#Intercom IL

[frost-queen]

🆂🅸🆇 🅻🅴🅶🆂 // part 3 (Reader x Young-il / player 001)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22  @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @anjautembear, @noiyaaa, @filmedbyharkness , @uniquecutie-puffs, @r3va-dwme, @annasnape7, @starkeyszn, @bonelessghoul, @carrotjuicepdf, @imenekiki, @gay4hotmilfs, @yummycement

Summary: The underdogs take on six legs. Each second lost creeps through your nerves. Unsure if you would thrive under the pressure, cheering errupts from the whole room. Sending euphoria to your team, yet with these joys, you easily seem to forget the ruthlessness of the games. For another vote awaits. [series]

One two, one two, one two.

The countdown had started along with the first step over the line. Strapped legs first then the other. Arms locked in strong. One two, one two, one two. All of you huffed out to find a synchronization in your step. Player 149 already huffing and puffing beside you. Your gaze meeting up with the timer. 10 seconds had already past.

10 priceless seconds lost and you hadn’t even reached the first game yet. The five of you reached the first game, stopping. Player 095 took the ddakji. The circle pink suit placed the red one on the ground. Player 095 holding the blue one in her hand. 

“Alright, throw it hard.” – Player 007 huffed out trying to get his nerves under control. You and all others watched as she threw it. Her blue one hitting just a side. Red one barely moving. A desperate sound escaped player 149’s mouth. Fail. You all heard clear over the intercom. Rubbing the failure even deeper in the wound.

Player 095 grabbed the blue one once more, throwing it without much thought. A ruthless gasp of frustration coming out of her. The blue one flapped hard on his side. Red barely moving. You felt your teammate’s muscles contract with each failure. You were already the underdogs. Barely anyone behind you believed in your team. Fail.

Once again booming through the speakers. A pink suit standing with his arms crossed like an X. Player 095 was panting loud. Desperately she turned to look at you. You tried to look confident back at her. Player 120 came leaning in closer against you. – “Try… try it with the other side.” – she said upmost gently. Making you wonder how she wasn’t losing her goddamn mind over this.

“The other side.” – she repeated with a gesture. Player 095 stared down at the blue one. Picking it up. Her hand trembling. With the use of her other hand, she flipped the card over. – “Here we go.” – player 007 whispered to himself. Player 095 raised her hand. Trying to settle her hand before flipping the blue card down.

Eyes widening as red bounced off the ground. Taking a flip in the air and landing face down. Pass. Boomed through the speaker followed by a buzzer sound. Euphoria erupted from your team. Cheering relieved at the win. – “Great job!” – player 149 called out. Player 120 was tapping your arm, trying to get a sentence through the euphoria.

The timer at 4:16. You understood what she mean, locking your arm with player 149 once more. – “Let’s go.” – you said. The other three nodded, locking in tight. One two, one two, one two. With some raised spirits, you moved to the next game. Flying stones. Player 007 accepted the stone. Giving it a blessing kiss.

He bend through his knees, all of you copying him. Breathing nervously as he prepared himself to throw. – “Three.” – he said releasing the stone. Clattering against the ground, missing the standing stone by a few bounces. Loud exclaims brought the spirits down again.

Player 120 didn’t allow much of grieving. Forcing you all to step forwards to grab the stone. Knowing the clock was ticking. Step by step moving forwards. Collecting the stone. – “All walk backwards now.” – Player 120 suggested. It made you look at her. Admiring her more with each moment. How she is able to remain calm and assist to make the assessment easier.

The four of you nodding, trusting her blindly. If anyone was going to prove everyone wrong with her team it was player 120. One two, one two, one two. Moving backwards at the counting to stay in tune. – “Alright!” – player 149 began. – “Imagine the stone is the face of the crook that scammed you.” – she gave him a slight slap against his back, meaning every word of it.

Player 007’s face contracted with pain and sorrow. – “This is the asshole that ruined my life.” – he let out, lip quivering. – “Ya!” – he let out, throwing the stone hard down. With anticipation you watched. Watched as the stone got knocked over. Circle pink suit showing off an O with his hands. Pass. Cheers erupted from within your group. Even louder cheers overpowering.

It made you look to the side. Seeing some players that were waiting had gone up. Cheering along with your victories. The underdogs getting cheered on. – “Way to go!” – you recognized Thanos’s voice loud.

3:30. Arms locked in, you ventured forwards. One two, one two, one two. Huffing and puffing with each step. Reaching the next game. Gong-gi. Player 149 accepted the tiny pieces. A pink suit placing the wooden platform down. All of you came kneeling down with a loud exhale. She grabbed the first piece.

Throwing it up to snatch two at a time from the wood. Throwing the next one up, she swiped her hand over the wood to grab two more. Her hand closing yet one red piece slipping through, hitting the wood hard. Your muscles pulled together. Knowing each failure took away your time. Panting loud, heart beating loud in your chest as you tried not to see on what the timer stood.

Player 120 interfered in your little panic breathing, covering your mouth up. Forcing you to look back at her. With one simple gesture of hers, she managed to calm you down. Player 007 grabbed his mother by her tracksuit. – “You said you played Gong-gi with bullets in the Korean war!” – he lectured at her. Giving back the same attitude she had given him before.

She took a deep breath letting the pieces shake in her hand. With swiftness and focus she tossed them on the wood. Almost blindly grabbing for them. Tossing a piece up, taking the rest. With all she tossed them up, catching them with the back of her hand. – “Mom.” – her son began once more to give her that extra comfort.

“Just imagine the stone is dad’s mistress’ face.” – he pointed almost with hatred at the stone. – “Rotten b*tch!” – she screamed out with disgust. Tossing them all up, hand moving back, snatching them from the air with a swift motion.

With barely any tremble left, she opened her hand to the pink circle suit. They formed an O with their hands. Pass. Screams and cheers erupted from the entire room. Bathing in victory. Player 120 pulled you up as the others followed. Nodding reassuringly at you.

It was only that you stood up that you truly realized you were up next. For a while now, you felt like a watcher. Watching your team stride to victory, you had forgotten you had to participate as well. Your legs feeling like jelly. Player 120 feeling your strength falter as she had to keep you upright with each step.

With each step you got closer to your task. The pink suit came blocking your view, holding out a box with the spinning toll and rope in it. You needed a nudge from player 120 to get in motion. With trembling hands and shaking knees you accepted it. The pink suit moved away as your eyes fell on the pool of blood on the ground. 

Shuddering out a gasp as it made you stumble a bit backwards. – “400 you got this.” – Player 120 said with comfort. Nodding shakily, you started to wrap the rope around the toll. Panting loud as you already felt the sweat form on your forehead. Heart beating loudly in your chest. The clock ticking panickily loud in your ears.

Turning it too fast, the rope slacked, making you need to roll it again. You felt your teammates grunt at the failure. You started again. Rolling it up. Feeling the pressure of a hundred eyes on you. Breathing shakingly as your gaze flashed to the countdown. Not doing any good to your nerves. The rope flopped as you needed to start again.

“Don’t look at the timer, you have enough time.” – player 120 spoke calmly. Nodding shakily, you could feel the sweat drip down your neck. Rolling the rope over the toll a third time. – “Take your time.” – the mother let out with a frantic pant. It only made you more nervous. – “Please stop talking.” – you replied with a shaky voice. Feeling a hand on your back, you presumed Player 120 was keeping her quiet behind your back.

The rope slipped once more due to your sweaty hands. – “I…I…I can’t do this…” – you panted out. Player 120 grabbed you firm by the shoulders, making you face her. – “You can do this!” – she let out. Making you believe every word of her. Your eyes gliding over the crowd, looking for your other friends.

They all had a fear in their eyes, you wished you rather had not seen. Young-il standing amidst them. He had a smile on his lips. Fist in the ready to chant for you. Cheer you on from the side-line. – “Breath and roll!” – Player 120 reassured you. You nodded with a new found encouragement. This time you could take control back. 

Have a say in whether you could live or die. You took the rope, rolling it around the toll. Not here. You weren’t going to be responsible for their deaths. Not now nor ever. Exhaling deep, you let the toll spin. The tip hit the ground as it toggled, spun and remained upright.

The loudest cheer released itself from you. The adrenaline shooting through your veins like a bullet. Player 120 firmly grabbed your arm once more. Heading for the final game. The crowd cheering you on. One two, one two, one two. All with their first pumping in the air. Knowing your friends were cheering you on from the side-line. “You must kick the jegi five times.”

The emotionless woman’s voice spoke through the intercom. Player 120 leaned a bit in. – “Please look away.” – she asked. Without hesitation you did. Turning around. She then turned to the crowd. – “Look away!” – she shouted loud. Everyone got in motion, shoving others to turn their backs as well.

“One.” – player 095 breathed out. – “Two.” – player 007 counted further. – “Three.” – player 149 whispered out, squeezing her eyes shut. – “Four.” – you added seeing the timer on the clock. A fifth sound made you all turn around. – “Five!” – Player 007 showed.

Player 120 could hardly believe it. The pink suit swinging their arms up to form an O. The euphoria shooting like fireworks through your body. Making you shout and scream in pure emotions. Needing that little moment of victory.

A player from the side gave player 120 a little shove to continue. The timer still going down. The entire room supporting and cheering for your team. Fists flying in the air. A heavenly feeling. The finish line in sight with four seconds on the clock. Three. Two. You kept your gaze forwards, determined to reach the finish.

One. The pink ribbon in sight. Player 149 let out a scream of tears as the ribbon snapped. Zero. The room erupted in chaos. Pure raw emotion as they all went wild. Shouting, jumping and throwing their fists up in the air. You started to cry, completely drained out.

Looking behind you, you saw them all cheer. Young-il grabbing Gi-hun in pure blissful that you had made it. That you had made it over the finish line. Your other friends joining in for the underdogs had done it. Cheers becoming louder than the fear. Player 120 pushed you closer to the others, cheering and jumping in a tight group.

All sweaty and crying. For death had missed another chance at you. Pink suits opened the doors for you to walk out. You got unhooked from your teammates. Looking back at your friends you jumped up and down. Bathing in your glory. Seeing the happiness on their faces made you forget for a moment about all the horrors.

Your teammates and you started to walk out. Giving one comforting gesture at your friends that you believed in them. Once you arrived back at the sleeping quarters, you truly felt how drained you were. Almost falling down against player 120 from exhaustion. She had to hold you up right whilst helping you to sit down. Exhaling loud, you let your head lean against her shoulder.

She wrapped her arm around you. Sighing relieved to live another day. After regaining a bit more of your strength, you sat up straight. Taking the moment to get to know each other. Geum-ja kept talking about preparing a good meal for you all once you got out. You were not really listening to her. Attention drawn elsewhere.

Eyes constantly going back to the door to see who would come out. Your friends still needed to play and you needed to be sure to see them come through that door. You don’t know if you would survive if they didn’t. A part of you wanted to be there and cheer them on as euphoric as they had. Yet another part of you didn’t want to see them struggle.

Didn’t want to relive the stress from them passing through with as much struggle as you did. You couldn’t even think about it if they would be shot in front of your eyes. You just couldn’t. Hyun-ju touched your shoulder, sensing what was haunting you. – “They’ll come through, just you wait.” – she told you.

You wanted to believe her very much. Holding on to the little hope she was giving you. Please, please, please come through. Hands pressed together, you knee trembled. With each other group that entered, you got more desperate. Desperate to see them once again. Hyun-ju took your hand to ease your nerves. Giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Unnie what if they don’t make it.” – you said to her, tears pooling in your eyes. – “They will.” – she reassured you with a smile. Tugging some hair behind your ear. – “They will.” – she repeated. You leaned up against her, craving the comfort she was giving you. Then the doors opened. Gi-Hun entering first. Young-il second as it made you stand up. Face contracting with emotions as you let out a relieving gasp.

Making your way through, you jumped down the platform to run at them. – “Y/n!” – Dae-ho called out. He opened his arms to you as you ran straight into them. Picking you off your feet with a spin. He dropped you back down as you moved over to Jun-hee. Hugging her tightly, both of you crying even more. Feeling a presence behind you, made you let go of her.

Turning around, nearly bumping firm against Young-il. His expression unreadable. You cracked up a smile, pressing your hands against his cheeks in joy to see him once more. Your touch shaking Young-il. It made him flutter his eyes, releasing the stern expression. Settling with bliss. Everything around him fading away. Staring back in your eyes. Only seeing you in this moment.

“Y/n!” – Jung-Bae called out, drawing your attention away. Young-il felt your hands slip from against his cheeks. Staring with sorrow in his eyes back at you. Somehow craving your touch on his once more. You joined the others in a group hug. He intentionally moved closer. His body needing to be closer to you. To want you all for himself somehow.

You turned to smile at him. An instant smile growing on his lips. Your smile suddenly faltering. Reminded once again of where you were. These moments of happiness were devilish. Blinding you each time off the truth till the hard reality of the games came swinging at your face once more.

For it is time for another vote.

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[jude457]

Yet Another Inho Whump Headcanon: Inho suffers from chronic migraines.

Not the kind you can shake off. The kind that burrow in behind your eyes and make it feel like your skull is splintering from the inside. The kind you hide because life won’t slow down for your pain.

It started young. Before Junho ever needed a kidney, before they even knew the full extent of how hard life was going to get. Inho learned early to swallow his pain because his stepmother already had too much on her plate—medications, bills, long shifts at the market, and a fragile kid who needed more than they could afford. Inho was now an adult barely. He didn’t want to be a burden.

Sometimes Junho would find him like that: tucked in the fetal position, drenched in sweat, barely breathing through the pounding in his skull. And baby Junho, bless him, would climb in bed and curl around him, whispering nonsense, trying to “pet the pain away.” It never worked, but Inho would pretend it did.

Inho got good at hiding it. He had to. On the police force, you don’t get to be fragile. You don’t get sick days when your paycheck is feeding three mouths and buying dialysis supplies. He never disclosed his condition—he couldn’t afford the scrutiny. So he powered through shifts half-blind, vomiting quietly in the station bathroom before heading back out to the street. There were days he drove patrol with one eye closed and his fingers white-knuckled on the wheel.

Even from his wife—God, Inho hid it from her too. Said it was stress, just too many hours, said he was fine when he came home with that tightness in his jaw, his body trembling under the blankets. She knew. Of course she did. She’d sit beside him in the dark, quietly massaging his temples, kissing his forehead, running her fingers over pressure points on his brow. She never said anything, just held him like he wasn’t cracking open inside. Inho thinks of her hands even now, sometimes. Thinks of the quiet kindness, the way she never asked for an explanation.

And then she got sick. And the Games came. And everything broke.

Inho fought through the pain the entire time. People think the hardest part of the Game is the violence. But for Inho, it was the nights. The lights, the noise, the cold. He bit into his knuckles until they bled to keep from screaming. Sometimes he’d black out and wake up unsure if it was from a migraine or from sheer exhaustion. He only won because he was used to pain. He knew how to compartmentalize. He’d been doing it his whole life.

When Inho came home and found her gone, the grief screamed louder than any migraine ever had. He howled until his throat tore, and for one small, twisted moment, he was glad the pain in his head was drowned out by the pain in his chest.

But the migraines never left. If anything, becoming the Front Man made them worse. The mask—heavy, suffocating—makes the pressure unbearable. The screens are too bright. The intercoms too loud. He lives in a world of sensory torture, and no one sees it. He’s careful. Clinical. Keeps the lights in his quarters low. Takes his pills in secret. Breeds loyalty through silence. The guards never suspect anything. The Managers know better than to ask why he sometimes retreats to his room, breathing like he’s drowning. And when the VIPs are around, he wears his mask like a wall. They don’t see the tremor in his hands. They don’t notice how often he excuses himself mid-conversation.

And then came Gihun.

Inho, as Young-il, was supposed to monitor him. Test him. Chip away at him. But one night, the mask slipped. The migraine hit like a hammer, and Inho—Young-il—couldn’t hide it fast enough. He curled up in the shadows, fingers pressed hard to his temples, shaking, trying not to cry. Trying to breathe.

And Gihun found him.

Gihun knelt beside him without asking anything. Just placed Inho’s head in his lap and began to gently rub circles into his forehead, along his brow, down the sides of his nose.

“My mom used to say this helps,” he murmured.

Inho wanted to pull away. He should have pulled away. But the pain was too much. And the touch was… kind.

So he stayed.

And in the dark, with his head cradled in the lap of a man who didn’t know who he really was, a tear slipped down Inho’s temple and into his hair.

Because Gihun was comforting Young-il. Not him.

Gihun didn’t know he was touching a monster. Didn’t know the blood on Inho’s hands. Didn’t know the mask behind the man. Inho was glad it was dark. Glad Gihun didn’t see the tear.

Because if he did… he might have pulled away.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What is happening here? It's a 1971 mid century modern time capsule in Homer Glen, IL, 4bds, 3ba, 3,116 sq ft, $410k, but something's "off." Take a look inside. Weird batch of homes for sale today.

This is the weirdest damned fireplace I've ever seen.

It's like a blob coming down the steps. It does have a large living room and then over yonder up the 2 stairs, that look like they're collapsing, there's a dining room.

In the dining room.

Then there's this area, 2 steps down from the kitchen. Maybe it's a dinette.

The original kitchen has laminate cabinetry, counters, an avocado sink, and mismatched appliances.

There's the old intercom on the wall.

This looks like the primary bedroom. Has a brick feature wall with ceiling beams.

Uhhh... What is that? Looks like blood's coming out of the faucet.

This 2nd bedroom is pretty large.

The shower spigot is low b/c the tub is deep into the ground. What's the other stuff on the wall, though?

Here's a weird room. There are sliding doors, but no terrace. Are those stairs on the left or just a hole?

Well at least there are a couple of moldy boards to stand on outside.

The walls are peeling in here and it looks like stalactites hanging down, too.

There's a pond next to the house.

.89 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/14450-S-Oak-Trl-Homer-Glen-IL-60491/5429480_zpid/?

[honeydixonn]

Back to Friends, Myung Gi

nine, round and round

4879 words

The hauntingly familiar children's song echoed throughout the room, each verse feeling more sinister than the last. "We will go hand in hand and have fun jumping around!" The words reverberated through their ears as the platform beneath them began to spin like a warped carousel. "Round and round!" The sudden jolt of the platform halting sent everyone stumbling forward, their breath caught in their throats.

"Ten!" The voice over the intercom boomed, cold and unfeeling.

Nari's pulse quickened, her wide eyes darting around at her team. They were six, which meant they needed four more. Her hands trembled as shouts and cries filled the room, the chaos making it difficult to focus. The lights flickered, amplifying the sense of dread that pressed heavily on her chest.

Gi-Hun's voice broke through the noise, his hand gripping Hyun-Ju's shoulder in a desperate bid for clarity. "How many are you?"

"Four!" Hyun-Ju yelled back, her voice strained under the weight of panic.

"That makes us ten," Jung-Bae said, his voice trembling as he glanced nervously at the encroaching chaos. A group of men suddenly rushed toward them, clawing and begging to join, only to be dragged away by another frantic group.

"Room 44! Green door!" Gi-Hun shouted, urgency cracking his voice. The group didn't hesitate. Myung-Gi grabbed Nari's hand, pulling her forward as they all sprinted to the door. "Hurry!" their voices rang out, the sound of frantic footsteps and pounding hearts overtaking the screams.

Young-Il shoved the door open, ushering them all in before slamming it shut. They leaned against the door, their breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. The lock clicked into place as the timer hit zero.

Gi-Hun peered out through the peephole, his jaw tightening at the sight of the chaos outside. Players who hadn't made it to a room in time were dragged away or shot on the spot. Nari sat hunched in the corner, staring at her feet as tears stung her eyes. Myung-Gi stole a glance at her from across the room, his chest tightening at her visible distress. He wanted to reach out, but the gap between them felt insurmountable.

The intercom crackled to life, coldly announcing the player numbers of the deceased. Outside, staff members placed the bodies into ornate, present-like coffins, their unsettling efficiency making the survivors' breaths hitch.

When the doors unlocked, everyone was herded back onto the spinning platform. The children's tune began again, cruelly cheerful, as the platform jolted into motion. The once-vibrant colors of the room now felt oppressive, the scattered bloodstains on the ground serving as grim reminders of their precarious reality.

"Four!"

The intercom's declaration sent shockwaves through the group. They froze, their eyes meeting with dread as they realized the number would force them to split.

Gi-Hun turned quickly, his voice cracking with urgency. "Young-Il, Jung-Bae, Myung-Gi, Nari—"

Young-Il cut him off, stepping forward. "No. You go. Take them and go ahead." His tone was firm, though his eyes betrayed a quiet fear.

Before anyone could protest, Myung-Gi stepped forward, his hand gripping Young-Il's arm. "I'll go with him." His words were steady, leaving no room for argument as he pulled Young-Il toward the frantic crowd. "We'll find a group. Just go!"

Gi-Hun hesitated for a brief moment, but time was running out. "We have no choice. Let's go!" he urged, grabbing Nari's arm.

As they sprinted toward a purple room, Nari's head turned over her shoulder, her heart racing with panic. "I can't see them!" she cried, her voice trembling as her eyes scanned the sea of desperate players.

Dae-Ho peeked from behind the door, his own nerves frayed. "Do you think they'll make it?" he asked, though he feared the answer.

The intercom began its countdown, and Gi-Hun shoved Nari back into the room, closing the door just as the lock engaged. She collapsed against the wall, her chest heaving with choked sobs as she grabbed Gi-Hun's arm. "Did you see them? Did they make it? Please, tell me he made it!" Her voice cracked under the weight of her desperation.

Gi-Hun couldn't bring himself to answer. He had seen no sign of them in the chaos, and the sound of gunshots outside made his stomach twist. Nari pushed past him, her fingers curling around the edge of the peephole as she peered out, her heart sinking with each muffled shot.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. She didn't want to think about what would happen if Myung-Gi didn't make it. She hadn't even had the chance to tell him she didn't regret anything, that she still—

Dae-Ho's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her away from the door. "Nari, don't look," he said softly, his own voice strained. She resisted, her fingers gripping the frame of the peephole until they slipped free.

"What if they didn't make it?" she whispered, her glossy eyes locking onto Jung-Bae, who pulled her into a comforting hug. "They made it," he murmured, though his voice wavered. "I know they did."

As the doors unlocked and the harsh fluorescent lights flickered back on, the grim announcement echoed overhead: "168 players remaining." The air felt colder, heavier, as if the room itself was mourning the loss of life. The group stumbled out of the room, their hearts racing, breaths still uneven. Nari's eyes darted around frantically, scanning the faces in the crowd.

"Brother Young-Il! Myung-Gi!" Dae-Ho's voice broke through the tense silence, rising above the murmur of other survivors. His desperation rippled through the air, fueling their shared panic. Jung-Bae clawed at his face, his fingers trembling as he searched the crowd. They hesitated at the edge of the platform, unwilling to take another step without finding them.

Then, a voice broke through the noise. "Gi-Hun!"

They turned in unison. Young-Il was moving toward them, his pace quick, his face alight with relief. Nari's heart stuttered, her lips parting in anticipation, but her relief froze in her chest when she didn't see Myung-Gi. Her pulse thundered in her ears, panic bubbling in her throat. She teetered on the edge of breaking down when suddenly, she spotted him—his familiar hair flopping with every hurried step as he jogged to catch up with Young-Il.

A cry ripped from her throat as she bolted toward him, her legs moving faster than her thoughts. Her arms wrapped tightly around him, clinging to him as though letting go would mean losing him forever. Tears slipped down her cheeks, unchecked and unrestrained.

"Please don't leave again. I'm so sorry. Please, please, please..." Her muffled words spilled against his neck, trembling with raw emotion.

Myung-Gi's breath hitched as his arms encircled her protectively. His eyes met the others' over her shoulder, silently thanking them for keeping her safe. He gave a small nod to Dae-Ho, who returned it with quiet reassurance.

The rest of the group surged forward, hugging Young-Il and Myung-Gi in a rush of relief. Gi-Hun smiled for the first time in what felt like days, his tense shoulders finally relaxing. "I knew you'd make it!" Jung-Bae exclaimed, his voice shaking with emotion as he pulled both men into a tight embrace.

"I was worried about you both," Gi-Hun admitted, his usually calm demeanor cracking.

Young-Il smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm a likable guy. I'm good at games like this. Just... maybe not MG Coin..." His joke earned a strained chuckle, though the memory of how they had been ignored by other players because of Myung-Gi's past still lingered.

Nari remained nestled under Myung-Gi's arm, her head against his chest. Young-Il noticed her still-shaky breaths and crouched slightly to check on her. He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek, his expression softening with concern. "Are you okay? You feel warm."

She brushed his hand away with a small, wobbly smile. "I'm okay now. I was just... I was so worried about you both."

Young-Il gave her a quick hug and ruffled her hair, making her laugh despite the tension. "Don't scare me like that, you hear?"

Their brief moment of relief ended as the intercom cut in: "All players, please step onto the center platform." The words seemed to drain the warmth from the room. The group reluctantly made their way back, the weight of what was coming crushing the short-lived smiles.

The platform began to spin again, the sickeningly cheerful tune returning like a twisted mockery of their fear. "Round and round, round and round! Let's go around in circles and dance!"

Nari tightened her grip on Myung-Gi's hand, her knuckles white. She couldn't bear to let him go again, not after the terror of almost losing him. But the platform suddenly jolted to a stop, and the intercom boomed: "Three!"

The group froze, exchanging wide-eyed looks. Young-Il turned to Nari and Myung-Gi, grabbing her free hand. "You three go together!" he ordered, gesturing toward Gi-Hun, Jung-Bae, and Dae-Ho.

Without hesitation, the trio sprinted toward a nearby room. "There! Room 27!" Young-Il shouted, spotting an open door. He and Myung-Gi yanked Nari forward, her feet struggling to keep up. Myung-Gi's hand was loose around her wrist as he led the way, but just as they neared the door, Nari glanced back, her focus slipping.

She crashed into someone, stumbling as her wrist slipped out of Myung-Gi's grasp. Her arms flailed, trying to regain balance, but her feet slid on the slick floor.

"Nari!" Myung-Gi's shout was sharp and panicked. He spun around, his eyes locking onto her crumpled form. Without hesitation, he sprinted back, scooping her up as if she weighed nothing. His pulse roared in his ears as he barreled toward the room where Young-Il stood holding the door open, his own face tight with fear.

"Move!" Myung-Gi barked, his voice raw. They crossed the threshold just as the timer hit zero, the lock clicking into place behind them.

The three collapsed onto the floor, their hearts pounding violently. Young-Il exhaled a shaky breath, peeking through the small window in the door. "That was way too close," he muttered, his hands trembling slightly.

"I'm sorry," Nari whispered, her voice cracking with guilt. She couldn't bring herself to look at either of them. "I wasn't paying attention... I almost—"

"Stop," Myung-Gi interrupted softly, kneeling in front of her. "You're okay. That's what matters." His tone was firm but gentle, his hands reaching out to cover her ears as gunshots rang out in the distance.

Nari flinched at the sound, but she leaned into his touch, her breaths shallow and uneven. Young-Il sat beside them, his back pressed against the door as he watched the grim scene outside. None of them spoke, the weight of survival pressing down on them like an unrelenting storm.

The doors creaked open, their cold, metallic groan slicing through the oppressive silence. Light flooded the room, too bright, too harsh, illuminating every inch of their weary faces. Each round chipped away at their humanity, draining their energy, their hope, their very will to keep moving forward. No one spoke as they stepped out, their bodies moving on autopilot, numb and disconnected.

Nari's breath hitched when she spotted Hyun-Ju, Geum-Ja, and Young-Mi stepping into view. Relief washed over her, and she exhaled shakily, her shoulders dropping. They made it. The group exchanged hurried nods, fleeting smiles of reassurance. But the relief was short-lived as Hyun-Ju's frantic eyes darted around.

"Where's your son?" she asked, her voice trembling as she turned to Geum-Ja. Her words hung heavy in the air.

Before Geum-Ja could answer, a fragile voice broke through the crowd. "Mom..."

All heads turned to see Yong-Sik standing a few steps away, his posture broken, his face pale. He looked like he'd been through hell and back. Geum-Ja rushed to him, grabbing his arms, her hands trembling as they moved to cup his face. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I made it. You made it. You're not hurt, are you?"

But Yong-Sik's lips quivered as his eyes filled with tears. "Mom... I... I'm so... I'm so sorry." His voice broke completely as he collapsed into her arms, his sobs muffled against her small frame.

"No, it's okay," she said quickly, though her voice shook as tears slid down her face. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, cradling his head as if he were a child again. "It's okay. We're here. We're alive." She stroked his back, trying to soothe him, but his repeated apologies clawed at her heart.

The group stood nearby, silent witnesses to the heart-wrenching scene. Gi-Hun looked away, his jaw tightening, while Jung-Bae rubbed his face, unable to meet anyone's eyes. Dae-Ho's hands clenched into fists at his sides, the weight of the moment suffocating them all.

The silence was shattered by the intercom's cold, mechanical voice. "All players, please step onto the center platform."

Their brief moment of solace vanished. The group moved reluctantly toward the platform, their steps heavy with dread. The childish tune began to play again, sickeningly cheerful against the tension that gripped their hearts. "Round and round, round and round! Let's go around in circles and dance!"

Nari clung to Myung-Gi's hand like a lifeline, her knuckles white, her breaths shallow. The platform swayed beneath them, spinning slowly, its mechanical hum filling the air. No one spoke. All eyes were on the ground, stained with blood that told stories they dared not imagine.

The platform screeched to a sudden halt, jarring everyone. The intercom crackled. "Six!"

Panic erupted instantly. There were ten people in their group.

"Four men and two women go!" Gi-Hun yelled, his voice strained.

Jung-Bae whipped around, his face twisted in desperation. "Which two?!"

Yong-Sik tightened his grip on his mother's hand, his tears threatening to spill again. "I'm going with my mom!" he shouted, his voice shaking.

Young-Il pushed Dae-Ho forward. "Go with them!"

Nari's heart ached as she glanced at Myung-Gi, wanting to protest, wanting to stay with him, but there was no time for hesitation. The four women and two men sprinted toward the nearest door.

The group remaining frantically searched for one more person to complete their number. Myung-Gi's eyes never left Nari as she disappeared into the room. He didn't move until the last possible second, ensuring her safety.

"Thirteen seconds left!" someone shouted.

In the chaos, Young-Mi tripped, crashing to the ground as a player shoved past her. Myung-Gi saw it happen, saw her struggling to stand, and his decision was instant.

"Go with them!" he shouted hoarsely to Player 380 before taking off toward another door.

Hyun-Ju screamed as she turned back to see Young-Mi scrambling to her feet. "Unnie!" she cried, her voice breaking. Hyun-Ju ran to the door, desperately trying to hold it open.

Young-Mi finally stood, tears streaming down her face as she tried to run. But there were only three seconds left. Myung-Gi shoved into the room, slamming the door shut behind him just as the timer hit zero.

Young-Mi skidded to a stop just outside, her eyes wide with panic. She stumbled to the door, her face pressing against the small open window. "Unnie..." she cried, her voice breaking as her tears fell faster.

Hyun-Ju screamed and pounded on the door, her face crumpling in despair. "Young-Mi!" She slammed her fists against the door. "Young-Mi!"

Young-Mi's hands trembled against the door. She couldn't stop crying, her sobs shaking her entire body. "Unnie," she whispered, her voice small and broken.

The guard appeared behind her, his black mask emotionless as he raised his gun.

Hyun-Ju gasped, her eyes widening in terror. "No, Young-Mi!"

The gunshot rang out, deafening in its finality.

Her lifeless eyes stared blankly through the small window, tears still wet on her cheeks.

Hyun-Ju screamed as she watched Young-Mi's body still in a gasp before crumpling to the ground. Blood pooled beneath her, vivid and cruel against the sterile floor.

"Young-Mi..." Hyun-Ju whispered, her voice trembling as her fingers pressed against the door. "No... No! Young-Mi!" Her screams broke into sobs as she clawed at the door. "Please... please no!"

Geum-Ja collapsed into Yong-Sik's arms, her wails echoing through the room. Nari stood frozen, her body trembling as silent tears streamed down her face. She couldn't look away from the door, being the only barrier between her lifeless body.

Myung-Gi stood near the wall, his head bowed, his chest heaving as he fought the guilt clawing at him. He had made the only choice he could, but it didn't stop the weight of it from crushing him.

Hyun-Ju's scream pierced the air, raw and unrelenting as she lunged at Myung-Gi, her hands gripping his collar before slamming him against the cold, green wall. Her eyes were wild with fury, tears streaming down her face, her voice cracking with the weight of her grief. "It's your fault!" she shouted, her words laced with venom as her fingers tightened against his throat. "You let her die!"

Myung-Gi's back hit the wall with a thud, his hands instinctively rising to push her away, though he didn't fight her with full strength. "If I hadn't come in," he choked, his voice low and trembling, "you'd all be dead. You, Hyun-Ju. Everyone here!"

Hyun-Ju didn't care. Her grief had turned into a fire too blinding, too consuming. She slammed him harder against the wall, her voice growing louder, rawer. "It's your fault! I could've saved her! She was right there! She was right there!"

Myung-Gi's resolve cracked as her words tore through him. His voice broke as he pushed her hands off, his tone rising, raw and desperate. "And I had to save her!" He threw the words like a dagger, his eyes flickering toward Nari, who was huddled in the corner with Dae-Ho's protective arm around her.

Hyun-Ju froze for only a second, startled by the sudden rise in his voice. Then her rage reignited, and she shoved him again, this time harder, her body trembling with the force of her grief. "You didn't save her!" she screamed, her voice breaking on every word. "You didn't save Young-Mi! You let her die! I could've—"

"I couldn't let her die!" Myung-Gi's voice erupted, his chest heaving as his grief and desperation clawed their way out of him. His voice cracked under the weight of his confession, raw and unfiltered. "Don't you understand?! I love her!"

The room fell deathly silent.

Hyun-Ju's hands faltered, her grip slackening as her teary, wide eyes stared at him in shock. Myung-Gi's words hung in the air like a thunderclap, reverberating off the walls and sinking into everyone's skin.

Nari froze, her breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded violently in her chest as her mind tried to catch up with what he had just said. I love her. The words echoed in her ears, louder than the screams, louder than the gunshot that had just taken Young-Mi's life.

Dae-Ho stiffened beside her, his arm falling away as he looked at Myung-Gi in quiet shock. Hyun-Ju, who had been consumed with rage, fell back against the wall, stunned and unsure of how to respond to the death.

But Nari didn't move. Her mind reeled, every word he had spoken since returning crashing over her like waves. He had left her, abandoned her when she had needed him most. He had shattered her trust, made her question everything. And yet, he had come back. He had risked his life to be here, to protect her, to keep her alive.

Tears fell from her eyes, unrelenting, but her expression remained frozen, her lips slightly parted in shock. Her gaze locked with Myung-Gi's. His own eyes were glassy, pleading silently as he stood there, trembling, waiting for her reaction.

Hyun-Ju's sobs broke through the silence, her body crumpling to the floor as she clutched her head. "Young-Mi..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "Young-Mi..."

The weight of her grief shattered the tension, but Nari's heart remained torn apart, her chest heavy with unspoken words. Myung-Gi looked at her one last time, his lips trembling as if to say something more, but he turned away, leaning heavily against the wall.

For the first time, Nari couldn't read him, and for the first time, he couldn't read her. The silence between them was unbearable, filled with everything they wanted to say but couldn't.

After a long, suffocating silence, the latch to the door finally clicked open. The metallic groan echoed in the tense room, and as the door creaked ajar, the sight before them was haunting—Young-Mi's blood smeared across the door, streaking down to the floor in dark, sticky rivulets. The metallic scent was overwhelming, a sharp reminder of what they'd just endured.

Dae-Ho was the first to step out, his shoes sticking momentarily to the blood-soaked floor before he stumbled forward, his face pale and drawn. His eyes darted frantically, searching for the rest of his group, his expression desperate for reassurance. Behind him, the remaining players filed out one by one, their faces pale, hollowed by the weight of what they'd survived.

Myung-Gi lingered at the back, his steps slow and heavy as if the blood clinging to the floor was dragging him down. Nari walked in front of him, her body rigid, her gaze fixed ahead, unseeing. The silence between them was deafening, filled with the ghosts of the screams that had been silenced behind that door.

"Nari..." Myung-Gi's voice was barely above a whisper, trembling as it reached her.

She turned slightly, her tear-streaked face tilting up toward him. Just as her lips parted to respond, she was swept into Young-Il's arms. His embrace was firm, almost desperate, as he held her tightly, his hand trembling as it rested on her back.

"You're okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse, thick with emotion.

"I'm okay," Nari breathed out, her voice fragile, barely holding together. Relief flickered across her face when she saw he had survived. "Myung-Gi... he saved us. He came just in time."

Her words didn't seem to register with Young-Il at first. His hold on her remained tight, almost as if he was afraid she might disappear. His chest heaved with uneven breaths, and as he pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes softened. He saw her then—not just as she was, a frightened girl fighting to survive, but as someone else. Someone from a past he'd long buried.

She reminded him so much of her. The one he had loved and lost. The way her dark, tear-filled eyes held a quiet strength, the way her hair framed her face—it was uncanny. His breath hitched as the memories flooded back, threatening to overwhelm him.

Nari looked so much like his wife when she was young. His first love. The only person who had ever truly known him, accepted him. The same fire in her gaze, the same determination to survive even when the odds were stacked against her. But she had been taken from him, stolen by time and circumstances beyond his control. He had failed to protect her.

And now, here Nari was, staring back at him with those same hauntingly familiar eyes. His grip on her arms tightened for a moment, his voice caught in his throat. He couldn't lose her too. He wouldn't let the games kill her.

Nari's gaze met Myung-Gi's, and for a moment, time seemed to pause. His eyes softened, the hardened mask he'd worn since entering the game crumbling in the presence of her gaze. There was something raw in the way he looked at her, as if her survival was the only thing tethering him to sanity.

The group shuffled back toward the platform in silence, the exhaustion and horror of the game weighing them down like chains. Words felt inadequate, meaningless in the face of everything they'd lost.

The intercom's static crackled to life, cutting through the silence with cruel efficiency. "Now, the final round will begin," the robotic voice announced, followed by the eerie melody that sent chills racing down their spines. "Round and round! Round and round!"

Jung-Bae leaned forward, his voice strained as he broke the silence. "What do you think it'll be this time?"

Young-Il's voice was grave, his expression unreadable. "Two."

The others turned to him, confused. "Why two?" Jung-Bae asked.

"There are 126 people left," Young-Il explained, his tone hollow. "And there are fifty rooms. There won't be enough for everyone—only 100 people will survive. The rest..." He didn't finish. He didn't have to.

The platform shuddered to a halt, and the robotic voice rang out again, confirming his fear. "Two!"

Before anyone could react, Myung-Gi's hand shot out, gripping Nari's wrist. His fingers were firm, urgent, as he pulled her through the crowd. "Run," he commanded, his voice sharp.

The chaos erupted around them as players scrambled toward the doors, shoving and clawing in desperation. Nari stumbled, her legs struggling to keep up with Myung-Gi's relentless pace. Her breath hitched when she felt a violent tug from behind, arms wrapping around her waist and yanking her backward.

"Myung-Gi!" she cried, her voice panicked.

Myung-Gi spun around, his face darkening when he saw a man holding Nari back. "Just go inside!" the man yelled, his grip tightening on her. "She's a girl—she won't last in the next game anyway!"

Rage surged through Myung-Gi as the intercom began its countdown. He lunged forward, prying the man's hands off her. "Let her go!" His voice was raw, thunderous.

The man fought back, shoving Nari to the ground. Myung-Gi didn't hesitate. His fist collided with the man's face, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the chaos. Blood splattered across the floor as the man stumbled backward, clutching his nose.

"Nari, go!" Myung-Gi yelled, holding the door open as the seconds ticked away.

She scrambled to her feet, slipping on a pool of blood as she lunged into the room. Myung-Gi slammed the door shut, but not before the man's hand caught in the frame. A guttural scream escaped the man as Myung-Gi shoved the door harder, forcing him to let go. The latch clicked shut just as the timer hit zero.

Outside, the man banged on the door, his voice desperate, enraged. "She's just going to die! She—"

A gunshot cut him off, his body crumpling to the floor. Blood seeped from his chest, pooling around him like a grotesque halo.

Inside the room, Nari pressed herself into the corner, trembling. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as she watched Myung-Gi turn to her, his eyes wide, his face pale. He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands reaching out but hesitating just inches from her skin.

"Are you hurt?" he asked frantically, his hands trembling as his eyes darted over her. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm okay," she said, her voice shaky.

But Myung-Gi didn't stop. His hands hovered over her, his fingers brushing her arms, her shoulders, checking for any sign of injury. His eyes were wild, his panic consuming him.

"I'm okay!" she repeated, louder this time, grabbing his face with both hands. Her voice cracked as she looked into his eyes, her own filling with tears. "I'm okay, Myung-Gi. I'm okay."

His breath hitched, his body trembling as her words began to sink in. Slowly, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, as if letting go would mean losing her forever.

"I love you, too," she whispered against his chest, her voice breaking.

He froze, pulling back just enough to see her face. Her tear-streaked cheeks, her trembling lips, the bruise forming on her cheekbone—it was too much. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, the fear of losing her overwhelming him.

Without thinking, without hesitation, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was desperate, raw, a silent plea for forgiveness, for time, for anything that could keep her here with him.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers, his breath shaky. "I can't lose you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I can't."

Outside, the sound of bodies being dragged away and the hum of the platform signaled the game's grim progression. Inside, the room was silent except for the sound of their uneven breaths and the weight of everything they couldn't say.

-----

um... unnie...

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕏: ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕍𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 ℝ𝕠𝕞𝕖 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

Summary: Vincent goes back to his old life in Rome as if nothing happened. But there's Chidi, at his side, the one thing Vincent doesn't want to forget from the last few months. And it's causing complications...especially with Santino.

TW: grief, nightmares, PTSD, drug use, hypersexuality, stalking, jealousy, withdrawing consent during sex (and the response to the “no” is scary, although there’s no assault), attempted kidnapping, knife wound, concussion, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Author's Note: The title is a callback to that line in one of the first chapters, in which Chidi wonders how Vincent lived in Rome - bonus points if you remembered!

Fine. Good and done with. Vincent was strong again.

It was better to forget all of it. That bloodied thing that he could not recognize reflected in the mirrors outside the ballroom. The words coming through the intercom. The time in the hospital. Even the coronation. That was worst of all, perhaps. The disappointment in himself, in the way that perfect day had felt so hollow… No, no, no, just forget any of it had happened. And to Vincent’s great relief, his mind blanked it all mercifully away. There was a gaping hole at the center of him where he dared not tread, but that was better than dealing with it. He could even talk about it, very easily, just as he had done at the ball with everybody. As long as he didn’t feel it, he could talk about it. This was the way one recovered from grief, he decided. One day, one simply decided to stop being a baby.

Yes, he was just going back to Italy after a few days away, and everything would be normal. “Il palazzo,” as he called it, was the quaintest, pleasantest place anyone could imagine living, and he would thoroughly enjoy it. It was humble by the Marquis' standards, but still very comfortable, and fully staffed with maids and a cook. He’d made it every bit as lavish as might suit him, while being a little less stuffy than Versailles. There was an abundance of French furniture with a Roman twist, in sunset gradients from pink to burgundy, with gilding glittering at the edges of everything. There was statuary in honor of Bacchus and Apollo. There was a full bar in the parlor where Vincent was sure to entertain guests as often as he could. There was some obscure art piece or trinket in almost every room, gifted from suitors. He would walk by the river in the mornings, with one of those suitors on his arm, and have luncheons with Gianna to talk business. And sneak off with Santino, not to come back until morning. What happened in between was…generally something of a blur.

In Rome, he didn’t feel quite as unsafe as he did in the estate. He had learned to navigate this city on his own – always guarded, yes, but giving the guards the slip long enough to do a line unseen. The Myrmidons didn’t have the slightest idea about his activities…well, maybe the slightest idea, but they couldn’t prove anything. In the past, Vincent had made sure of that because they reported to his – no. No. Nothing happened. Don’t think in that direction.

There was one problem with this perfect plan, and its name was Chidi. He had absolutely no desire nor ability to forget Chidi. And it was Chidi who carried his broken body out of that bloodbath, it was Chidi who held him together in the weeks afterwards. It was Chidi who stood up for him at the coronation, and then swayed with him in an empty side room, leading him with unexpectedly graceful steps and an exhilarating hand pressed to his waist. Chidi was inextricably tied to everything that had happened to him, everything he had suffered, lacing every poisoned memory with something too sweet to spit out. Chidi had seen all of it, dealt with all of it, and now he haunted Vincent, reminding him of every moment. Vincent found that it was becoming difficult even to look at his bodyguard. A mixture of shame and hope and…something hung over Chidi, making him unbearably beautiful.

So, when they arrived at the precious Il Palazzo, Vincent assigned him a room on the lower floor, not adjacent to his own. It was much finer than the servant quarters. It was the finest of any room in the house except Vincent’s, in fact. But they absolutely had to sleep separately. He was not a child, nor was he a lover. What was acceptable in grief was no longer acceptable once one was done grieving. And Vincent was done grieving, thank you very much. He could sleep very well on his own, and he would need his privacy. Chidi made no protest.

Thus it began. Forcing his eyes to close in an unfriendly darkness. Waking up in cold sweats at three AM until he learned to fear sleep more than exhaustion. Sobbing with his face buried in a pillow so that no one would hear him and force him to admit that yes, things were different now. That he could no longer take being alone. Each morning dawned in pure, golden relief, spent gasping until the remnants of tears had cleared out of his breathing, and then meeting Chidi with a stately nod at his bedroom door. Chidi must know, by the way he waited there earlier and earlier each time, but he said nothing.

There was, of course, an alternative to this torture. He could go to bed with someone. Not Chidi, no, that would reopen too much, but…someone.

It was just three days after their arrival in Rome when Vincent dismissed Chidi for the first time. “Je sors avec les autres gardes ce soir. Prenez du temps libre. [I’m going out with the other guards this evening. Take some time off.]“ He said it casually, the way that one might casually toss a grenade into the center of a crowded room. They were seated at either side of a little round tea table for an afternoon snack. Chidi stood up and stared at him, breathing hard. Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Avons-nous un problème? [Do we have a problem?]”

He promptly sat down again. “Non.”

“Bien. [Good.]”

That night, Chidi had already gone to his own bedroom when Vincent returned with a man on his arm. But the door was cracked open, and Vincent could feel eyes on him as he passed, prickling his skin with visceral guilt. Well, to hell with that. He would not be guilted for doing what he had to do to get a moment of peace. No matter whether he pictured Chidi alone in that downstairs bedroom, unhappy. Probably very unhappy…

The night passed without troubled dreams – in fact, it passed almost entirely sleepless. And in the morning, Chidi was waiting for him at the door, the same as ever. His co-conspirator must have passed Chidi on the way out in the early hours. They didn’t speak a word about it.

And they didn’t speak a word about it the next time, or the time after that. It became Vincent’s habit to ensure that he did not sleep alone two nights in a row – which was to say, it became Vincent’s habit not to sleep more than two nights in a row. It was a perfect system, really. A liaison kept the nightmares away for a night. Drugs kept him upright and free of shame over the course of the day following a liaison. And by the time he passed out from exhaustion the next night, he was too tired to dream. As long as he didn’t look at Chidi, he didn’t have to feel bad about any of it, which was perfect, because he was trying not to look at Chidi anyway. What could go wrong?

Best of all, the whole cycle numbed him just enough to maintain things with Santino. The relationship had become…draining. A series of encounters that he had to get through by being drunk or high or teasing Santino to vent his own resentment. But the connection made sense politically. Vincent wracked his brain for a real reason to break up, and he couldn’t justify it. He definitely couldn’t deal with the fallout that would ensue if Santino decided to throw a fit about the breakup, not right now. It could ruin things with Gianna, and that was going so well.

Santi, for his part, was only too glad to have Vincent back in the city, and to restock his drug supplies whenever he wanted. He made excuses to stay in Rome until winter. The D’Antonio family was already making plans for how they would spend Christmas together. Again, the only hitch was Chidi.

“Pourquoi ne vous débarrassez-vous pas de votre garde du corps stupide? [Why don’t you get rid of that brainless bodyguard of yours?]” Santino would say, while eyeing him across the room and grimacing. Normally, Vincent tried to see him when Chidi wasn’t on shift, but Santino had an infuriating habit of showing up unexpectedly. And every time the two were in the same room, some variation of this conversation played out. “Il ressemble à un gros bœuf stupide. Je peux t'en trouver un meilleur. Quelqu'un de pointu. Vous savez à quel point Ares est efficace... [He looks like a big, stupid ox. I can find you a better one. Someone sharp. You know how effective Ares - ]”

“Je suis très bien fourni en gardes du corps, merci. [I’m very well supplied with bodyguards, thank you.]” But he never seemed to drop the subject for good. It was like Chidi was getting into everything, changing every aspect of his life, haunting his thoughts throughout every one-night-stand. No matter how he tried to act like he didn’t care, no matter how he tried to compartmentalize him, there was Chidi again.

What bothered him most of all was that Chidi seemed to have no trouble getting a life of his own. He was settling into his role as head of the Myrmidons admirably. In the evenings, when Vincent allowed himself the agonizing ecstasy of an hour in undivided company with Chidi, he learned that Chidi was exploring Rome by himself and finding it very much to his liking. He had even discovered a favorite restaurant in a historic building downtown. Would Vincent like to go there together sometime? He seemed to be testing the waters. Vincent couldn’t resist saying yes. Despite his best efforts to exclude Chidi, he couldn’t bear the thought of Chidi having a favorite place that didn’t include him. It was very confusing.

Apparently, the other Myrmidons sometimes accompanied him on his walks through the city. One of the maids, too. Chidi was friends with them now. Everybody liked him, because of course they did. He was so gentle in his brutishness, so playful and yet so steadying, so infectious when he laughed. And on top of that, just look at him. Vincent did, and felt physically burned by the way his shoulders strained with muscle under his blazer, the way that beard cut knife-sharp along his jaw. As usual, he had to look away.

The next day, Vincent watched him with this maid. He felt burned then too. The way her shining, brunette curls bounced when she nodded at something Chidi said, glowing with smiles. Did Chidi feel burned when he looked at her? When he looked at Vincent? Had Chidi ever felt this way, about anyone? Had anyone in the world ever felt this way about anyone else, or was Vincent being tortured in some cruel and usual manner peculiar to god’s least favorites? He was in flames. He was dying. He must be.

That night, he got very high indeed.

He went to Santino, because damn it, if Chidi was going to go to the maid when he was lonely, then Vincent was going to go to Santino.

A line. Santino’s finger running over a wine glass as he stared out at the river at dinner, interrupting sparkling candlelight. A line. That sparkling transformed into flashing on a club floor. A line. Their bodies pressed together in the back of a limo. A line. Santino’s words spilling into his mouth between kisses. “Sapevo che mi volevi, mio ​​caro. Sapevo che saresti venuto da me da solo uno di questi giorni. Hai finalmente finito di farmi implorare? [I knew you wanted me, mio caro. I knew you’d come to me on your own one of these days. Are you finally done making me beg?]”

Disgust twisting in the pit of his body. “No. Prega più forte. [No. Beg harder.]” Say that you desire me. That I’m worth something…that no one could resist me… Santino whined and started humping into the leather seat with Vincent still buried in his ass.

“Per favore, mio ​​amore. Per favore. Fammi sentire bene. Non so come fai... aaaa... devi essere una specie di diavolo. La mia tentazione. Non sei nemmeno umano. [Please, mon amour. Please. Make me feel good. I don’t know how you do it…aaaa…you must be some kind of devil. My temptation. You’re not even human.]”

“Ovviamente non lo sai. Non mi conosci affatto. [Of course you don’t know. You don’t know me at all.]” It just slipped out. Santino didn’t seem to notice.

But he noticed when Vincent went soft and retreated into the seat away from him.

“Dove-cosa...? Dove sei andato? [Where-what…? Where’d you go?]”

“Ferma la macchina. [Stop the car.]”

“Che – [What the – ]“

“Sei sordo e del tutto inosservante? Ho detto di fermare la macchina. Ho avuto tutto ciò che volevo. [Are you deaf as well as completely unobservant? I said stop the car. I’ve had all I wanted.]”

Santino’s face went from confused to livid. “No! Verrai a casa con me stasera. Hai accettato. [No! You’re coming home with me tonight. You agreed.]”

“Davvero Santino? Sei quel tipo di uomo? [Really, Santino? Are you that kind of man?]” He rolled his eyes disdainfully, but his heart had started doing something utterly sickening. Was Santino that kind of man? His hand closed on the handle of the knife in his back pocket.

“Non ti toccherò. [I won’t touch you],” Santino said very graciously, despite caressing the air just above his cheek in a gesture so close to touching that it might as well have been. “Ma avevi promesso di venire. Ti terrò finché non ti renderai conto di quanto ti piaccio. [But you promised to come. I’m going to keep you until you realize how much you like me.]” His face hovered inches from Vincent’s. How did this escalate so fast? Only minutes ago, it seemed, he was sober, having dinner and planning to go home soon…

Don’t panic. He wished Chidi were here. How could he get back to Chidi? What could he do? His bodyguards were following behind them in another car. They’d know if he went missing. And they’d notice if he jumped from the vehicle. His eyes flickered from Santino’s too-close lips to the door handle. Santino caught the look and covered the lock with his hand, grinning. “Non mi sfuggirai, Vincent. Finalmente, dopo mesi, sei venuto da me volentieri. Non a un pranzo con me e mia sorella, non a una cena per cui ho dovuto implorare. Sei venuto da me, da solo, perché stai iniziando a vederlo anche tu. E non ti permetterò di buttarlo via solo perché a volte ti confondi. Apparteniamo insieme. Quella guardia del corpo ti sta dando fastidio, ma io... [You’re not getting away from me, Vincent. Finally, after months, you’ve come to me willingly. Not at some lunch with both me and my sister, not at some dinner I had to plead for. You came to me, all on your own, because you’re starting to see it too. And I won’t let you throw that away just because you get confused sometimes. We belong together. That bodyguard is messing with your head but I’ll - ]”

The blade plunged into the center of Santino’s hand. It was so satisfying that Vincent had to take a moment to enjoy the look on his face. “Oh, sei sorpreso di essere stato pugnalato dopo un discorso del genere? Hahahaha, malato di merda! Non appartengo a te! [Oh, you’re surprised you got stabbed after a speech like that? Hahahaha, you sick fuck! I do not BELONG with you!]” It was already too late – he might as well unleash everything. “Sai perché sono venuto qui stasera? Perché sei il fondo del barile, la persona che vedo quando ho voglia di sguazzare. Ti ho sedotto solo nel caso in cui tu uccidessi tua sorella più tardi, e sai una cosa? Spero che tu ci provi, e spero che lei ti uccida prima. Ti odio a morte, questa è la verità. Ovviamente devi ricorrere al rapimento solo per la più piccola speranza di ricevere il più piccolo briciolo di attenzione, patetico e disperato succhiacazzi. Risparmiati la fatica e non cercarmi più [You know why I came here tonight? Because you’re the bottom of the barrel, the person I see when I feel like wallowing. I only ever seduced you in case you kill your sister later, and you know what? I hope you try, and I hope she kills you first. I hate your guts, that’s the truth. Of course you have to resort to kidnapping just for the smallest hope of the smallest scrap of attention, you pathetic, desperate cock sucker. Save yourself the trouble and don’t look for me again.]” And with a spray of crimson trialing behind, he wrenched himself and the knife out into the battering midnight wind.

It hurt…a lot more than he was expecting. His shoulder made impact first. The purple-black of the city sky rolled over and over itself as he tumbled across cobblestones. There was tearing fabric, rocks driving into his flesh, a sharp impact against the back of his skull. In the distance, he could hear screeching tires. Was it one or both cars that turned back for him? But he blacked out before he could learn the answer.

He woke up in motion. A familiar scent. Someone’s arms underneath him. “Move. Don’t stand there, get a doctor.”

“Chidi…?” He curled closer against his chest. They were going up a flight of stairs, it seemed.

“C'est moi. Vous allez bien, monsieur. Vous êtes à la maison. [It’s me. You’re okay, sir. You’re home.]”

Splitting pain down the center of his head. “Je ne… je ne ressens pas… [I don’t…I don’t feel…]”

“Vous avez une commotion cérébrale. Mais tout ira bien. Tu étais si courageux. Ils m'ont dit – [You have a concussion. But everything will be alright. You were so brave. They told me – ]“ Chidi cut himself off, seemingly overcome. “De toute façon. Je vais te déposer maintenant, au lit. Est-ce que ça va? [Anyway. I’m going to set you down now, in bed. Is that okay?]”

Vincent realized he was shaking. “N'allez nulle part. [Don’t go anywhere.]”

“Je ne le ferai pas. [I won’t.]” He was laid very gently onto soft sheets. His shoes and tie were pulled away, the blanket tucked up to his chin. Everything was so warm, so bright…his head was still cradled in Chidi’s arms. Finally, Chidi was in his bedroom again, and everything seemed fixed. The change from the past few days was so enormous that Vincent couldn’t understand why he hadn’t done this sooner.

“Chidi?”

“Oui?”

“Je déteste Santino. [I hate Santino.]”

That gorgeous jaw set tight. “Il t'a fait du mal? [Did he hurt you?]”

“Non, heureusement non. Il a juste essayé de me kidnapper. [No, fortunately not. He just tried to kidnap me.]” Vincent scoffed. “C’est de ma faute, j’ai renvoyé mes gardes du corps, donc j’ai dû sauter – [It’s my fault, I sent my bodyguards away, so I had to jump – ]”

“Ce n'est PAS votre faute. [It is NOT your fault.]” Chidi pressed a kiss against his pounding head. “Cet homme est une petite fouine dégoûtante. Je ne le laisserai plus jamais toucher à toi. [That man is a disgusting little weasel. I will never let him lay a finger on you again.]”

Vincent smiled, savoring the way the warmth spread from the spot his lover’s lips had touched. “Merci.” He studied Chidi’s face. Worry lines at the corner of his mouth and eyes stood out prominently. There was the burning thing, flaring up in his chest at the sight of Chidi’s face. The guilt, the shame. The terrifying magnetism. “…Que vous ont dit les gardes? […How much did the guards tell you?]”

“Que veux-tu dire? [What do you mean?]”

They didn’t tell him anything, then. This was going to be incredibly difficult. Vincent tried one more time. “Vous ont-ils dit ce que je faisais avant de quitter le club ? Vous ont-ils dit… dans quel état je me trouve? [Did they tell you what I was doing before we left the club? Did they tell you…the state that I am in?]”

“Ils feraient mieux de ne rien me cacher. [They had better not have kept anything from me.]”

“Je leur ai fait jurer de ne rien te dire. [I made them swear not to tell you.]” He stared at the far corner of the blanket for a minute, trying to muster the courage. Instead, he found himself deciding maybe not. Maybe it was better Chidi didn’t know. If he quit, then who would ever have to tell Chidi? Nobody, right?

But Chidi saved him the trouble. “Que prenez-vous, monsieur? [What are you taking, sir?]”

Infinite silence, still staring into the corner. “Cocaïne.” He waited for disappointment, for crushing sympathy, already preemptively irritated by both.

“Comment ça a commencé? [How did it start?]”

“…Santino. Quand je suis arrivé ici seul pour la première fois. […Santino. When I first came out here alone.]”

“Je vois. [I see.]” Vincent could almost feel that information being filed for later. “Voulez-vous arrêter? [Do you want to stop?]”

“Non. Oui. Je ne sais pas. [No. Yes. I don’t know.]”

“Eh bien… c'est mon travail de protéger votre santé, monsieur. Je ne ferais pas mon travail si je te laissais continuer. [Well…it’s my job to protect your health, sir. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you continue.]”

“Et si c’était la seule chose qui me garde sain d’esprit, hmm ? J'ai besoin… [What if it’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane, hmm? I need…]” Fuck, he was going to cry if they kept on with this discussion. “Et si ça me maintenait en vie ? N'est-ce pas important pour ma santé ? Je serai trop fatigué sans ça, et puis je dormirai, et puis je… je ne peux pas… je ne peux pas… [What if it’s keeping me alive? Isn’t that important for my health? I’ll be too tired without it, and then I’ll sleep, and then I’ll…I can’t…I can’t…]” At some point he had started hyperventilating and couldn’t stop.

Chidi took his hand and kissed it, looking deeply pained on his behalf. “Monsieur. Je veux t'aider avec les cauchemars. Avec le chagrin. Tout cela. Chaque jour, je te vois souffrir alors que tout le monde s’attend à ce que tu ailles bien. C’est impossible, vu la pression que vous subissez, d’essayer de revenir instantanément à la normale. Sachez que vous n’êtes pas obligé de le faire seul. [Sir. I want to help you with the nightmares. With the grief. All of it. Every day, I see you hurting when everyone else expects you to be fine. It’s impossible, the amount of pressure you’re under, trying to go back to normal instantly. Please know that you don’t have to do this alone.]”

“N'êtes-vous pas trop occupé avec la femme de chambre? [Aren’t you too busy with the maid?]” Vincent wished he could take back the words but they were already out, and now he would have to hear the answer, hear Chidi lie or get angry or pity him or -

“Comme si quelqu’un pouvait être plus important pour moi que toi. Vous êtes ma vie, Maître Vincent. J'ai donné ma vie pour la tienne volontairement, tu te souviens ? J'étais prêt à être exécuté. Et je reste prêt. Je vous attends. Je n’ai touché personne d’autre, et je ne le ferai pas, peu importe le nombre de personnes que vous coucherez. Faites ce que vous devez faire, monsieur. Je veux juste être là pour toi. Même quand les choses vont mieux. Quand tu n’as plus mal… et je ferai en sorte que ce jour vienne… quand tu n’as plus mal, je veux toujours être à côté de toi. Pas besoin d’être malade pour dormir à mes côtés, Vincent. Si tu me veux, c'est tout ce qu'il faut. Je viendrai à toi. Peut-être que tu ne ressens pas la même chose, mais je t’aime et je le ferai toujours. [As if anyone could be more important to me than you. You are my life, Master Vincent. I gave my life for yours willingly, remember? I was ready to be executed. And I remain ready. I wait for you. I haven’t touched anyone else, and I won’t, no matter how many people you take to bed. You do what you need to do, sir. I just want to be there for you. Even when things are better. When you’re not in pain anymore…and I’ll make sure that day comes…when you’re not in pain anymore, I still want to be next to you. You don’t need to be unwell to sleep beside me, Vincent. If you want me, that’s all it takes. I will come to you. Maybe you don’t feel the same way, but I love you, and I always will.]”

Maybe it was the dawn finally starting to rise, but the world shone gold at all the edges. Like it was cracking, and sunlight was seeping in. It bled around the curtains, onto the bed, onto their joined hands. But Vincent’s eyes were too well adjusted to the darkness. He didn’t know what to do. Barely even knew how to talk around the lump in his throat. Say it back. I love you too. I love you too. I love you too. “Je ne savais pas… Je ne savais pas que tu pouvais parler de cette façon, Chidi. [I didn’t know…I didn’t know that you could talk this way, Chidi.]”

“Ce n’est pas une conversation, monsieur. Je t'aime. [It’s not talk, sir. I love you.]”

I love you too. “Allonge-toi à côté de moi. [Lay next to me.]” I love you too. “Jusqu'à ce que le médecin arrive. [Until the doctor gets here.]” I love you too. “Je ne veux pas que tu ailles n'importe où. [I don’t want you to go anywhere.]”

And Chidi slipped into the bed beside him, embracing Vincent skin to skin, arms securely around his waist, sighing contentedly against his neck… not asking him to say a thing. “Je sais. [I know.]”

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Image Sources: One | Two

[fiercefauna]

@tiredsn0w @ironymobile (and everyone) this is so far the ending of it. Between their relationship- 049’s latest “patient” and the over all effects of their antics on Keplerian politics this has been a long - long - story. Chapter 22 - 24 (see thread below for the other parts) This current draft is my second - mostly I’ve had this going in the background and used it as means of stopping myself from working on other things I was supposed to be taking breaks from.

“il medico della peste” was a ref to a kind of Italian comedy theater I read about on Wikipedia where plague doctors were stock characters. I imagined 7cb7 reading something like it while trying to find out just what the hell 049 was. lol.

Fiver uses French again to command Lazare, (I googled it so it’s probably not great.)

That said people can now read the whole thing - (if they want.)

Part 22.

Zero’s were ambush predators, big and slow until the forearms unfolded to seize a prize Uhmishie unscathed for the spawning pins, or deliver an instant death for the table. 0pt8 would have surely shot the Asu if not for those forearms. 5a82 had wiped out nearly half the rebel leadership and his status as a lab rat was supposed to excuse everything? Perhaps if the real Asues hadn’t burned up in Earth’s atmosphere there would have been no need to scrape bottom.

It also seemed that what happened in Under-Vegas didn’t necessarily stay buried there. 

A hideous, human attempt at a Two emerged from the holding area and stepped out into the glassed-in, forested maze, kneeling and resting its pale proboscis upon the shoulder of the measly thing it coveted, not caring that 0pt8’s eyes were open. 

“Drop your weapons and show us your hands!” Six armored rebels charged in and immediately dropped their own weapons. Call something an Asu enough times and people start to believe in such things. 

“Prenez leurs armes!” said the runt in a Terran language 0pt8 couldn’t recall the name of, the words seeming to melt into each other, like wax. The dropped weapons were swept up by the big Zero’s tail. 

The runt nodded toward 4b80’s cell. “Let it out.”

“That’s a Fed.” Warned one of the captured soldiers. “It’ll turn on you like it turned on us.” 

Five-aye kept his weapon at the ready but was very sure not to point it at anyone. His hands wanted to kill so badly even though his mind very much did not. 

“Why did you run away?” Pressed the squad leader. “Couldn’t someone else have retrieved 049 - do you have any idea how risky this was?”

“Uh - ”

“That boyfriend of yours isn’t dangerous, is he?” 

7cb7’s voice came in over the intercom. “How ya’ll doin’?” 

Part 23.

An hour later 7cb7 sat with Forby, Tasha, Seedy, the Doctor and the Asu, who was still, unfortunately, in possession of a loaded weapon and, absurdly enough, an eerily silent Zero who appeared to be under the weather. Accommodating the Zero had meant remaining in the greenhouse proper, among the massive machinery, dripping condensation and immense weight of the new situation resting upon all of their backs. “The resistance has agreed to house Aven-10 at Headquarters along with their entourage for the time being, so no one’s going back there any time soon.”

Seedy and the room’s additional guards shouted “WHAT!” 

7cb7 waited for them to calm down. “The Aven says that Tutu was behind the attempt to kidnap Five-aye and the Doctor back there in the Ewysschie Shelter. Claims they’ve gone rouge along with some of their military cronies and says they’re here to ‘offer protection.’ The rest of the Feds are backing their claims. Tutu is currently, officially missing.”

Five-aye stood up. “My parent would never betray their masters!”

“I don’t buy it either, could be their masters ordered them to betray. The Feds desperately need a villain right now as villainizing us is no longer working. The press have been calling the guy a weirdo so the government is well aware of your parent’s scapegoat value.”

Seedy was assembling something that was quickly confiscated by a guard. They replied, as if in protest, “What happens if this place is attacked?”

“The processing center will be fortified, the greenhouse will have to take it’s chances. We can evacuate people from it and pipe out the fish if need be.”

“Why the fish?” Mumbled a guard. “Do you want several tons of dead fish across the street from headquarters?” Mumbled another.

Tasha seemed distracted by the Zero, but turned away when it met her stare. “Are we going to have to join the resistance officially?” 

“For now you’re officially prisoners. I’d recommend you help train our personnel in the care of the facility in case you have to leave. The Asu and his Paramour may eventually require relocation and you’re still the only mammal specialist on the planet - the only one that matters anyway; the others are all close relatives of Aven.”

Slowly it dawned on the Asu just how much escaping the compound had shaken an already crumbling edifice over everyone who’d ever spoken a single kind word to him, but it was worse than that. “The Feds will make this all about me and my parent and the Doctor instead of about the war they started! They are turning this into reality television, and I was way too fucking stupid to see it!”

7cb7 laughed bitterly. “We saw it long before you did, I guess we should have told you something but feared you’d take it as a threat to your relationship.” 

“But weren’t you planning to separate us all along?” 

“Uh, excuse me, Doctor? Something you want share with the room?” 

“I experienced uh, an attack of the nerves.” 

Both creatures eyed each other disdainfully but silently agreed that surgical addiction was a discussion for another time. Five-aye’s legs refused to fold back under the chair and his hands clenched into fists. “You thought he’d died?”  

“For a little while. Plans were made to keep you in the dark but I wasn’t part of them. You - you did say you wanted us to provide him some enrichment - ”

Five aye left the room ignoring all objections to that end. The Doctor rose to follow but 7cb7 swept around in front of him and pointed to the restlessly shuffling Zero. “First, deal with your friend!” 

Part 24. 

7cb7, the Pathra, the main asset of the resistance had 5a82 not returned, had presented the supposedly deceased former assassin like that stupid monkey had presented Simba in that ridiculous movie from Earth, but it had not relieved them of their duties to the cause. 

What they wanted was to spend the whole night with their lower limbs detached and not worry about having to put them back on again should something require their immediate attention. They managed an hour before gearing up and venturing out of the safety of a room they had promised to not leave for at least a full quarter of allotted sleep. Forby didn’t wake up, fortunately. They promised themselves they’d never again let their intimate friend and colleague out of their site, but the two needed its rest more than anyone, and to be out of that stupid robot suit. 

Resident celebrity, Earth Tasha, was sitting in an area overlooking one of the nursery tanks of the lungfish farm. She’d been among the first of a new class of media introducing new forms of social influence to which the old guard payed close attention. 7cb7 reminded themself not to identify this new asset too much with the political mechanisms on which she had once fed, this wasn’t Earth after all, nor one of its films. 

Tasha mixed her favorite Terran cocktail, Michelada, and offered it to her guest, for she wasn’t so sure what they liked. 7cb7 approved, beer had additional food value and would allow them to skip the next few meals, however there were a lot of strange spices in it. They tried to smile after taking a sip. Why couldn’t beer just be beer? Tasha seemed to be thinking more about the crouched figure in the vat beyond the sound-proof glass than weather or not her guest was enjoying themself. “It seems Vase was determined to visit a holy site currently forbidden to Zero’s. A holy site in the middle of a war-zone manned by people who assumed Zero’s went extinct eons ago.” 

“I’ve heard they were a religious nut - of the kind not even tolerated by the religious. Sure, their people are curious about what happened but it might be possible to give them some rendered remains or something so they are satisfied.”

“I’d hate to think they could never go back.”

“What the shit is wrong with them anyway? No amount of brain damage causes a person to automatically understand a hyper-specific alien language.”

“I didn’t examine the body before my sibling showed it to 049. Not much is known about Zeros. They are VERY protective of their dead and live ones attract way too much attention in urban environs so it’s hard to do studies, but based on what we know about Ones it’s not impossible Vase just regrew their brain, and are relearning to speak.”

The rebel One took another sip and shrugged off the odd flavors. They badly needed to be drinking right now. “Seedy showed the body to 049 you say? Did he do anything to it?” 

There was a long pause in the conversation. 

“We need to know if this had anything to do with 049.”

“Yes, he did seem to be performing some kind of autopsy- or he was trying to embalm it? I was worried the Feds would try and track it down and use the situation to some political end so I moved Vase’s locator device to a thellenoot we managed to capture in the marsh.”

“And you left the Doctor alone to do this?”

“Forby was with him.”

“And Forby says they saw at least one Zero, seems it’s safe to assume it was Vase. Something really odd happened here and I think we should be really careful about letting that Doctor thing mess with any more bodies.”

Tasha stood up and approached the glass, looking down toward the round tank and it’s large, kneeling occupant. “So what happens to Lazare?” 

“Depends on their behavior, we’ve had some close calls. Thing gets aggressive when the love birds aren’t around. If 049 had something to do with what’s going on with Vase - well, it could change a lot.” 

“Are you implying we should - ”

“I’m not implying anything, all I’m saying is I wouldn’t get too attached.”

“You wouldn’t-”

“I’m not saying It’s going to be me who does it. I’m saying those other Zeros might want something tangible in order to not become a problem, and it doesn’t seem like Vase could be given back to them as is. Not to mention all else that could happen even if the Zero population doesn’t turn this into an issue. I’m mean, what if the Feds ask for Vase, Zeros are supposed to be under their jurisdiction and what’s if it’s traced to 049?”

Tasha returned to her chair and rested her head on the table. 7cb7 touched the hand that held her half-finished drink. 

“This is a war you know, even if that thing is a person, people are forfeit.”

She lifted her head. “What might the loss of Lazare do to - those other two?”  

7cb7 raised their wrist-mounted view screen and observed the love birds again. 

With a tall, lanky Terran curled around him it was so easy to forget Five-aye had been the agent of so - so much death, yet despite the Doctor’s obvious insanity and the Murder Messiah’s long rap sheet it still felt like garbage having to do this. With a camera who’s lens was disguised as a working light at least the pair could be made to think they had privacy. 

All the information available on “il medico della peste” seemed determined to confuse. Was it a demon, a myth, a clown, or just an obsolete profession? The uniform forged into his very flesh - possibly from birth, seemed to have dated from long before humans even had a theory of genetics let alone prospects of their modification. Not that anything like 049 was even within the capabilities of current Terran technology.

“I don’t know how they’d react. So, for the time being we’ll have to manage as is. Just, don’t get too attached to Lazare is all I’m saying.”

THE END.

Note - this may under go changes or new edits. Thanks for reading.

[locksmithauburnil3]

Locksmith Auburn IL

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[lunamagicablu]

Quando desideri entrare a casa di un conoscente, che sia un parente o un amico, bussi alla porta, suoni il citofono o il campanello. E immagino che tu ti assicuri che la tua visita sia cosa gradita e non improvvisa, magari fai una telefonata per avvisare del tuo arrivo… Questo accade perché hai rispetto degli spazi altrui, ne riconosci i confini e non li valichi senza il permesso di chi li abita. Perché, dunque, dovrebbe essere diverso con un bosco o un luogo naturale? Anche quegli ambienti posseggono confini, regole, limiti e padroni di casa, anche se non sono come li concepirebbe la nostra umana mentalità. Boschi, radure, montagne, praterie hanno una loro logica che sfugge alle nostre menti razionali, ma questo non ci giustifica a non rispettarla. Ci sono luoghi che non vogliono essere visitati, che non amano presenze esterne. Esistono pieghe della natura che si richiudono in se stesse perché hanno bisogno di ricucire ferite invisibili, di guarire energie sottili che noi avvertiamo solo in rari casi… Eppure ci arroghiamo spesso il diritto di volere e potere arrivare ovunque, anche dove non saremmo ben accetti. E’ possibile riconoscere questi tratti di foresta o di natura, anche se servono occhi attenti e cuore aperto. Mel www.spondediboscomadre.com ************************* When you want to enter the home of an acquaintance, be it a relative or a friend, you knock on the door, ring the intercom or the bell. And I imagine that you make sure that your visit is pleasant and not sudden, maybe you make a phone call to notify you of your arrival… This happens because you have respect for other people's spaces, you recognize their boundaries and you don't cross them without the permission of those who inhabits. Why, then, should it be any different with a forest or a natural place? Even those environments have borders, rules, limits and hosts, even if they are not as our human mentality would conceive them. Woods, clearings, mountains, prairies have their own logic that escapes our rational minds, but this does not justify us not respecting it. There are places that don't want to be visited, that don't like external presences. There are folds of nature that close in on themselves because they need to mend invisible wounds, to heal subtle energies that we feel only in rare cases... Yet we often claim the right to want and be able to get anywhere, even where we would not be welcome. It is possible to recognize these traits of forest or nature, even if you need attentive eyes and an open heart. Mel www.spondediboscomadre.com 

[fuckuuufuckingfuck]

Nous voici sur le pont de l’opéra.

Qu’est-ce que le pont ? Il s’agit d’une passerelle menant du d’un côté à l’autre du troisième étage, appelé « 1er service ». Ce pont est accroché par des palans* qui permettent de le mettre à la hauteur souhaitée, comme n’importe quelle autre perche.

Le pont n’est utilisé que par nous, les electros, et nous sommes les seuls à aller sur les différents services.

Comme vous pouvez le voir, le sol du pont n’est qu’un ensemble de trappes.

Pour régler les projecteurs du pont, nous devons ouvrir une trappe, nous allonger, et passer nos bras et souvent nos bustes dans le vide. Il ne nous reste plus qu’à faire faire le focus, régler le zoom, ajouter une gélatine, et ici appliquer du gaffe en aluminium.

Nous sommes obligés de travailler avec un intercom avec lequel nous sommes en communication directe avec l’éclairagiste.

Le pont c’est le plus dangereux parce que pour y accéder il faut grimper plusieurs étages à l’échelle avec souvent une frontale, un leatherman, l’intercom, des gants, des porte filtres, des gelâtes, du gaffe alu. Puis, le pont étant mobile, il est rarement à sa place de passerelle entre les services. Il est souvent 2m au dessus, 1m en dessous, donc il fait escalader les rambardes avec tous ces trucs dans les mains. C’est dangereux mais ça se fait. Je l’ai fait une fois dans le noir complet (je n’avais plus de batterie sur ma frontale) et j’avais 3min pour le faire parce qu’après le public rentrait, je peux vous dire que j’ai vraiment eu peur de mourir.

*palant = sorte de moteur utilisé dans le spectacle

N’hésitez pas si ça vous intéresse et vous avez des questions, j’aime bien parler de mon travail et il est très peu connu

[clairewomack]

youtube videos

Un canal que je regarde en ce moment s’appelle Emergency Intercom. C’est un podcast où les hôtes parlent de différents sujets de manière amusante et décontractée. Ils discutent d’actualités et de leurs histoires personnelles. J’aime leur humour et la façon unique dont ils abordent chaque épisode.

[stranotizie]

Prezzo: (as of - Details) APRI A DISTANZA E NON PERDERE MAI UN VISITATORE: rendi smart il tuo citofono. Ricevi avvisi in tempo reale e apri l'ingresso dell'edificio da qualsiasi luogo utilizzando l'app gratuita Ring sul tuo smartphone. Che tu sia in riunione o fuori casa, con la funzione di apertura a distanza puoi controllare l'accesso.COMUNICA ISTANTANEAMENTE CON L'AUDIO BIDIREZIONALE: parla al citofono con i visitatori, che si tratti dei bambini, di amici o familiari, o di un corriere Amazon, direttamente dal tuo smartphone con l'audio bidirezionale.INSTALLAZIONE SEMPLICE FAI-DA-TE: collega Ring Intercom direttamente al sistema citofonico in uso senza bisogno di modifiche all'infrastruttura condivisa dell'edificio. Inoltre, non è necessaria alcuna foratura o installazione complessa, perché con le strisce di montaggio autoadesive incluse nella confezione puoi configurare tutto molto rapidamente e senza problemi.CONDIVIDI FACILMENTE L'ACCESSO CON AMICI E FAMILIARI: grazie alle chiavi virtuali per gli ospiti condividi facilmente l'accesso con le persone di cui ti fidi, consentendo loro di entrare nell'edificio senza doverti aspettare. Tu hai sempre il pieno controllo, e puoi decidere quando e come far entrare gli ospiti o revocare loro l'accesso in qualsiasi momento tramite l'app Ring.RICEVI CONSEGNE AMAZON SICURE CON LA VERIFICA AUTOMATICA: accertati che i tuoi pacchi siano consegnati in modo sicuro con l'accesso temporaneo per i corrieri Amazon verificati, che possono aprire l'ingresso in sicurezza per lasciare i tuoi pacchi all'interno dell'edificio.APRI LA PORTA CON LA TUA VOCE GRAZIE ALL'INTEGRAZIONE CON ALEXA: utilizza i comandi vocali Alexa per parlare con i visitatori o aprire l'ingresso dell'edificio, rendendo la gestione del citofono ancora più comoda.Controllo completo dall'app Ring: scarica l'app Ring gratuitamente su qualsiasi smartphone Android o Apple. Si integra perfettamente con tutti i dispositivi Ring, consentendo di gestire più prodotti attraverso un'unica interfaccia intuitiva. I clienti diconoI clienti sono soddisfatti della funzionalità del Ring Intercom. Affermano che funziona bene, permettendo di ricevere notifiche vocali e notifiche tramite l'app. Inoltre, apprezzano la comodità offerta dal prodotto. Tuttavia, alcuni lamentano problemi con il audio, come distorsioni, rumori eccessive e un citofono esterno emettente un rumore fortissimo durante l'apertura del cancello. Le opinioni sul ritardo dell’arrivo degli ordini sono contrastanti.

[kim21pro]

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[honeydixonn]

Back to Friends, Myung Gi

seven, home

5477 words

Myung-Gi's head hung low, cradled in his hands as he tried to block out the sterile voice of the intercom, each announcement carving deeper wounds into the heavy silence of the room.

The numbers of the fallen players echoed relentlessly, but he refused to listen. He couldn't bear the thought of her number being spoken, couldn't let that be how he found out. His breath felt stuck in his chest, suffocating him as his gaze lazily drifted upward when the door creaked open again. For what felt like the hundredth time, he braced himself for disappointment, certain it wouldn't be her. It never was.

But this time, his heart stopped.

There she was.

Her familiar bob swayed slightly as she stepped through, her rosy lips curving into a faint smile the moment her eyes locked on him. Myung-Gi froze, his disbelief paralyzing him for a beat before her presence shattered his inertia. "Nari..." he whispered, his voice breaking as he shot up from the bed, crossing the distance between them in an instant.

She met him halfway, and he wrapped her in a desperate, crushing embrace, his arms tightening around her as if he feared she might disappear. Her face pressed into his neck, her warmth anchoring him in a way nothing else could. Without a second thought, he lifted her off the ground, her legs instinctively curling around his torso. He held her as if he could fuse her into himself, as though letting go might mean losing her again.

"I was losing hope," he murmured, but his voice cracked. It wasn't just words—it was a confession. His laugh came out shaky, a thin veil over the sob clawing at his throat.

"I told you to stay strong," she teased softly, her lips brushing against his neck in a smile that tried to be light but couldn't quite reach her eyes.

The room around them faded, but not completely. Eyes followed them—some curious, others cold. A few players glanced at the pair with thinly veiled anger, bitter reminders of their own loneliness, while others felt the faintest twinge of remorse, something resembling humanity stirring in them as they watched this fragile reunion unfold under the weight of the game.

"We're not separating next time," Myung-Gi said, his voice firm and raw, leaving no room for debate. "I don't care what the game is."

She didn't argue. She simply nodded, her legs dropping to the floor, her head against his shoulder, as if words would only crack the fragile moment they shared. Her group watched from the corner, a rare, small flicker of warmth spreading among them.

"I wonder who that is," Jung-Bae—390—muttered, his fingers scratching at his chin.

"She said it was her friend from college," Dae-Ho replied, his tone quieter, more contemplative. "But he doesn't look at her like just a friend."

Dae-Ho's smile lingered faintly as he watched them, somehow comforted. She had someone here—someone who knew her, really knew her. Someone who would fight to keep her alive. And in a world like this, that was something almost sacred.

The group sat together, the tension from earlier melting into the night air as Young-Il cleared his throat and broke the silence. "I just... wanted to apologize for earlier," he began, his voice hesitant, his gaze fixed on the ground. "For losing my temper... and for not beating the game as quickly as I should've. I'm sorry, everyone." His admission was heavy, his pride clearly stinging from the memory of struggling with a children's game.

Dae-Ho waved it off with a casual smile. "No, it's okay. Really."

Gi-Hun shook his leg with a grin, chiming in before Young-Il could sink further into his guilt. "Don't be. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have made that last kick."

Laughter rippled through the group, soft and unifying, but it stilled as a shadow stretched across them, dimming the light. They looked up to see Nari standing there, her fingers interlaced with Myung-Gi's.

"Hi..." she greeted shyly, raising her free hand in a small, awkward wave. Her cheeks flushed slightly, no doubt remembering that the group had witnessed her earlier embrace with Myung-Gi. "This is Myung-Gi," she introduced him, her voice warm. "I've known him for many years now."

The man beside her smiled politely, bowing deeply to the group. "Thank you for protecting her and letting her be part of your team. And Dae-Ho, thank you especially. Coming over might've saved her life." He bowed again, his sincerity unmistakable as his gaze moved across each face.

Jung-Bae was the first to wave off the gratitude, grinning as he slapped Nari on the shoulder. "Don't thank us! Nari's the real MVP here. She's the one who pulled us together and slammed that ddakji on her first try!"

"He's right," Dae-Ho chimed in, his face lighting up with pride for her. "She carried us through that game."

Myung-Gi's stiff posture relaxed slightly, his heart softening at how easily the group embraced her, their camaraderie infectious. Young-Il, who had been somber moments earlier, now wore a faint, welcoming smile, gesturing for Myung-Gi and Nari to sit. Dae-Ho scooted over with an easy grin, patting the spot next to him on the steps.

"Thank you all for including me in your team," Nari said quietly, bowing her head. Her shy smile carried a sweetness that made the group beam back at her.

"You kidding?" Jung-Bae laughed, launching into an animated reenactment of Nari slamming the ddakji onto the ground. "She didn't just hit it—she obliterated it! Boom!"

The group roared with laughter as Dae-Ho mimicked her determined stance, exaggerating the motion with playful theatrics.

"Very impressive, you were," Jung-Bae teased, his laughter spilling into his words.

"We were lucky she joined us," Dae-Ho agreed before nudging Jung-Bae with a grin. "But what about your Flying Stone play? One shot, underhand, and bam! It was like watching Kim Byung-Hyun!"

Dae-Ho grinned, pretending to toss an imaginary stone with exaggerated flair, his face twisting into a comically intense expression.

"You were so serious," Nari giggled, tapping his shoulder. "Like this." She began mimicking his movements, her laughter bubbling up as she pretended to flick stones like an expert.

"And what about you, 388" Jung-Bae shot back. "I couldn't even see your hands when you did Gonggi. You were like The Flash!"

The group erupted into laughter again as Dae-Ho playfully reenacted his Gonggi flip, hamming it up with mock intensity. Nari joined in, her movements exaggerated as she pretended to toss Gonggi pieces.

"Was Gonggi the only game you ever played?" Jung-Bae asked, his voice exaggerated as he pretended to catch invisible Gonggi pieces, letting out over-the-top sound effects.

Dae-Ho laughed, rocking in his spot. "I'm the only son in two generations. My mom didn't let me out much, so I was stuck at home playing with my sisters." He laughed again, but it wavered slightly, his eyes flickering to the ground as though the memory stung.

"And yet," Jung-Bae interjected with a smirk, "they let their precious son join the Marines?"

Myung-Gi, who had been sitting quietly, noticed Dae-Ho's smile falter before it morphed into something artificial—too wide, too perfect. It reminded Myung-Gi of the mask he used to wear, the one that hid feelings too heavy to share.

"My father's idea," Dae-Ho admitted, his tone carefully neutral. "He wanted me to be more of a man. He fought in the Vietnam War, you see."

Gi-Hun let out a quiet whistle, his expression a mix of awe and respect. "He sounds like a great man," Jung-Bae added, leaning in, his curiosity piqued. "Was he a Marine too?"

The question hung in the air, making Dae-Ho visibly uncomfortable. Nari, ever perceptive, squeezed his hand gently, a silent acknowledgment of the burden the topic carried.

Dae-Ho cleared his throat, brushing the question aside. "Yeah, well... would you excuse me for a moment?" He stood abruptly, forcing the conversation in a different direction. "Listen. Perhaps we should all introduce ourselves properly. I still don't know most of your names. Only Miss Nari and Myung-Gi here." He bowed respectfully toward them before turning back to the group.

"I'll start." He raised a fist into the air, his smile strained but genuine enough. "I'm Kang Dae-Ho. 'Dae' means 'big,' and 'Ho' means 'tiger.'" He mimed a tiger's claws with exaggerated motions, drawing a laugh from the group.

Jung-Bae roared playfully, pointing at him. "Wow. 'Big tiger.' Cool name. I'm Park Jung-Bae. 'Righteous' and 'twice.' My parents wanted me to be twice as righteous." He scratched the back of his head, chuckling sheepishly. "I'm still working on that one."

Young-Il smiled at Nari and Myung-Gi before introducing himself. "I'm Oh Young-Il."

Jung-Bae repeated the name, testing its sound. "Young-Il..." Gi-Hun leaned forward as if the name struck a chord. "'Young-Il' sounds like 'zero one,' and that's my number."

Young-Il glanced down at the 001 stitched into his chest and let out a laugh. "Well, that's easy to remember."

Dae-Ho's face lit up in realization. "Oh, that's true! Your name is your number!" The two laughed together, the tension dissolving momentarily.

Turning to Gi-Hun, Young-Il asked, "And you? What's your last name?"

Gi-Hun adjusted his posture, his expression shifting into something more somber. "My name is Seong Gi-Hun," he said softly.

The group responded with a collective, "Ah," though the weight in Gi-Hun's tone was hard to miss.

Young-Il grinned mischievously, clearly aiming to lighten the mood. "'Seong' literally means 'last name.'"

Gi-Hun barely mustered a smile, but Young-Il and Myung-Gi chuckled, even as Gi-Hun's distant look lingered.

"And what about you two?" Jung-Bae asked, turning to Nari and Myung-Gi. "What do your names mean?"

Nari smiled faintly, her fingers fidgeting as she picked at the skin on her thumb. "My name means 'happy' and 'lily,' like the flower. Ha Nari."

Myung-Gi's gaze softened as he looked at her, his lips curling into a small smile. "It suits her," he said quietly, his voice almost tender. "She's always smiling—always 'happy.'"

Dae-Ho nodded in agreement, but Young-Il leaned in close to Myung-Gi, whispering, "And beautiful like a lily. You're very lucky."

The flush that bloomed on Myung-Gi's cheeks betrayed him, and he fumbled to object, but Nari spoke up before he could. "His name means 'plum' and 'bright spirit.' Lee Myung-Gi. The Amazing Myung-Gi. Mr. Bright Plum."

The group erupted into laughter, Myung-Gi burying his face in his hands as the teasing continued. Nari's laugh, light and genuine, made him peek through his fingers, stealing a glance at her. She caught his gaze, her eyes sparkling, and for a brief moment, the world around them stilled.

But the moment shattered when the sharp buzz of the door rang out. The men in their mask-shaped helmets and pink suits entered, their presence like a storm cloud rolling in. The laughter died, replaced by silence as the weight of the game pressed down on them once more.

"Congratulations to all of you for making it through the second game," the square-masked man announced, his voice hollow and mechanical. Myung-Gi's gaze burned into him, his hatred barely contained.

"Here are the results of the second game."

With a click of the remote in his hand, the lights dimmed, leaving the room illuminated only by the eerie glow of the blue circle and red X on the floor. Above them, the ceiling parted, and the now-familiar haunting tune began to play as the golden piggy bank descended.

The players' eyes followed it, some filled with greed, others with dread. Stacks of won spilled into the bank, the clinking sound ringing hollow in the silence. On the screen behind the pink-suited men, the prize money counter ticked upward as it accumulated, digit by digit.

"In the second game, 110 players were eliminated. The prize money accumulated up to this point is 20.1 billion won. Since there are 255 players remaining, each person's share is 79,823,530 won."

The numbers settled on the screen, but the room didn't erupt with cheers. The players stood frozen, their expressions wavering between disappointment and disbelief.

"Wait, what?" A man finally shouted, breaking the tense silence. "It's still under 100 million? It's not even 80 million!"

"Only 110 people died? Is that all?" A woman chimed in, her voice shrill with frustration.

Their anger filled the air, but Nari hardly heard them. Her chest tightened as her eyes flicked up to the glowing numbers on the screen, then back down to the floor. That amount wouldn't even touch her debt—let alone Myung-Gi's.

She turned her head to him instinctively, her wide, saddened eyes meeting his steady ones. Her heart twisted as she realized what this meant. They could combine their winnings, scrape everything together—but it still wouldn't be enough.

And yet, a part of her just wanted to go home.

As if reading her thoughts, Myung-Gi lifted a hand, his touch so gentle it sent a shiver through her. His thumb swept across her cheek, brushing away an invisible tear. The faintest, almost imperceptible smile flickered on his lips, but his eyes spoke louder: It's going to be okay.

Nari's throat tightened, her own lips trembling as she tried to smile back. She knew it wasn't a promise he could keep—not here, not now. But in that moment, she clung to it, as fragile and fleeting as it was.

"I completely understand your disappointment," the masked man's cold voice cut through their fragile moment, pulling Nari and Myung-Gi's attention back to the room. His tone was devoid of empathy, more rehearsed than sincere. "However, we always keep the door open for you to pursue new opportunities. You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not."

Myung-Gi's hand tightened around hers, his grip steady but trembling faintly. His dark eyes met hers, searching. He didn't need words to ask the question: Do you want to stay or go?

Her gaze flickered down to the blue patch on her chest, the silent reminder of her choice in the last vote. The pressure of his hand made her hesitate, her mind torn between the mounting prize money and the small, stubborn voice in her head that begged for home. But finally, she shook her head.

She wanted to leave.

The elevator doors slid open with a dull chime, and the circle-masked men stepped inside, wheeling in the now-familiar voting podium. The machine gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light, its presence ominous.

"Whether to continue the games for a bigger prize or to stop here is entirely your choice," the square-masked man continued, his words carefully measured. "Please feel free to exercise your right to choose in a democratic manner."

Nari swallowed hard, her throat dry, her body weak. Her stomach twisted painfully as the reality of their situation pressed down on her. They hadn't eaten. Not since yesterday's meager meal. No breakfast had been given, just the empty room and the announcement. It dawned on her: they were being starved into desperation, their judgment clouded by hunger—not just for food, but for money.

She clenched Myung-Gi's hand tighter, leaning slightly into him as the players began murmuring around them, their voices rising in anger, fear, and frantic whispers of strategy. Her chest ached, not just from hunger but from the creeping dread of what was to come. Myung-Gi didn't say a word, but his fingers brushed lightly against hers, grounding her, even as his eyes stayed locked on the podium, his jaw set.

Gi-Hun turned to observe his group's reactions to the towering sum of money on the screen. His gaze landed on the blue patch adorning Young-Il's chest. Sensing his stare, Young-Il chuckled awkwardly, his hand moving to cover the patch as if to hide the evidence of his earlier vote. "Don't worry," he said softly, his voice tinged with guilt and resolve. "I want to stop here too. I should be with my wife at the hospital."

Dae-Ho, who had been listening intently, glanced down at his own blue patch. He fiddled with the edge of it, torn between what he knew was the right choice and the gnawing need for money. "I'm telling you," he muttered, forcing a confident smile. "We'll get out this time." His words carried more hope than certainty as he looked around at his group. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he tugged harder at the patch. "Damn it. A Marine should think strategically and know when to retreat. Isn't that right, brother?"

He clapped Jung-Bae on the shoulder, jolting him out of his trance-like stare at the gleaming piggy bank above them. Jung-Bae blinked, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right. Marines aren't invincible. We should get out."

Gi-Hun stepped forward, his expression resolute. "We have to end the games here." He turned to his group, his gaze lingering on Myung-Gi, who carried the heaviest burden of debt. "I'll help you all when we get out. Trust me. Let's vote to leave."

Myung-Gi bowed deeply in gratitude, his shoulders visibly relaxing as a glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes. "Thank you," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

"Alright, guys, huddle up again!" Dae-Ho clapped his hands, bringing them all into a circle. He extended his hand to the center, the others following suit and layering their hands on top of his. "In one, two, three—victory at all costs!"

They echoed the cheer, though it lacked the enthusiasm Dae-Ho was aiming for. He squeezed Jung-Bae's and Myung-Gi's shoulders, giving them both a reassuring nod before turning his attention to the screen.

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001," announced the masked man, his voice echoing through the tense silence. All eyes shifted to Young-Il, who took a deep breath and stepped forward toward the voting podium.

Young-Il paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on the screen. Then, with quiet determination, he pressed the red X. The chime signaling his vote rang out, and a ripple of relief passed through the group. He peeled the blue patch from his chest, accepting the red one handed to him by a guard, and moved to the glowing red side of the room.

"Player 006."

A woman shuffled forward, her face streaked with sweat and tears. Her hand trembled as she hovered over the red button before pressing it decisively.

"Player 007."

The man hesitated, his hand wavering between the buttons. He glanced at the screen, where two votes to leave were already registered. But the money—the money wasn't enough. His lips pressed into a thin line as he took a shaky breath and pressed the blue button instead. The cheerful chime echoed, breaking the fragile hope in some players' faces. He avoided everyone's gaze as he exchanged his patch for blue and moved to the glowing blue side, his head hung low. His mother, standing among the crowd, gasped in dismay.

The votes continued, each one shifting the balance. Some players held firm in their decision to leave, while others clung to the faint promise of more money. As the masked man called, "Player 114," all eyes turned to Nari.

Myung-Gi gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, silently conveying his trust. She took a deep breath, her legs feeling like lead as she walked to the podium under the watchful eyes of the crowd. Nam-Gyu, standing nearby, sneered and muttered to Thanos, "His bitch better not change her vote."

Thanos barely reacted to Nam-Gyu's words, his focus locked on Nari. He watched her as she walked, the determination in her stride, the curve of her jaw set with resolve. Her punch from earlier still lingered in his memory, and strangely, he found it thrilling. There was something about her fiery nature that he couldn't ignore. A small grin tugged at his lips, his eyes tracing her every movement. "She's got guts," he muttered, almost to himself. His admiration wasn't just for her physical beauty, though that certainly didn't escape him. It was her spirit, the way she seemed to defy everything around her, that drew him in.

If there was one thing Thanos couldn't resist, it was a woman who didn't back down easily—and Nari embodied that completely. Even the slight bruise from her punch made him smirk. He didn't even mind it; if anything, it intrigued him more.

At the podium, Nari's hand hovered over the buttons, her chest tightening at the weight of the decision. Finally, she pressed the red button. The chime of her vote brought mixed reactions—some groaned in frustration, while others sighed in relief. Quickly, she peeled the blue patch from her chest, replacing it with a red one before hurrying to join Young-Il on the red side.

Young-Il draped an arm over her shoulder in a protective, fatherly manner, giving her a small squeeze as if to say she'd done the right thing. She rubbed her arm nervously, glancing at the screen as the vote continued. From the corner of her eye, she caught Thanos still watching her, his grin lingering. She didn't know what to make of it, but she decided she didn't care.

A few votes later, Player 120, Hyun-Ju, stepped up to cast her vote. From the sidelines, Nari and Young-Mi exchanged hopeful smiles, silently willing her to press the red X. But the sound that followed wasn't what they'd hoped for—the chime of the blue button rang out, and their smiles faded. Hyun-Ju's vote hadn't changed, and now the balance shifted, with the blue side gaining a critical lead: 34 to 33.

Hyun-Ju avoided Young-Mi's teary gaze as she walked over to the blue side, where another player from her team, Player 007, Yong-Sik, stood with his head bowed in shame. The weight of her decision pressed heavily on her shoulders, but she couldn't bring herself to look back at the red side.

As Player 126 prepared to step forward, Gi-Hun surged through the crowd, desperate to sway the undecided players. Before he could speak, however, Young-Il's voice cut through the room like a whip.

"Are you all out of your minds?" he barked, stepping over the red line to stand in front of the blue side. His stern gaze swept over the players who had voted to stay. "You still want to keep going after watching all those people die? Who's to say you won't be next?"

His voice rose with anger and desperation as he turned his attention to the players who hadn't yet voted. "We have to stop! We'll all die if we keep going! Come to your senses and leave with that money!" He pointed emphatically at the piggy bank above them, its golden glow a cruel reminder of the stakes. His tone was harsh, almost fatherly, as he scolded the group. "You've got to survive first, or there won't be a next step."

From the blue side, Player 100 stepped forward, his expression twisted with disdain. "What do you think we can do with a mere 70 million?" he sneered.

Nari clenched her fists, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn't their fault he was drowning in ten billion won of debt.

"I don't know how much you owe," Player 100 continued, his voice sharp and bitter, "but for most people here, that doesn't even cover 10% of their debt. Am I right?"

Nari couldn't stay silent any longer. She stepped forward, her eyes blazing with anger and despair. "Why should we have to suffer because you owe so much?" she shot back, her voice trembling. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to break in front of him.

"Hush, girl! You already chose!" Player 100 snapped, his tone dismissive.

Myung-Gi took a step toward him, his face dark with anger, but Dae-Ho quickly held him back, his firm grip a silent plea to avoid escalating the situation.

Young-Il raised a hand, signaling that he had this under control. His gaze didn't waver as he glared at Player 100. "There's no next step for us! That money won't change anything!"

Several players who had already voted blue began nodding in agreement with Player 100.

"It was 25 million after the first game," Player 100 argued, his voice growing louder as he fed off the crowd's murmurs. "Now it's 78 million! After just one more game, the prize more than tripled! If we play one more game, it'll be at least 240 million!"

Young-Mi's resolve crumbled at his words. She broke down, her sobs filling the tense silence. "But I can't do this anymore," she cried, her voice shaking with fear and exhaustion.

Nari quickly stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Young-Mi as she began to fall apart. She held her tightly, even as her own tears threatened to spill over.

"Please," Young-Mi sobbed, her voice muffled against Nari's shoulder. "Please let me out of here. I really... I really want to go home." Her tears soaked into Nari's neck as she clung to her, trembling. "I don't want to die."

On the blue side, Hyun-Ju couldn't bring herself to look away. Guilt clawed at her as she watched Young-Mi's breakdown, every tear a painful reminder of the choice she had made. She swallowed hard, shame and regret burning in her chest, but the weight of her decision felt irreversible.

"Young lady." A man who had voted for the blue circle addressed Young-Mi, his voice trembling, his hands unsteady. "You're young, so you'd probably have another chance. I don't." His watery eyes lingered on her, watching as she fell apart in Nari's arms.

"Please!" Young-Mi sobbed, her voice cracking.

The man shook his head, his own pain spilling out in shaky words. "My family and I have no future. My business failed, and now I owe over 500 million. I've got to make at least half of that here if I want a real shot at a fresh start." Tears streaked his face as he pleaded his case, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Young-Mi's cries drowned out his reasoning, her shoulders trembling as Nari gently rubbed her back, whispering softly in an attempt to calm her.

"What if you die?" Young-Il's voice cut through the room, sharp and unyielding. His eyes bore into the man, his tone laced with frustration and aggression. He gestured toward Young-Mi, his words biting. "If you die here, your family won't even get your body. Then it'll be the end for you and your family! Don't you see?"

The man recoiled, his resolve faltering as tears streamed down his face. Yet, before the tension could settle, players who hadn't yet voted began stepping forward, their determination radiating through the room.

"Don't be fucking scared!" one of them shouted, his voice brimming with reckless confidence. "Ddakji, Red Light Green Light, Spinning Top—it's not like the games are that difficult!" He spun around, pointing to the screen with exaggerated bravado. "Look! There are still 255 players left! Way more than half of us survived! We've made it this far, so let's do it one more time!" He raised his fist in the air, a hollow imitation of triumph.

The room buzzed with murmurs of agreement, emboldened by the player's display. Player 100 strode up beside him, his face lit with a twisted enthusiasm. "You make such a good point, young man. That's right! We've all played the games well and survived until now! Now, let's play one more game! Just one more, and that's it!" He thrust a finger into the air, his voice rising above the growing chaos. "Let's play just one more game!"

The chant began to spread like wildfire. "One more game! One more game!" The room echoed with the voices of desperate players clinging to the hope of wealth, their chants filling the space with an unsettling energy.

Gi-Hun stood frozen, horror washing over him. How could they want to stay in this death trap? His stomach churned as flashes of the past flooded his mind—Sang-Woo's haunted gaze, Sae-Byeok's final moments, the crushing weight of what happened three years ago. The memories clawed at him, threatening to drag him under.

Dae-Ho and Myung-Gi exchanged wide-eyed glances, the dawning realization hitting them like a freight train. The air around them grew heavy with the bitter understanding that there might be no way out of this nightmare.

Meanwhile, Thanos was bouncing on his heels, his fists raised in the air as he cheered along with the crowd. His eyes gleamed with a manic energy, his enthusiasm amplified by the pills coursing through his system. To him, the chanting, the chaos—it was all just part of the thrill.

Young-Il and Gi-Hun exchanged a grim glance as the reality of their situation set in—they were stuck here. The air felt suffocating, the weight of the vote crushing whatever hope they had left. Young-Il's expression was dark, his eyes void of remorse.

The vote continued, players stepping forward one by one. Dae-Ho and Myung-Gi pressed the red X, their choice clear, but their votes were lost in the sea of blue. When it was Gi-Hun's turn, he pressed the red X with trembling fingers, though the outcome had already been decided.

"The results are 139 for O and 116 for X," the masked man announced. His voice echoed through the room like a death knell. "Based on majority vote, we'll proceed to the third game tomorrow. Thank you."

Gi-Hun stood frozen, his hand still hovering over the buttons. His gaze locked onto the panel, as if willing the numbers to change. Was this all for nothing? The question tore through his mind, ripping apart what little resolve he had left. He had come back to fight, to make things right—but nothing was changing.

Around him, the players began to disperse, their chatter filling the room with an eerie mix of relief and dread. Dae-Ho glanced at Jung-Bae, noticing the blue patch now secured on his chest. His heart sank, a pang of betrayal cutting through him as he turned away from the man who had abandoned their plan.

Myung-Gi's eyes drifted to Nari, who stood rooted in place, staring at the screen as if it might somehow undo the decision. Her face was pale, her expression a fragile mask of composure. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her it would be okay, but the truth clawed at his throat. He couldn't save her from this place or the pain it inflicted. Even if they left, she had no home to return to—all because of his debt.

Nari's chest heaved with shallow breaths, her emotions threatening to spill over. Without a word, she turned and walked to the steps at the edge of the room. She sank down, curling into herself as the room buzzed around her.

A few players tried to approach her, their voices soft with concern or curiosity, but she ignored them. Her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she stared blankly at the floor, shutting out the noise and chaos around her. The voices blurred into an indistinct hum, her mind retreating into a hollow space where no one could reach her.

Gi-Hun noticed her sitting there, her solitary figure a stark contrast to the crowd around her. His own despair deepened as he realized that, like him, she was drowning in the hopelessness of their shared reality.

Young-Il stood nearby, his expression hard as stone. His gaze briefly flickered toward Nari, but he said nothing, his focus shifting back to Gi-Hun. "We'll need to be ready for tomorrow," he muttered, his voice devoid of emotion.

Gi-Hun nodded absently, his thoughts too scattered to form a reply. His eyes drifted back to the steps, where Nari remained unmoving, her isolation a silent protest against the nightmare they were trapped in.

[roadtripitalie2024]

Samedi 18.

Les intercoms se sont remis à fonctionner... on ne sait pas pourquoi. Ce sont vraiment les plus beaux paysages qu'on ait vus jusqu'ici, les champs de plein de couleurs différentes, les petits villages de Toscane, rouges et en hauteur, fortifiés. C'est vraiment beau. Aucune photo de mon téléphone ne pourra honorer tout ça. J'abdique. Il faudra me croire sur parole.

Bloqués sur le bord de la route.

[zamanin-izinde]

Yapay Zeka ile Pazarlamada Yeni Dönem ve Sürdürülebilirlik Çabaları

Yapay zeka (AI) ve sürdürülebilirlik, dijital pazarlamanın geleceğini şekillendiren iki ana unsur haline geldi. Bu makalede, yapay zeka ile pazarlamada yeni dönemi ve markaların sürdürülebilirlik çabalarını ele alacağız. Hem global hem de yerel düzeyde bu konuların etkilerini inceleyeceğiz ve bu trendlerin gelecekte nasıl gelişebileceğine dair öngörülerde bulunacağız. Yapay Zeka ile Pazarlama AI, pazarlama stratejilerini optimize etmek, müşteri deneyimlerini kişiselleştirmek ve veri analitiği süreçlerini hızlandırmak için güçlü bir araç haline geldi. İşte AI'nin pazarlama alanındaki kullanımları: - Veri Analizi ve İçgörü: - AI, büyük veri setlerini analiz ederek müşterilerin davranışlarını, tercihlerini ve eğilimlerini anlamamıza yardımcı olur. Bu sayede daha hedefli pazarlama stratejileri geliştirebiliriz. - Örnek: Google Analytics ve diğer veri analitiği araçları, AI algoritmaları kullanarak web sitesi trafiğini analiz eder ve kullanıcı deneyimini iyileştirecek önerilerde bulunur. - Kişiselleştirme: - AI, müşterilere kişiselleştirilmiş deneyimler sunmak için kullanılabilir. Bu, ürün önerileri, kişiye özel içerik ve hedefli reklamlar şeklinde olabilir. - Örnek: Amazon ve Netflix gibi platformlar, kullanıcılarının önceki davranışlarına dayanarak ürün ve içerik önerilerinde bulunur. - Chatbotlar ve Müşteri Hizmetleri: - AI destekli chatbotlar, müşteri hizmetlerini otomatikleştirerek hızlı ve etkili yanıtlar sağlar. Bu, müşteri memnuniyetini artırır ve işletmelerin maliyetlerini düşürür. - Örnek: Zendesk ve Intercom gibi müşteri hizmetleri yazılımları, AI chatbotları ile müşteri etkileşimlerini yönetir. - Tahmine Dayalı Analitik: - AI, gelecekteki pazar eğilimlerini tahmin etmek için kullanılabilir. Bu, pazarlama stratejilerini proaktif olarak ayarlamamıza olanak tanır. - Örnek: Salesforce'un Einstein AI platformu, satış tahminleri yaparak işletmelere stratejik kararlar almayı kolaylaştırır. Sürdürülebilirlik Çabaları Sürdürülebilirlik, modern işletmeler için sadece bir trend değil, aynı zamanda stratejik bir zorunluluk haline geldi. İşte markaların sürdürülebilirlik çabalarını nasıl artırdığına dair bazı örnekler: - Karbon Ayak İzi Azaltma: - Şirketler, operasyonel verimliliklerini artırarak ve yenilenebilir enerji kaynaklarını kullanarak karbon ayak izlerini azaltmaya çalışıyorlar. - Örnek: Google, tüm veri merkezlerini yenilenebilir enerji ile çalıştırma taahhüdünde bulundu ve 2030 yılına kadar 0 karbon nötr olmayı hedefliyor. - Döngüsel Ekonomi: - Döngüsel ekonomi modeli, ürünlerin ömrünü uzatarak ve geri dönüştürerek atık miktarını azaltmayı hedefler. Bu, kaynakların daha verimli kullanılmasını sağlar. - Örnek: H&M ve Nike gibi moda markaları, geri dönüşüm programları başlatarak eski kıyafetleri toplar ve yeni ürünler üretir. - Sürdürülebilir Tedarik Zinciri: - Şirketler, tedarik zincirlerini daha sürdürülebilir hale getirmek için çalışıyorlar. Bu, çevreye zarar vermeyen malzemelerin kullanımını ve etik çalışma koşullarını içerir. - Örnek: Unilever, tedarik zincirinde sürdürülebilir tarım uygulamalarını teşvik ederek çevresel etkisini azaltmayı hedefliyor. - Şeffaflık ve Raporlama: - Şirketler, sürdürülebilirlik çabalarını ve ilerlemelerini şeffaf bir şekilde raporlayarak tüketici güvenini artırıyorlar. - Örnek: Avrupa Birliği'nin Kurumsal Sürdürülebilirlik Raporlama Direktifi (CSRD), şirketlerin sürdürülebilirlik performanslarını daha şeffaf bir şekilde raporlamalarını zorunlu kılıyor. Tüketici Değerlerinin Değişimi Tüketiciler artık sadece fiyat ve kaliteye değil, aynı zamanda sürdürülebilirlik, deneyim ve veri gizliliği gibi faktörlere de değer veriyor. Bu yeni değer anlayışı, markaların pazarlama stratejilerini yeniden şekillendirmesine neden oluyor. - Sürdürülebilir Ürünler: - Tüketiciler, çevre dostu ve sürdürülebilir ürünlere daha fazla ilgi gösteriyor. Bu da markaların sürdürülebilir ürünler geliştirmesini teşvik ediyor. - Örnek: Patagonia, çevre dostu ve sürdürülebilir outdoor kıyafetler üreterek büyük bir tüketici kitlesine ulaşıyor. - Etik Pazarlama: - Tüketiciler, şeffaf ve etik pazarlama uygulamalarına değer veriyor. Bu, markaların güvenilirliğini artırıyor ve uzun vadeli müşteri sadakati sağlıyor. - Örnek: The Body Shop, hayvan testleri yapmayan ve etik kaynaklardan elde edilen malzemeler kullanan bir güzellik markası olarak tanınıyor. Yapay zeka ve sürdürülebilirlik, dijital pazarlamanın geleceğinde önemli bir rol oynuyor. Markalar, bu iki unsuru stratejilerine dahil ederek daha başarılı olabilirler. Hem tüketici taleplerine yanıt vermek hem de çevresel sorumluluklarını yerine getirmek için bu trendleri yakından takip etmeleri önemlidir. İlginizi Çekebilir - Yapay Zeka ve Otomasyon Araçları: Dijital Reklamcılığın Geleceği - AI Kod Asistanları: Yazılım Geliştirmenin Geleceği - CRISPR Teknolojisi: Görme Yetisini İyileştiren Genetik Düzenleme Buluşu - Yapay Zeka ve Biyoloji: Genetik Mühendisliğin Yeni Yüzü Kaynak - Google's Commitment to Renewable Energy Sıkça Sorulan Sorular (SSS) Yapay zeka pazarlamada nasıl kullanılıyor? AI, pazarlama kampanyalarını optimize etmek, müşteri deneyimlerini kişiselleştirmek ve veri analitiği süreçlerini hızlandırmak için kullanılıyor. Sürdürülebilirlik raporlaması neden önemlidir? Sürdürülebilirlik raporlaması, şirketlerin çevresel etkilerini azaltma çabalarını şeffaf bir şekilde gösterir. Tüketici değerleri nasıl değişti? Tüketiciler artık sadece fiyat ve kaliteye değil, aynı zamanda sürdürülebilirlik ve deneyime de değer veriyor. Kurumsal Sürdürülebilirlik Raporlama Direktifi (CSRD) nedir? CSRD, şirketlerin sürdürülebilirlik performanslarını daha şeffaf bir şekilde raporlamalarını zorunlu kılan bir düzenlemedir. Ashwagandha suyu nedir? Ashwagandha suyu, stres azaltıcı özelliklere sahip bir içecektir ve ashwagandha özü içerir. Read the full article

[ivoirloup]

Here i go with a Suits - SPN crossover. My brain have no leash

"« Sam. [Pitié Harvey j’te promets que c’était pas Dean, on -] Samuel ! Maintenant que j’ai ton attention, tu ne dis rien de plus par téléphone et vous venez au bureau dès que vous le pouvez. [Tu. Tu prends l’affaire ?] Oui Sam, je prends l’affaire. Je l’ai promis non ? [Uhmm] On se voit tout à l’heure. »

Le blond lui haussa un sourcil comme simple question mais il l’ignora pour appuyer sur le bouton de son intercom.

« Donna - »

« Un latte vanille en venti avec sept doses d’expresso. » répondit la rousse avec, il le savait, un ton qui disait qu’elle était rentrée en mode guerre. Ça c’était Donna. « Ton après-midi est libre à partir de quinze heures, t’as un rendez-vous avec Noé pour Vanitas’s Memories à quatorze. Et pitié Harvey, ne commence pas avec Dean. »

Il eut un léger sourire quand il eut le click de la fin de discussion. Avant de se laisser tomber dans son fauteuil avec un long soupir. Bon.

Bah voilà qu’il était re-rentré dans un monde qu’il avait voulu oublier.

« Sept doses d’expressos ? » lança Mike pour reprendre son attention, avec un ton faussement blagueur. « Passes directement à la cocaïne, ça ira plus vite. »" In writting lel

Mike, at Starbucks: Can I get a venti vanilla latte with um, seven espresso shots.

Harvey, in line behind him: Jesus Christ, just do cocaine.