and she knew she must have looked pathetic, but Peter just cooed and stroked her face.

And even in this truly painful and pathetic moment, she knew she had made a good decision at giving Peter a chance.

Bucky was not a fan of Peter and if Peter was being honest, the feeling was mutual. When he was younger, the first time they met at the airport, yeah, he was amazed by his metal arm but now, now Peter thought he was a asshole.

Was he being harsh?

Maybe.

Was he being honest?

Yes.

So Peter stared at the short-haired, brunette man as they all waited outside the operating room.

"She'll be okay, kid", Tony said, nudging him.

But Peter could see Tony's eyes dart over to Bucky, who met Peter's gaze with equal hatred. Peter watched as Bucky sucked in one of his cheeks a little, clear annoyance and dislike written across his face as he stared at Peter.

Peter couldn't understand what the fuck did he want. He had to have known that Peter could hear the man lingering outside the door whenever he and Y/N were together or how obnoxious it was to have to hear him and Dot going at it.

If he was trying to piss them off, it was more of a disgust that he was getting.

A clear reaction he was not happy about.

Peter wondered if Bucky thought he was going to be a one time thing and that Y/N would come back crawling to him.

Peter ran his tongue over his teeth just as Dr. Cho emerged from the operating room.

Tough shit for Bucky because Peter wasn't going to be going anywhere.

Dr. Cho said the fortunate part of the bullet was that it was a clean in-and-out wound and even with that fucker digging his finger into it, Dr. Cho said it missed anything too major.

Snuggled into her bed with a million more pillows that Peter had brought into her room with her arm in a sling.

"I think you stole pillows from everyone in the Compound", she mused with a small smile.

"Not everyone", Peter reasoned, "I didn't take any from Bucky. God only knows what's on those pillows."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help the laugh that escaped her.

"Hand me my laptop please", she asked, "I gotta decode that drive of HYDRA's files."

"Mr. Stark said you could wait before doing that", Peter lightly scolded, "Dr. Cho said no work for at least two weeks."

"Damn you for listening", she pouted, Peter grinned. "How else am I suppose to pass the time?"

"I can think of a way", Peter winked.

It would be a understatement for Bucky yo say how much he disliked Peter Parker.

In the beginning, he could gloss over the kid since he was only fifteen when they met and still under that fresh veil of being a hero. When he got to college and gained that new found confidence, Bucky thought nothing of it.

But when he witnessed Peter with Y/N that is where his tolerance for the Queens-born young spider ended.

Did he make a stupid, impulsive mistake?

Yes, but doesn't everyone?

She obviously did when she decided to give a kid that was almost a decade younger than her a chance.

Bucky tuned out Dot's mindless chattering as his mind swirled.

If anything was certain, he hated Peter Parker.

TAGLIST

@alwaaaysadream @theoraekenslover

#reader insert #x reader #chubby reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #marvel imagine #mcu!peter parker x reader #mcu x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland x you

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jscrawls · 3 months ago

Text

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, graphic violence, injuries, blood, accidental domestic violence? Guns, possible ooc,

Part 20: fireflies

🔹🔹🔹

after that night in town you can’t focus on anything but.

there was no resting and recovering for you, your brain was locked in overdrive analyzing every detail of the night, from the way the woman first approached you to the exact symptoms of whatever the drug was. you wasted no time and went right to your phone as soon as your door shut behind you. dropping back on the bed limply while you get to work making a case file, there’s no record of a pam in your life online, but you quickly realize there isn’t any record of you at all before the wayne’s.

on the old wayne socials the other you mostly posted about the kids, the husband, various events and trips, but there's barely anything personal, there was reference of a college education, a social circle, family, but there's no actual evidence of any of it. it’s like that was all scrubbed from the web. this just makes everything pam said all the more suspicious, just what’s hidden in the other you’s past and how are the wayne’s involved?

going into the GCPD records shows nothing either, no criminal record, nowrite ups, not even so much as a speeding ticket, nothing before the gala incident. for days you sift and run through channels looking for something that tells you who’s body you’re in right now, but it just makes you more and more frustrated, one things for certain, someone’s scrubbed the other you’s life clean and did a damn fine job of it.

it’s like you’ve found yourself in the middle of a mission with no goal, no direction, and no idea what role you’re supposed to play in it all. where does this leave you? this time you’re withdrawn, not because you’re angry but because you’re researching.

two days after the encounter with pam, you find something. it had been a whim to check through the gotham university photos after the records were bone-dry, but there in one singular photoframe in the background of someone elses photo, there was a younger you standing beside the pam woman. you were putting some kind of ribbon around her neck while she proudly held up a potted plant like it was a trophy to the photographer, you couldn’t make out the writing on the ribbon so you don’t have context but you now have confirmation that you engaged with her in some capacity years ago. It's bare-bones, but it's something, you'll take any wins you can get here.

the next thing you do is sort through the GCPD systems for a red head named pam, which is obviously very tedious but you won’t risk running an AI program on their servers just yet. You thought you were lucky when you found her quickly, that is until you read her file.

Isley, Pamela, gendered, AFAB, pronouns, she/her, Caucasian, red hair, green eyes,

Isley, Pamela, charged with, eco terrorism, domestic terrorism, murder, suspected murder, theft, breaking and entering, assault, battery, manslaughter,

Pamela Lillian Isley, also known as alias, poison ivy, was last spotted escaping Arkham asylum at appr 3:48 AM on February 11th, during an insurrection wherein multiple squad cars responded to the scene, Pamela Isley is registered on the Meta database of America and is considered a threat to human life, do not approach on sight, report if suspected in area,

oh, fuck.

you’re not stupid, obviously this woman is trying to get you alone, regardless of motive you’re not walking into something like that unarmed and unprepared. even if the tantalizing call of offered info is like a sirens song through the fog. no you know better than to fall for free candy signs on vans.

🔹🔹🔹

the back gardens actually quite nice this afternoon, you’d hauled yourself out of your little hidey hole and wandered the empty manor until you’d found yourself out here soaking up a little bit of the rare gotham sunshine on a deck chair. you need a breather before you make any moves.

breathe in, hold, exhale, and repeat. you try to meditate for a while, though you’ve never been great at it even after all these years. you can never quite empty your mind and let go of your surroundings. it’s too ingrained in you that safety isn’t earned through lack of vigilance.

still you try, you focus on the sound of a gentle breeze through the trees and shrubbery around you, the gentle warmth of the sun hitting your closed eyelids, the rustle of the dog dashing around and the various wildlife sounds in the distance, and the sound of your slowly steadying breathing.

it’s nearly twenty minutes later when you also hear the sound of the backdoor slowly sliding open, you relax your entire body and keep your breathing slow and even.

something shifts, the quietest clack of shoes on the concrete patio grow closer to you, it’s too quiet, you’re sick of being snuck up on.

something quickly pokes you in the shoulder, probably a hand if you had to guess. it isn’t until something cold and clearly metal presses against your neck do you react.

you quickly grab at the object and yank it forward while twisting it, you’d rather risk your hands than your throat. just as you start to roll out of the chair do you see who’s behind you….. tim quickly backs away with a surprised look on his face, hands raised placatingly. looking down you see a metal pen in your hand….

“….are…are you okay?” tim mumbles as he backs away, eyes wide and wild while his hands quickly go up in a placating gesture.

the pen quickly slips through your fingers onto the chair and you quickly stand, rubbing the back of your neck tiredly while you stretch your neck, you just can’t catch a fucking break huh. “mhmm, yeah. Don't scare me like that kiddo, I haven't been sleeping well since the incident.”

Tim looks away in that you can only assume is guilt as his eyes drop to the ground, his jaw clenched a he rubs at the back of his neck for a moment before his hand quickly drops back down to bury in his cropped hoodie pocket.

“…sorry….”

he avoids your form, he’s clearly feeling awkward around you which makes you all the more curious what he came out here to bother you for then. also isn’t it a weekday?…. “Don't mention it, you're off early aren't you? I thought you weren't off until five or six.”

sure you’re a bit blunt, but you’re not in the mood to play meek with him these days. especially not after he’d jabbed you with a pen, it’s like he’s just begging to get stabbed on accident.

his weight shifts foot to foot but he finally looks at you and meets your eye, his words make you tense.“something's going down in the city so I made everybody go home early.”

“something's going down?” you quickly step around the chair to grab his shoulder, grip firm.

he looks down at the hand for a moment, brows furrowed and his jaw tensed, he’s mad? “yeah…. Something about those pyromaniac's.”

your grip quickly tightens on him as if you’re trying to squeeze the information out of him, he’s far too hesitant in your opinion, that’s not something to mumble around! “What? Right now?”

tim frowns at you and gently shrugs your hand off his shoulder and straightens his hoodie out as if you’d wrinkled it in your pushy questioning.

“right now, why don't you come inside and calm down a bit.”

you swear your eye twitches a bit at his near-condescending reply.

“hang on a second, where's everyone else then? Are they inside too?” you tuck your own hands into your sweatshirt pockets and mirror his posture, you’re really trying not to look as tense as you feel at the moment, you’ve got a bad feeling about this….

again he avoids your eye, the kid really needs to work on that. “No, well Alfred's here. Bruce and everyone else is…. Out.”

now you’re just annoyed with him, what’s with the fucking attitude? your argument was with bruce it’s not like you called the whole family idiots, he’s acting like he’s personally offended by you. “Define ‘out’?”

his eyes narrow at you and you swear he stands up a little taller, his body language is clearly challenging now as his tone becomes almost accusatory. “what're you asking for.”

“So I can smother them obviously, why do you think I'm asking where everyone is?” you don’t even hide the eye roll as you step around him to head towards the backdoor.

his expression doesn’t waver as he twists to face you when you brush past him. “…. They're out.”

unfortunately for him, you know how to snap him out of his little stand off and take the wind out of his sails.

“Tim I don't have time for this, if Bruce is having an affair or something that's his business, you don't have to make excuses for him.”

“Woah what-!?” his shoes scuff the patio as he nearly trips over his own two feet, he rights himself and quickly trots after you with clear disbelief in his body language. But you don't let up with the saccharine sweet tone as you sigh deeply and continue your speil. “I'm just worried about your younger siblings getting caught up in something bad out there, aren't you?”

“…..I always am.”

Just as you expected, he drops his gaze and buries his hands deeper in his pockets in a slouch. His voice a barely audible mumble while he purses his lips together tightly.

“Are they still in school or….” you kinda regret not talking to anyone for so long as an awkward silence falls over the two of you, you wouldn't have had to grill Tim for details if you'd been around and talked to the people you live with.

“Yeah, I was gonna go and pick them up with Alfred Actually-” you cut him off quickly before he can finish that sentence. “I'm going with you two.”

“what, really?” he sounds downright disbelieving, like he can't comprehend you willingly locking yourself in a car with him and Alfred after the fight you and Bruce had, it's kinda annoying how flighty the kid is with you.

“Mhmm, fill me in on what's happening on the way. yeah?”

You don't give Tim time to rebuff you before you're stepping around him to slide the back doors open, but just before you step through you remember the last time you did something impulsive, you pull out you phone to send a quick, curt text to a certain someone.

I'm going to town with A and T, don't freak out.-

🔹🔹🔹

You'd mercifully given Tim the front seat after all but forcing yourself into their trip, your fingers drum quickly and without pattern against the center console while you watch traffic moving in front of you. It's the off-work rush so not only is everyone in their cars in a bad mood, but there's an active attack taking place somewhere in the city. Clearly everyone's feeling the heavy tension, heads bowed and hands harshly grip steering wheels every which way you look.

“…. You didn't need to bother yourself with tagging along, master Wayne.” Alfred catches your eye in the rearview mirror after he speaks, his eyebrows raised in question or judgement as if you've committed some faux pas simply be being here.

You bite back any snappy remarks before they can pass your tongue, you know when you've earned a little harshness so you swallow your words. “I'm aware, but I'd like to see if the kiddos are okay myself.”

You glance out the side window just as two sets of eyes lock on your form, you ignore their heavy stares as you study the streets you're slowly passing through, memorizing Street names and signs just Incase.

The sidewalks are just about empty despite the early hour, and the few people you do see are clearly in a hurry as they quickly shuffle down the cracked concrete and avoid each other as much as they dodge the traffic, you watch as two men give each other wide berths and throw dirty looks at one another. whatever's happening must be bad.

It's Tim who breaks the silence this time, he's still studying you closely when you look forward. “…. So were you joking about the affair thing earlier?”

Tim's question gets Alfred to whip around to look at you for just a moment before he quickly turns back at the road, clearly he didn't like this conversation already. You just huff silently at the two of them and resist the urge to roll your eyes. “obviously, though I know it's not normal to be out all night every night, but whatever Bruce's up to isn't my business.”

You hope they can leave it at that and go back to the awkward silence, but they're clearly not satisfied with that as they both share a glance and focus back on you. Maybe they're finding entertainment in the potential drama of it all. The streets finally clear up a bit and the cars able to pick up a bit of speed since entering the city.

“…. He's definitely not running around with someone else…..” Tim's mumbled words nearly pull a laugh out of you, the kids clearly in the know about something judging by the surly tone and suddenly darting eyes, he can't even make eye contact while saying it. He needs to practice his lying a little more if he plans to stay in the world of business.

“Young Tim's correct, Bruce isn't that type of man at all master.” Alfred's better at it than Tim, clearly. he almost sounds scolding, he knows how to get you to doubt yourself a bit.

“I'll take your word for it-!” your words get cut off when something smacks into rear side of the car and jostles everyone, it wasn't hard enough for whiplash but that's not your concern right now as you watch the car that apparently t-boned you stop, and then it backs up so quickly their tires squeal. You already know what's coming when they back into a street sign to stop, and immediately start to pull forward again.

Apparently Tim does too as he shouts at Alfred. “that was intentional, They're trying to hit us!”

“I'm aware, Master Timothy.” Alfred mutters with surprising calmness as he throws the car into drive, you're slightly impressed at the man's composed tone and decent timing as he just barely avoids the car.

You lean forward into the center console to converse with the two of them, your nails still tapping on the damn wood. “just my fucking luck, you think they want us dead or alive.”

“most likely alive judging by how slowly they hit the car, maybe they want hostages or to kill us in person.” Alfred muses calmly, eyes locked on the rearview while you nod in acceptance of his reasoning. “Makes sense to me.”

Tim looks between the both of you with a panicked frown on his face, he keeps swiveling around to look at the car as it clumsily manoeuvers to follow. “Can you both not talk about dying so casually?”

“I'm quite old Timothy, part of my everyday is wandering when I'll die.” Alfred and you nearly speak over each other. “I already technically died at that gala, what's a little murder talk now, yeah?”

You watch the other car as well, how they seem determined to follow you through Gothams complicated streets. nearly clipping a firetruck pulling out of a grotto. You watch as a few pedestrians quickly run down alleys or into buildings to avoid the swerving cars. their panicked expressions blurring together in the light of the setting sun in your view.

alfred yanks on the wheel and takes a sharp turn when the car nearly runs into backed up traffic, narrowly avoiding getting stuck while you and tim are jostled and thrown about like rocks in the wash, you wince in sympathy when tim’s head smacks into the window and he quickly grabs at his temple. he nearly drops the phone he’d just pulled out of his pocket.

“don’t break something now.” you sigh out at him, turning around to watch the dark toyota sideline a stop sign but still manage to pull away and follow your vehicle, more distance between the cars now but it seems they’re determined.

“well there goes my evening plans!” tim’s sarcastic response would get a chuckle out of you if you weren’t watching the attackers speed up recklessly behind you.

“please, hang onto something!” alfred says quickly before slamming the breaks and turning the car around, you’re genuinely surprised he can drift.

both cars screech to a stop on opposite ends of the street, facing each other almost like some kind of game of chicken, your car, an SUV obviously has a little more weight in the frame so you know who’d win that. hopefully the other car isn’t stupid enough to try anyways.

“you think they’re part of the pyros?” you lean forward between the two front seats again to converse, you and alfred staring down the car while tim is quickly texting on his phone, hopefully he’s texting the younger boys to stay somewhere safe if they’re still at school. and maybe bruce and the police while he’s at it.

“i think it would be safe to assume so, (name).”

you go to reply but you quickly shut your mouth when the dark car suddenly throws itself into reverse and careens backwards down the street, you don’t really have time to question it when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. “shit-brace yourselves-!!”

You barely get the words out before something large and red slams into the side of the car.

Metal creaks like trees in a tornado as a firetruck hits the side of the car and rams it up against the face of a building, Alfred roughly smacks into the steering wheel gasping and Tim again hits against the door and window, he's lucky it was closed as all the doors are effectively pinned shut between the brick wall and the large vehicle. Your own bodies roughly smacked into Tim's seat at an awkward angle that immediately makes your neck ache at the force exerted on it.

“Christ on a cracker…. Are you both alive?….” Tim groggily mumbles as he sits up and glances at both you and Alfred, you give him a thumbs up while Alfred slowly straightens up and runs his hand through his thinning dark hair, his eyes hazy for the moment but he manages a nod. you're definitely bruised and hurting, but breathing.

“Mhmm, just peachy. We need out of here about ten seconds ago…” you mumble as you shake yourself out of your stupor, throwing a glance at the firetruck that's apparently been put into park for the moment, the engine idling down. You're quickly unbuckling yourself and grabbing at the headrest of the passenger seat, Muttering to yourself under your breath in a focused panic. “Come on, come on don't be one of those stuck ones…”

Tim twists and glances at you in confusion as you wriggle the cushion off and start to climb over the console into the front with him and Alfred. “What're you doing?”

“getting us out, this glass isn't bulletproof right?” there's no way to comfortably position yourself sitting on the center console but you don't care at the moment, you're in survival mode now. “I don't think so!?”

You turn the cushion around and use the metal prongs to ram at the corner of the windshield repeatedly, the loud scratchy thumping nearly drowning out the sound of a car engine getting closer, probably the Toyota from before. it takes a moment but the glass starts cracking eventually so you turn your face away and close your eyes as you blindly continue. Trying your hardest not to breathe in pulverized glass, been there done that. Wouldn't recommend doing that again. “Cover your faces if you don't wanna eat glass!”

You can only assume they do as you say as you blindly smash part of the window open, the sound of a car door opening somewhere prompts you to quickly drop the headrest and turn your body to donkey kick at the fractured spot until you break out about half the windshield.

You see two coming around the parked firetruck, one holding a bottle and a lighter while another carries something else, something you desperately want at the moment, a gun.

“Wait don't do anything rash-!” You drown out Tim's words, only casting a quick glance at the two unbuckling their seatbelts on either side of you before you move forward to crawl out of the windshield on your belly, fragments of glass dig into your body through your clothes and gouge scratches down your hands and front, but it’s not deep enough to worry about at the moment as you roll off the hood of the car right as the two approaching men reach you and try to grab at your clothes to hold you still. the one with the gun points it at you and tries to bark orders at all the three of you.

“freeze! none of you move if you want to keep this one's head intact-”

you don’t have time to let him go off as you see the other one start to flick his lighter under the bottle, so you shove the gun away from your temple and headbutt him in the kidney, as soon as you get up on your feet again you throat-punch the armed one as hard as you can. Roughly snatching the gun out of his hands as soon as he stumbles and tries to clutch at his neck, you’re lucky they’re slow on the uptake.

Of course you waste no time in clicking the safety off on the gun and threatening the other man. “drop that bottle and i’ll kill you slowly.”

you’re straight to the point as you threaten the still standing man, he seems to take you seriously after glancing down at the struggling and wheezing man on the ground because he slowly lifts his hands up in surrender. now with the upper-hand at the moment you shift your hold on the gun to gesture over your shoulder at the people in the car to climb out, not taking your eyes off the two wanna-be attackers for a second. “Get out of the car.”

you’re slightly surprised at how quickly they both get out, you thought the older man would’ve struggled at the least but it seems he manages well enough with Tim's help to crawl out and climb over the hood of the near-crushed car.

“What's the plan here, Skippy.” you casually place yourself in front of the two men behind you as you attempt to question the man, you don't want him getting any ideas with that bottle and lighter after all.

He scowls at you but you can clearly see he's all nerves, he's spilling small drops of the fuel on himself with how bad he's trembling, the adrenaline must be wearing off. “i ain't saying duck, rich pig.”

You fight back a sigh, it's as if him and the man from days ago read the same book with the same points in it, you wonder if the arsonists have a recruiting pamphlet or something.

“You just did though, where'd the truck come from?” You sneak a glance at the firetruck, peeling scratched paint and cracked glass everywhere, definitely an older model too, you shudder to think what that thing could've done to the car if they got it going full speed.

“Didn't you hear me? I said I ain't telling you-”

You're yanked backwards and away from the man as the dark Toyota from earlier narrowly misses ramming into you all, instead it hits the wall where you were just standing while a car alarm instantly starts going off. The two men start shrieking at the driver, well the standing one does, the other one is still wheezing.

You're surprised to see Tim behind you, hauling you with him by the back of your shirt while he also drags Alfred by the arm further away from the yelling men. “I think we need to leave!”

You can't argue with that, you check the mag and pull the slide back to see if the Glock is actually a threat, this one's indeed fully loaded with one in the chamber. meaning someone was prepared to use it, possibly on an old man or a barely adult aged teen? You hear glass shattering behind you and when you glance back, the empty car you'd just been in is going up in flames.

“Oh God damn it I just had that thing deep cleaned too…dad's gonna kick my ass” Tim bemoans pitifully at the sight but keeps yanking you around like a puppy on a leash. He tries to pull both you and Alfred away from the panicked pedestrians further down the street but you don't let him, you quickly unzip and throw your sweatshirt off and yank Tim's cropped hoodie up over his head and toss both things down an alley.

“you’re too standout, blend in like your life depends on it.” technically it does, but you figure you should probably try not to freak them out anymore than they actually are at the moment. You're caught off guard when Alfred drops his black suit over your shoulders. as he willingly follows you towards the smallish crowd.

“Your shirt is bloody, you should probably cover it up if you intend to hide in plain sight.”

you look down at yourself as if surprised, with the adrenaline rushing through your veins you’d forgotten all about the glass scratching you already, you wince when you see the thin red lines seeping through your white undershirt in slowly spreading rivulets. you slip the overcoat on and tuck your stolen gun in one of the inner pockets so you’ve got two hands free. that’s gonna be annoying later…

tim runs a stressed hand through his messy hair (courtesy of you pulling the hoodie) and reluctantly sticks close to the two of you, it’s clear he’d rather not follow your lead right now, you wonder if he’d even still be here if it was just you and him with no alfred in the mix, guess you’ll never know.

“i can’t believe this….what the hell are we supposed to do on the street? just wait for the cops and batman to sweep in while we’re literally being targeted like fish in a barrel?” tim grabs at your wrist and studies one of the scratches.

“would you have liked to have stayed in the currently burning car? cooked alive but we could’ve done it in luxury huh.” you scowl at the young man after snapping back, pulling your arm free from his and quickly turning a street corner.

alfred is already gasping quietly so you stop to let him catch his breath in the shadow of a tall building, he nods at you in acknowledgement yet still gives you a scolding look after he leans himself up against the scratchy bricks behind him. “master (name), tim is young. leave it alone.”

you shoot a glance at tim and watch him worriedly peering around the building looking up and down the street while biting his lip, he’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet right now…you sigh quietly as you look away, awkward guilt curling in your gut like a parasite. goddamn it all.

“….yeah i know, that’s my bad. sorry kiddo.” you quietly call out to tim at the end of your sentence, you need to get a damn grip on yourself.

he glances over his shoulder at you with furrowed brows and quickly looks away, he’s quiet for long enough that you assume he’s not gonna reply but you just barely catch him quietly saying something after a few moments. “….don’t worry about it.”

some screaming down the street interrupts your little break so you sidle up beside tim to peek around the building corner, the orange glow getting brighter and reflecting off windows and metal signs let’s you know exactly what’s happening less than a block away. the gun feels all the heavier in your pocket when you realize the men are molotov-ing a storefront.

the infinity stone must have given you absolutely shit luck or something because how the hell do you keep winding up in situations like these here? if it’s not natalia pushing you to be a hero it’s your own stupid sentimental attachments to children and mean old butlers. you nudge tim’s shoulder with your own and gesture down the opposite street with your head.

“let’s go while we can, let alfred take point i’ll follow you both.”

alfred huffs loudly behind you and pushes off the wall to place a surprisingly firm hand on your shoulder. “this isn’t the titanic, mx (name). the elderly don’t need to be given priority. master tim doesn’t need to just follow us around as we want.”

in response you just pull the overcoat open and gesture at the gun handle poking out of the pocket. “i’m armed, i can give you two cover.”

you didn’t expect alfred to pull the edge of his shirt up and gesture at his belt. “i’m also armed.”

well shit, you had no clue he was a concealed carrier. you frown at him and cross your arms over your chest, is this really worth arguing about right now?

“well that’s all the more reason for you to take lead, you set a pace you can manage and we’ll both watch out for tim.”

tim loudly clears his throat and tries to step between the two of you before you get distracted. “i’m not a little kid that needs to hold someone’s hand, i’m literally a grown man! let’s just all try to find somewhere safe, i’m sure there’s police barricades everywhere?…”

you and alfred both shush him though, this ain’t about that.

“master tim, we’re simply just trying to deduce the most efficient way of traveling right now-” alfreds words are cut off by something shattering overhead as all hell breaks loose in the alley.

you don’t even have to look up to know what it is so you just immediately grab both of their arms and yank them out into the street, glancing them over for evidence of any glass or burning fuel on them. once you’re sure they’re probably okay you pull the gun out and point it in the direction the molotov was thrown from. catching sight of the familiar dark coat from earlier, guess you took too long figuring shit out.

the man’s lighting another bottle and there’s definitely more of his allies down the street if the various screams echoing between the buildings is anything to go by, you shoot one last glance at tim and alfred before you make the split second decision to shove them both the opposite direction before you throw yourself over a car hood and start running the other way.

you hear shouting behind you but you just hope the two of them aren’t stupid enough to play hero and chase you. After all you've got enough stupid for the trio, what the hell is your plan? You're not a costumed freak running around with a bone to pick with crime itself, you're just a killer with the wrong hands.

All thoughts of how stupid you are slip your mind as more glass shatters, this time just feet away from your shoes. Oh goddamn it! You go up and over another car hood and scowl to yourself, do they just have backpacks full of fuel bottles? Where the hell did they even get this much!? You force yourself to quiet down and breathe slowly and just focus.

This is what you're made for, you've gotta complete this just like any other mission you've ever been on. You're not allowed to fuck up. You listen closely, drowning out the other sounds of the city and wait.

As soon as the steps get louder you glance under the car and watch for them, glass crunches underneath a boot and that's when you move.

Throwing yourself over the boot of the car is easy, so is kicking out at the man and slamming your heel into his sternum and knocking him to the ground with a loud and pained grunt. You might've cracked something under your steel toe boot if the way he gasps and gags on air is anything to go by.

Someone rushes you and you just barely avoid the wildly swinging crowbar with a sidestep, you're not so lucky to avoid the first guys wild haymaker to the Gut though.

You have to fight the instinctive doubling over and only just manage to keep yourself upright enough to avoid the other man's attempt to smash a bottle over your head. You grab his wrist and twist it behind his back hard enough to sprain it and as soon as he drops the bottle you snatch it up and pull the rag out, the morons gonna light himself and his friend up waving an opened Molotov cocktail around all night.

“ow-fuck! Let go of me you cun-” you slam his head into the nearest wall to shut him up, you don't even feel bad about the teeth when you look around at all the lit up windows and screaming civilians around the block.

You're really in the middle of it huh, hopefully Tim and Alfred got the hell out of Dodge…

Fuck, fuck where the hell did the other one go!? Another bottles tossed nearby and the resounding burst of bright flame nearly has you doubling over squeezing your eyes shut, it's too bright, too hot. And now you're murderously pissed as well as panicking.

The other dark clothed attackers seem to be targeting windows and store fronts at the moment so you drop the knocked out man and let him pitifully slide down the wall so you have room to shred a part of Alfred's overcoat and make a makeshift mask, it won't protect you from smoke but it'll slow down inhaling some gas fumes at the least.

Another bottle thrown and you hear them whooping excitedly, you think you're starting to itch for your gun as you watch them target an apartment building next, you'd think a group seemingly targeting the rich wouldn't go after civilian life.

As soon as the closest one to you looks down to prep another bottle you dart around the corner of the building and throw another throat punch, if it works it works after all. He gags audibly as you pull him in front of you to avoid the second one swinging a knife at you, he awkwardly avoids his partner which gives you time to kick him between the legs, hard. Once he curls forward you throw another kick at his head.

A set of arms wraps around you from behind as the first man tries to bodily lift you off the ground, you're more surprised he shook off a punch to the Adams apple so quickly but whatever, you curl your legs up towards your chest like you're doing a crunch and then quickly kick out to throw him off balance with your weight, it works and as soon as he stumbles you plant your feet on the ground and drop all your weight, slipping out of his arms and stepping under his shoulder to get behind him so you can slap your hand over his ear as hard as you can. You know the stinging pain in your hand is nothing compared to what the now screaming man nursing his eardrum on the ground is going through.

The hell's that? Out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of a barely-visible spotlight in the near dark sky. It confuses you enough to pause in your step for just a second for a doubletake, these people are so weird about bats.

You need to get out of here, more importantly you need to find out where the others are. You pull your phone out and unlock it so you can pull up Bruce's contact, just as your thumb hovers over the press call button you hear rustling above you, you barely catch sight of the cape before you duck you drop kick aimed at your face.

The surprise heavy fist that followed slams into your jaw so hard you swear you feel all your teeth compress into your gums, the pain is near-instant, a combination of down-to-the-bone aching and the sharp, almost cold sting of your lip splitting. You'll be feeling that for a long time.

Another ones aiming for you so you grab the arm and throw your leg over it, twisting your body around to throw all your weight into the man's shoulders, your thighs squeezing around his neck. The dark figure grabs at your calves and slams himself backwards into the wall behind him which knocks some of out of your lungs, thoroughly pissed off you throw your weight forward and slip off him into a roll, stopping in a crouch a few feet from him, he tries to move after you just as quickly, angling himself for a kick that might just cripple you if it lands on your back so you use the near-empty Molotov bottle you still have in your possession and splash the remainder of it in the open part of his cowl, aiming for the mouth and nose.

As soon as he chokes and wipes at his face you smash the bottle on his head and use the jagged neck if the glass to swipe at him, aiming for the gaps in his armor around his armpit.

He tries to disarm you, gloved hands prying your struggling fingers open so you let him, as soon as your hands empty you pull the gun and use the barrel to strike him in the jaw. A kick to the kneecaps gets him to buckle so you knock him down and pin him with the gun pressed to his head, you've just pinned down Batman.

“Fucking…. What the hell’re you doing…?” Your words are coming out weird thanks to the punch, bit he seems to get it well enough as he suddenly stiffens under you just as you cock the hammer.

“….(Name)?”

“Yes?!” his shocked tone would've been downright comical if you hadn't just kicked each others asses, you yank your makeshift bandana down so you can properly scowl at the masked hero, licking the blood off your teeth.

“I…what are you doing out here?” he pushes you off him, though his hand stays on your shoulder as he seems to be examining you closely.

“Trying not to get set on fire that's what, my car got firebombed…. Well technically it's my husband's car.” you stand up, ignoring his offered hand of assistance even as your body protests the movement, damn your head hurts…you lean up against the brick wall and pocket the Glock before wiping at the blood dribbling down your chin.

He clearly takes the hint and gives you your distance for the moment. “I thought you were…the mask and the bottle didn't…how bad is it?”

He wipes at his mouth again almost awkwardly, his body language clearly conveying guilt as he leans towards you subconsciously.

“Dunno, my face is going numb. If I lose teeth you're paying for it.” your words are more reflex than anything, the type of thing you'd say to Natalia or Captain Rogers after a harsh training session gone a bit bruised and bloody. It happens.

Surprisingly he nods quickly at that, good. You selfishly almost hope he feels bad. You'll probably feel that way until your jaw stops aching.

“I'll take care of it, anything actually. I'm just…. I'm sorry.”

“I'll live, shut up. Barnes punches me a hell of a lot harder than you anyways.”

you don't even realize what you've done until he suddenly grabs your shoulder, masked head tilting as of he's studying ever inch of your whole face. His voice drops deeper and gruffer than you've heard him before.

“who the hell is Barnes?”

🔹🔹🔹

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A/n: I'm so tired y'all IDK if there's any mistakes in this, I'll spell check tomorrow✌️ hopefully it's not too long, hope y'all have a good day/night and enjoy a little treat for yourself today ❤️

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