#Network Technician Course

[bananasplit133]

Dial T for Tenna (PART 5)

'Ant' Tenna/Reader

PART 1 -- AO3

Summary: After a calmer broadcast, Tenna is pulled into a surprise meeting with the higher-ups. Tension rises, but the reader helps him stay grounded. Despite everything, they choose to stay by his side through the rest of the day.

----

The next day carried the weight of something unspoken—like the echo after a broadcast that had ended too abruptly. The studio didn't feel loud, exactly, but it wasn’t quiet either. There was a tension in the air that no amount of lighting gels or laugh tracks could dispel. The incident from yesterday—the contestant, the knife, the panic—had slipped into every crack between cables and clipboards. No one said anything outright, of course. They were professionals. But there was a new tightness in the way stagehands moved, how producers huddled behind headsets a little longer than necessary. Every time someone glanced toward the main hallway or the editing bay, it was like they were bracing for a surge of static that never came.

And then, Tenna arrived.

He didn’t enter with a bang. No signature catchphrase. No arms thrown wide, demanding attention like a spotlight come to life. Just the soft tap of his shoes on tile, the hum of his frame as he walked through the lobby like someone who had simply never left. His screen was calm—still glowing white, not flickering or glitching, no sharp color shifts or sound distortions. Just… steady. Even his antennae, usually twitching with some unreadable broadcast tension, were unusually still, rising in slow, measured angles instead of jittering through thoughts he couldn’t say out loud. And his mouth—tight-lipped, flat—didn’t try to form a smirk or a grimace. No theatrics. No false charm. Just a thin line of quiet resolve.

You watched him from the break room doorway as he passed by, barely registering the crew around him. He moved like a weathered professional might walk through a set after a bomb scare—no panic, no collapse, just checking the walls to see what was still standing. When he saw you, he didn’t stop, but his head turned slightly in your direction. A twitch of his antennae. A subtle parting of his lips. Not quite a smile—more like an acknowledgment. The broadcast version of, “You okay?” without ever asking it out loud.

He didn’t ask how you were. And you didn’t ask him either.

That was the strange thing about yesterday’s chaos—it hadn’t broken something between you. If anything, it clarified it. You weren’t just background anymore. Not just the network’s last-ditch “liaison” plastered into place to keep him from melting down on air. He’d looked at you yesterday like you weren’t part of the noise. Like you were the one piece of signal he could tune into when everything else was screaming.

Tenna moved through the building like a presence now, not just a performance. People didn’t flinch when he walked by—not because the fear was gone, but because he wasn’t wearing the same razor-edged energy anymore. He wasn’t performing for them. Not today. He walked into the control room before anyone else could, leaned over the shoulder of a technician still finalizing transitions for the day’s recording, and quietly pointed at a glitch in the lower-third overlay. His antennae dipped as he murmured something under his breath—some note about timing, or color, or spacing. The tech nodded, fixed it, and Tenna stepped back without fanfare.

No booming critique. No tantrum. No static pulse of fury.

Just... work.

Later, in the side hall near the loading bay, you found him again. He was leaned up against a metal case full of cables, coat slightly wrinkled, one antenna bent where it had snagged on a scaffolding pipe earlier. You caught him mid-thought, staring off into some corner of the ceiling like there was an old episode of himself rerunning up there that only he could see. You approached slowly—no clipboard this time, no notes, no rehearsed lines. Just you. Just him.

“You alright?” you asked softly, the air between you still thick with yesterday’s memory.

His mouth pulled into a lopsided shape—something close to a grimace, but lacking any real bite. “You think if I say yes, the sponsors’ll start sending fruit baskets again?”

You gave a dry laugh, stepping beside him. “Depends. You want apples or apologies?”

Tenna snorted, a sharp burst of static through his chest that fizzled just as quickly. “I’ll pass on both. Apples rot, and apologies come with paperwork.” He tilted his head slightly, antennae flicking to one side like a shrug he hadn’t fully committed to. “Not like any of them meant for her to go off like that. They just wanted a wildcard. Something unstable. Something marketable.”

You didn’t correct him. He wasn’t wrong.

“She didn’t belong on that stage,” you said. “You knew it before anyone.”

“I didn’t know,” he muttered, voice low and mechanical, “I felt it. The timing was off. The pacing. The rhythm of the segment just... cracked.” His mouth pressed into a deeper frown. “Used to be, I could fix anything. Tanked jokes, busted lights, even dead crowds. All it took was volume. Flash. I’d pump the feed so full of noise they wouldn’t even remember the glitch. But yesterday...”

He didn’t finish.

You didn’t push.

The silence that followed was long and stretched, but it didn’t feel empty. It just sat with you both, like something earned. Tenna’s antennae drooped slightly—not with exhaustion, exactly, but like someone powering down just enough to feel the air around them. You watched his screen quietly, waiting for the static that usually crawled at the edges to return. It didn’t.

Eventually, he turned his head toward you, mouth parting like he had to chew on the thought before letting it out. “You remember what she said? That she didn’t sign up for this?” His shoulders flexed slightly. “Neither did I.”

You looked at him then—really looked. Not as a star, not as the network’s unbreakable showman, not as the suit who screamed catchphrases into the void because it was safer than silence. Just Tenna. Broadcast burnout in a humanoid frame. Not crying for help. Not begging for pity. Just… there.

“I know,” you said softly. “But you stayed anyway.”

He stared forward, then nodded once—mouth twitching downward in what might’ve been the beginning of a real, weary smile. His antennae perked slightly, not all the way up, just enough to register the motion. A signal that said I heard you.

The crew started buzzing again down the hall. Lights warming up. Producers barking over comms. Another episode to prep. Another thirty minutes of structured chaos and camera-ready reactions to build. The world was waking up again. But for now—for this one moment—it was just the two of you tucked between shadows and silence.

“You coming to stage?” he asked finally.

“I’ll be there.”

“...Don’t let them throw another knife girl at me.” he muttered, antennae dipping in the closest thing to a comedic wince.

You gave him a crooked grin. “No promises.”

And with that, he straightened his coat, cracked his knuckles, and rolled his shoulders like he was rebooting a long-lost file from deep in his system. His mouth curled—not quite into a grin, but something that suggested he still knew how to wear one if the moment called for it.

“Alright then,” he murmured, voice steady but still tinged with something tender. “Let’s give them a show.”

Then he turned and walked back toward the stage, his antennae bouncing slightly with each step—lighter now. Less like a man trying to outrun collapse, and more like someone beginning to trust the silence wouldn’t swallow him whole.

—

The show went off without a hitch.

No fog machines breaking down mid-round. No stagehands tripping over wires. No rogue contestants with twitching hands and knives tucked into jacket linings. Tenna was sharp, electric in all the right ways, never overloading. His timing was crisp, his jokes hit their beats, and the audience—blessedly—stayed on their side of the stage. The buzz in the control room leaned toward cautious optimism, like everyone had been holding their breath for forty-five minutes and now weren’t quite sure how to let it out.

You watched him carefully from the wings the entire time. He didn’t know you were tracking his every move—not directly—but you could feel it in how your eyes wouldn’t leave his screen. You weren’t watching the host. You were watching the tilt of his mouth when a segment didn’t land quite right, the brief flex of his shoulders when the audience clapped too late, the flicker across his antennae whenever someone called a cue half a beat early. He didn’t falter. Not once. But the little signs were there, if you knew what to look for. And you did.

Then came the wrap. The sign-off. The "Thanks for tuning in!" delivered with just enough static to sound spontaneous, but clean enough for broadcast. The music swelled. The lights faded.

And Tenna… exhaled.

You caught the way his shoulders dipped—not in defeat, but in release. His mouth slackened slightly, no longer pinched with performance. The glint of white on his screen dimmed to a gentler glow. Not tired, not smug. Just done. It was the kind of ending that usually bought you at least fifteen minutes of peace before someone barged in yelling about numbers.

But then came the voice.

"Mr. Tenna, please report to Conference Room 1-A. Immediately."

It blared in from the overhead speaker with all the warmth of a dial tone. Your stomach twisted. The tone of that announcement was never good. Not neutral. Not casual. Immediate was code for bad. And calling him in right after the show? That was blood in the water.

Tenna didn’t speak. His antennae twitched once, sharply. His mouth pressed into a tight, unreadable shape. Still, he didn’t argue. He just stepped offstage with the same quiet grace he’d worn all day, like someone walking into a spotlight they didn’t ask for.

You moved before he could say anything.

They’re calling him in alone? After that week? After what happened? That’s not just a red flag, that’s a broadcast emergency test pattern. You caught up to him halfway down the hallway, shoes clicking against tile, clipboard forgotten somewhere on a prop cart behind you. He didn’t look at you, but when you fell in beside him, his hand brushed yours in a tiny motion. Not a grip. Not an ask. Just… a reminder that you were there.

“I’m coming with you,” you said softly, more a statement than an offer.

He didn’t argue. Just gave a tiny, affirming twitch of his antennae. His mouth was set straight again, expression unreadable—but you knew better. That was his defensive mode. Screen bright, posture tight, antennae alert. Like a live wire trying not to short.

Conference Room 1-A. Of course it was that one.

That room still held the ghost of every shouted memo and every impersonal “We love you, but…” ever aimed his way. You’d been in there with him during that first meeting. The one with the paper rattling, the light flickering, the static roaring behind his words like a barely leashed storm. You knew exactly how quickly this place could dig its claws into his frame and twist.

He reached for the door handle like it might shock him.

Announcing you that a meeting is about to take place, your thoughts quipped bitterly. Hmm. You should go with him. The higher-ups calling a meeting out of nowhere might bring trouble. And you were right. The moment you stepped inside, the air changed.

The lights in the conference room were always too bright. The walls sterile white, like a blank screen trying to blind you. The suits were already seated in their tidy little rows around the glass table, tablets and styluses at the ready like they were prepping to dissect someone instead of talk. Kairos was already standing, arms crossed tightly, her nametag catching the light in that frustrating, self-righteous way. She didn’t smile. She didn’t welcome him.

She jumped straight into it.

“Tenna. Sit down.”

His mouth curled slightly—not into a smile. It was the kind of twist his lips made when something was being forced out of him. Restraint. Disgust. Tired showbiz tolerance. His antennae twitched again, more sharply this time, but he obeyed. You sat beside him, hand near his on the table but not touching.

Kairos didn’t waste a second.

“Do you want to tell us,” she said, voice dangerously calm, “how that girl—a completely unverified, unscheduled individual—ended up on your stage with a weapon?”

Tenna’s screen didn’t flash. Not yet. His mouth stayed in that tight line. But his antennae tilted back, defensive.

“I didn’t bring her on,” he said, voice flat.

“She was introduced as a contestant on your segment.”

“I wasn’t given a choice,” he snapped back, and the sharpness of it made his antennae flick forward again. “They slotted her in last minute. I didn’t even get a name until I was already live.”

The other suits muttered, tapped their screens like they were scrolling for excuses. Kairos leaned forward slightly.

“You lost control,” she said. “You were supposed to maintain the broadcast. Instead, we had an emergency feed cut halfway through a round. Sponsors are calling. PR is—”

“I handled it,” Tenna said. A bite in his voice now. “No one got hurt.”

“But it was close,” she snapped, louder now. “And if the footage leaks? We’ve got optics to consider. Damage control. Headlines. People saw your screen glitch, Tenna. You think no one noticed that panic loop in the audio?”

His hand twitched on the table. You noticed it. The same way you noticed his screen beginning to brighten, not with light, but tension. The static wasn’t visible yet, but you could feel it. Building.

Too bright. Too fast. Too many voices talking at him instead of to him.

You looked at him. His mouth was tense. Antennae stiff. The glow behind the glass of his screen was becoming just a little too sharp.

You had to step in.

“I was there,” you said, calmly, clearly. The suits turned. Kairos didn’t, but you knew she was listening. “Mr Tenna did everything he could with a chaotic situation he didn’t create. He got everyone out. He kept it from going to black. That was him. Not you. Him.”

Tenna blinked—figuratively—and you felt the tiniest release of tension at your side. His antennae lowered a notch. His hand flexed once on the table and stayed flat. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t explode either.

You could work with that.

Kairos didn’t flinch at your words. She didn’t scold you for speaking. But the flick of her pen against the table—measured, slow, deliberate—spoke louder than her voice ever could. Her expression remained professionally neutral, but her posture screamed frustration barely caged behind a clipboard and a polished blouse. Across the table, the other suits whispered behind their tablets, muttering about liability and news cycles, ignoring the actual person seated inches from them like he was just another broadcast machine that needed tuning.

And Tenna?

He was slipping.

You could feel it—see it—in every detail they ignored. His screen, still a dull white, had begun to hum. Not loud, not chaotic, but enough to rattle the air near him. The kind of quiet pre-static that came before one of his episodes. His antennae were twitching again, sharper now, not in rhythm with his usual controlled theatrics. One of them ticked down and then jerked upright again, like it couldn’t decide whether to brace for impact or send out a distress signal.

But it was his hands that gave it away.

He dropped them to his knees under the table, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants like they were the only thing keeping him tethered. The grip was tight—too tight. The kind of white-knuckle pressure you knew from watching people try to anchor themselves to reality before something inside them cracked. His mouth tightened, clenched at one corner like he was physically holding something back. Words. Static. Rage. Fear. You couldn’t tell which. Maybe all of it.

The suits kept talking.

Kairos was still reciting PR nightmares like it was a weather report.

And Tenna was unraveling in real time right next to you.

Don’t wait. Your brain barked it before you could overthink it. Don’t let him drop here. Not in this room. Not in front of them. You shifted slightly in your seat, slow enough not to draw attention. The hem of the tablecloth grazed the top of your hand as you reached beneath it—careful, cautious—and found his arm where it rested against his thigh.

His forearm was tense, cables and synthetic tendons pulled taut beneath his coat sleeve. You slid your hand over it gently—steady, warm, grounding. No sudden movement. No demand. Just there. You pressed your palm down just enough for him to feel it.

And then, soft—just for him—you whispered: “Hey… you’re here. With me. Not them.”

There was a beat.

Then another.

Tenna’s mouth twitched—not open, not closed. Just… shifted. Like he was processing the words before his mind could reboot fast enough to shut them out. His antennae flicked, then slowly lowered—not limp, but calmer. Less signal lost. More signal stabilized.

His hand didn’t release the grip on his pant leg.

But it stopped tightening.

The hum in his screen softened—not gone, but muted now, like the volume had been turned down. You didn’t let go of his arm. Not yet. Not until he leaned into your touch just slightly—barely noticeable to anyone not watching for it.

But you were.

And then Kairos spoke again, this time louder, with that tired finality of someone wrapping up an unpleasant job.

“We’ll be monitoring the next few episodes closely. If there’s even a hint of instability on-air—emotional or otherwise—there will be consequences.”

She straightened her clipboard with a snap.

“The meeting is adjourned.”

The sound of chairs scraping against the floor rang too loud in the silence that followed. Styluses tapped off, tablets clicked shut. The suits moved in their usual rehearsed rhythm—brisk, indifferent, unaffected. A few tossed tired glances Tenna’s way, but no one lingered. No one said anything to him. Not even Kairos, who simply pivoted on one heel and strode toward the door with the grace of someone who had never once questioned her authority. Just another day at the network.

But Tenna didn’t move.

He stayed seated, hands still resting on his knees. His mouth had drawn into a thin, brittle line. One antenna sagged halfway down, like the energy had drained right out of it. His screen glowed with a dull white pulse—not dangerous, not angry… just empty. Faint interference ghosted along the edge of it, like the image wouldn’t quite finish rendering. He hadn’t looked at you since you touched his arm, but he hadn’t pulled away either.

You let the quiet stretch.

Let the suits walk out first. Let the echo of their footsteps fade behind the conference room doors.

Only then did you slide your chair a little closer, hand still resting on his sleeve. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. His mouth twitched once—like he was trying to form a sentence and the wires just wouldn’t cooperate. His jaw flexed. His antennae slowly started to rise again, unsure, shaky.

“I didn’t lose it,” he muttered finally, voice rough. The sound of static barely touched the words, but you could hear the strain behind them. “I didn’t break. Not really.”

“No,” you said gently. “You didn’t.”

“I wanted to,” he added, quieter now. “I wanted to yell. Scream. Fry the table and walk out and tell Kairos she can stuff her clipboard through a CRT.” He inhaled, and his shoulders lifted sharply with it. “But I didn’t. I sat here. I let them talk to me like I’m not even—like I’m just some busted set piece they can wheel out and dress up and scream at when the ratings dip.”

You hesitated, then leaned in a little closer. “You’re more than that.”

He turned his head just slightly. Not enough to face you fully. But enough to let you know he was hearing it.

“You held it together,” you said. “That’s not nothing.”

Tenna finally let out a long breath—half-static, half-exhaustion. He peeled one hand off his leg slowly, the fabric of his pants creased where his fingers had clutched so hard you were surprised the stitching hadn’t snapped. He stared at his hand for a second, like he didn’t quite recognize it, then rubbed at the side of his screen where the edge flickered faintly, like a headache trying to bloom behind his face.

“I hate this room,” he muttered.

You glanced around. The cold lighting. The clinical table. The emptiness that always buzzed around the walls even when it was full of people.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Me too.”

He finally looked at you—his screen flickering to a faint, washed-out tone. No color. Just the suggestion of something trying to stabilize. His mouth softened—not quite a smile, but no longer pulled so tight. His antennae drooped toward you a little, a quiet motion of… trust, maybe. Or just relief.

You stood first, motioning subtly toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

He nodded, slow and deliberate. Didn’t say anything else as he rose, but when he moved to follow you out, his shoulder brushed against yours and didn’t pull away.

You didn’t need to fill the silence between the two of you.

Because this time, he wasn’t filling it either.

He was just walking beside you. Still lit. Still broadcasting.

Still here.

The hallway felt quieter after the conference room.

Not sterile like before—just… soft. Like the building was exhaling after holding its breath too long. No more shouting. No more accusations. Just the hum of distant machinery and the low shuffle of crew breaking down the last of the day’s sets. Your footsteps echoed beside Tenna’s as you made your way toward his dressing room, neither of you rushing, neither of you speaking. You kept a comfortable pace, close enough that your sleeve brushed his every few strides. He didn’t comment on it.

He didn’t pull away, either.

When you reached the door, he unlocked it with the familiar hiss of an old magnetic reader and pushed it open without fanfare. Inside, the space was as you remembered it—overly lit, lived-in, faintly cluttered with cue cards, old wardrobe notes, and a half-drunk cup of black coffee that had gone cold on the shelf. Tenna stepped inside like muscle memory, tossing his coat onto the side couch and immediately heading toward the small desk in the corner.

“Of course,” he muttered, antennae twitching in resignation, “they left me a pile of incident reports to review.”

You blinked. “Already?”

Tenna made a sharp static noise in the back of his throat—a noise you’d come to recognize as the mechanical equivalent of a bitter laugh. “Oh, they waste no time when they think I’ve embarrassed them.” He plucked a small stack of digital printouts from the desk and dropped into the swivel chair like he was collapsing into it. “Look at this. Eight pages. Eight. On how I may have agitated a potentially unstable contestant by existing too loudly on live television.”

He spun the chair halfheartedly, antennae drooping forward in exasperation. His mouth twisted—not angry, not sad. Just exhausted.

You stepped inside and leaned against the wall near the coat rack. “Need help?”

Tenna looked at you, screen flickering faintly.

Then, he shook his head. “Nah.” His voice lowered into something dry, familiar. “I’ve got this. Paper cuts and PR lies. I’m used to it.”

You nodded slowly. You could tell he meant it. He’d shifted back into function mode—not performing, exactly, but retreating into the safe rhythm of things he could control. You watched him reach for a stylus and begin scanning the first document with quick, deliberate flicks of his hand.

After a moment, he spoke again—quieter now. ��You don’t have to stick around. Really. It’s boring from here on out.” He didn’t look at you when he said it. His screen glowed soft white again, blank. “You should take the rest of the day off. I know they didn’t assign you to babysit paperwork.”

There it was. The graceful exit. The dismissal that wasn’t unkind, just routine. Something he could say without having to admit anything.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t reach for the doorknob. Didn’t make an excuse.

Instead, you smiled—quietly—and stepped toward the little armchair near the far wall, dragging it just close enough that you could see the top of the report stack but not read any of it. You sat down, folding your hands in your lap. “I don’t mind boring.”

Tenna paused, stylus hovering mid-mark.

His antennae twitched once.

Then again.

His mouth didn’t smile. But it didn’t argue either.

He let out a soft, static-laced sigh, so faint it could’ve been mistaken for the white noise of the room’s old AC vent. “You’re strange,” he said, not unkindly. “Sticking around for the boring parts.”

“Maybe,” you said, watching the way his antennae finally settled, relaxed, no longer sharp with stress. “Or maybe I just know when someone shouldn’t be alone.”

He didn’t reply.

But he didn’t ask you to leave again.

For the next hour, the only sounds in the dressing room were the quiet hum of electronics, the occasional scribble of Tenna’s stylus on paper, and the soft shift of your breathing as you leaned back in the chair. He worked. You watched. You didn’t fill the silence with conversation. You didn’t reach for your phone. You didn’t feel the need to. He didn’t need a speech. Just a presence.

Eventually, he glanced your way—not a full turn, just the tilt of his head, a subtle shift in the direction of his screen. “Still not leaving?”

You met the glow of his screen with a calm look. “Nope.”

Tenna was quiet a long moment.

Then: “Good.”

And with that, he returned to his paperwork, the tension slowly unwinding from his frame with every page he signed, every breath he took.

You stayed until the lights dimmed and the office was quiet enough to hear the soft flick of his antennae with every subtle movement.

Not because you had to.

Because he let you.

Because he wanted you there.

---

THANKS FOR READING!

TAGLIST: @fallendove @theilluminatidragonqueen @sacru-tainted @thefiasco-onyourblock @aroura-yuh

[catboybiologist]

Alright I can't finish this all in one sitting, but here's at least a bit of.... something? A word vomit? A prelude to smut about the eroticism of the machine? For all you robot, mecha, and spaceship fuckers out there. @k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl that means you

Pappy always said that manufacturing biological transportation was nothing knew. I mean, shit, humanity's been breeding horses for how long? To him, not much was novel about what was going on in the shipyards way out by Neptune when I was a kid.

But Pappy didn't know a lot of things. And he certainly didn't meet Roseanna.

The Federation Navy had experimented with biologics for decades. The idea was to create self regenerating ships- something to interface with the hull, move the new titanium plates and particulates into place, have a living, growing mass interfacing with the steel so that the ship didn't have to head all the way back to the yards to patch up after every dogfight.

The first generation... worked. With a full time crew, that is. Full time people on deck jabbin the rigid, chitonous interface with the hull full of growth hormones to get them to set just right. Full time onboard bioengineers to compute what signaling cocktail ya need to hit 'em with to get it to grow back right. Skilled onboard technicians to shave back the chitin when it tried to overgrow the titanium, and slap some new cells in to seed the process in heavily damaged areas. Less input material, less time in the yards, but far more manpower. Great for a Federation cruiser on deep space peacekeeping missions. Far too complex for small craft. Right?

Until some bastard put brains in 'em.

Well. A lotta suits would say that they weren't brains. They were a diffuse network of sensory neurons and ganglia, living inside the body of the ship, integrating signals from a skin of alloyed metal and fibrous protein, calculating power draw too and from various components, and integrating with the mechanical and electrical components of the ship to precisely manage the "wound healing" process of the vessel. And of course, it just so happened that one of those ganglia was larger and more complex than the rest of them, and it just so happened that the computer interfaces with this ganglia exhibit complex, thinking behaviors on the level of human cognition, and it just so happens that most pilots and navigators reported them developing their own personalities.....

But of course, the Navy didn't want anyone to have some kind of pesky empathy in the way of their operations. And they certainly didn't want anyone side eyeing the rate at which they disposed of the damn things, and let them suffer and rot after disposal. So as far as the official record was concerned, they didn't have brains.

Like most people in the belt, I found Rosie on a... unsponsored field trip to the Neptune scrap yards. She wasn't a ship then. She wasn't much of anything. Not much more than a vat with the central ganglia and just barely enough of the stem cells needed to regrow a network. But I took her all the same. Brains were valuable. Few pilots outside the Navy had them back then. Nowadays, a black market for "brain seeds", a cocktail of neuronal stem cells and enough structural stem cells to grow your own into the chassis of your ship. They were pumpin' em out, and leaving them to die. It was cruel. They may be vehicles, but they're a livin' being too.

But I digress. I'd never do that to Roseanna. I make sure she gets proper care. And for a good, proper, working ship? That includes some good, proper work.

The asteroid we were docked in was one of my usuals- good bars, nice temp quarters, nice views of the rock's orbiting twin, and a spacious hanger for Rosie to rest in. The chasiss I had imprinted Roseanna to was a 40-meter light skipper, with some adjustments for handling deep space trips. It was pretty much the smallest thing you could actually use to live and work for long periods of time, but it got the job done. The angular design made the entire ship look like a wedge, or the blade of a bulky dagger. It didn't hurt that each bottom edge was fortified with a sharpened titanium blade, turning the entire sides of the ship into axe-like rams.

Those would probably come in handy today.

I approached Roseanna on the catwalk above her, marveling her alloyed scales. I could almost see her shudder in anticipation as my footsteps vibrated through the air above her. I took the steps down, and hit the trigger to open her top hatch.

When the news got out of the Navy scuffling with a rebelling mining station, an electric air raced across the station. Some went about their day as normal. Some resigned themselves to picking at the leftovers after the dust had settled. And some, like me, knew that they could get the finest pickings.

I strapped in to the pilot's seat like it was an old boot.

"Welcome, Captain Victoria."

Rosie could talk, but more often than not, she chose not to. But she understood me just fine. Most of our communication took place using her three prerecorded lines- her welcome statement, affirmative, and negative- as well as the tiny screen showing a small, emoticon face. Many pilots chose to give their ships an elaborate render, but Rosie preferred it this way. It was the first face I gave her, from somewhere out of the scrap heaps, and she refused any offer I made to upgrade. Secretly, I was overjoyed. To me, that was her face. That was her voice. And it was beautiful to see her true self through them.

I brushed my hands across her paneling. Across the switches, the hydraulic controls for the plasma fuel, the steering, the boosts, the comms channels. The thing with biologics was that you were still the pilot. For whatever reason, they hadn't quite gotten to the point where the brains could take over their own piloting. My personal opinion was just that their personalities lacked the ambition to. But whatever reason that was, the best pilots were still the ones that knew both their ship, and the ship's brain. And me and Rosie? We knew each other well.

As my fingers touched the brushed aluminum controls, rimmed with chitinous layers rooting them into the ship, I could feel the walls around me holding their invisible breath. "Do you know what we're doing today, Rosie?"

Her tiny panel flickered on. ...?

"We got a scrap run."

^_^

:)

^_^

Her panel flicked between various expressions of excitement. My finger quivered on the main power, holding for a moment before flicking it on. The primary electronics of the ship hummed to life, and what Rosie controlled pulsed with it. My hands moved across the main functional panels- main hydraulic plasma valve, exhaust ports open, and finally, flicking the switch the start the plasma burner.

My hands gripped the steering. The hanger's airlock doors opened in front of me. My neck length hair started to float as the station's gravity shut off. I hit the switch to unlatch from the supports above. For a moment, we hang there. The dull crackle of the idling plasma burner is the only sound that resonates through Rosie's hull.

Go time.

I punch the boost.

[jellycreamjammedart]

For Cassie, do any of the stuff she had back in the Pizzaplex still have a use for her in the Playtime caves?

What tools does she add to her arsenal?

Should we assume that the underground part of Playtime is so large that parts of it can plausibly be underneath a mall kilometers away?

Answering your last question first, I'd say yes. Which probably would help make sense how an elevator from the underbelly of the PizzaPlex can crash-land through the cavern into the Prison or the Mining area of Playtime Factory, when the top surface locations of both business being not even remotely close to one another. Even though the whole thing still sounds kind of silly.

As for Cassie's arsenal, she certainly would still have everything she had in the PizzaPlex minus the AR collectibles. The problem is that initially none of those tools are compatible with Playtime Co. tech and machinery, not to mention the complete lack of a V.A.N.N.I network (and thus, Helpi is also offline.)

But with how intuitive Cassie was with those tools back in RUIN, on top of being daughter of a technician, she certainly would be able to eventually circumvent the incompatibility and make modifications/adaptations to make her tools functional again, with the addition of a few cables and stuff to help make those possible.

At the beginning she'd only have her Faz-Wrench with very limited use, as I headcanon it can also work as a taser (it is kinda shaped like one when you think about it too, doesn't it?) which is a decent help for defense. it'd require modifications for any of its hacking properties though- which might be possible already in design (if you inspect the 3d model of the Faz-Wrench you can see input sockets for cables like USBs.) One of its prongs got slightly bent in the elevator drop, but that's an easy fix (easy but still needing delicacy in handling.) With enough adaptations, it could be very useful to help troubleshoot and maintain some machines like Safe Haven's generator.

The VANNI mask is as good as a cheap Halloween mask at first. But if Cassie manages to restore functionality to it without the network, it'd essentially work on its own grid, and be used as a neural-based controller for other devices if Cassie wears it. There's no "AR world" or VANNI network in Playtime Co. though, so it can't quite work the exact same way as it did back in the PizzaPlex... but with it she can see through walls! And now there's no M.X.E.S. limiting her time to use it meaning it's relatively safer to wear (though I imagine seeing through walls for too long in a row could cause a sensory overload perhaps? Hm, that would have to be a togglable property.) The mask would also make Cassie invisible to The Doctor just as it did for the Glamrock Endos and Ruined Glamrocks (but back then that was just trading them for M.X.E.S.) The Doctor sees "everything", but it's always through technology like cameras and monitors, things susceptible to the mask's interference, since he no longer has his organic eyeballs. Along with the see-through-walls property, I imagine Cassie MAYBE also developing other vision modes like infrared, night vision, heat vision, etc. Hell, if she gets one of those gas masks Playtime Employees would wear, she could use it to further upgrade the VANNI mask to also double as a gas mask to keep her safe from the red smoke. And perhaps restore its ability to run simulations too, like the one we see in the Brazil Ending... so long Cassie doesn't get too lost in her own memories and lose touch with reality- but current friends like Doey would be great anchors to help prevent that.

Flashlight? Broke. Busted in the elevator fall. RIP.

The Roxy-talky technically would already be usable, but it'd run in a frequency that doesn't match Playtime Co. communication-- Com'on, of course Fazbear Entertainment would design those things that way to force customers into buying more of their own mascot-talkies, rather than have them work with any other walky-talkies. Greedy corp shitty designs, amirite? Other walky-talkies would have to be manually recalibrated to run on the same frequency the Roxy-talky does in order to communicate with it. Sounds like a hassle, but would allow for a safe isolated communication line if you get what I mean.

Once Cassie is more recovered from her injuries, I think Doey would get her a GrabPack with a few hands- not that he'd expect anything from her, but if you don't have one you're very limited in what you can do there. And boy, that girl would overhaul that shit over time, especially when combining it with her own tools already. Connecting the mask to it as a neural controller would let her control the GrabPack with pretty much just her brain so her actual hands remain free. Controlling the GrabPack that way would also increase the dexterity of the hands meaning they're a lot more posable with a wider-range of movement (picture Cassie shooting a hand out towards Player/Employee only for it to stop inches away from their face with the middle finger up. Admit it WE all wished we could do that with those hands DONT LIE LOL.)

And that's not mentioning the hypothetical scenario of Doey and perhaps the more capable toys of Safe Haven hunting The Doctor's automatons for sport for parts. Who freaking knows what else Cassie could add to her arsenal with such resources.

At this point, she DREADS the possibility of being limited and unable to help those left that she holds close like it happened in the PizzaPlex, so she really would start applying herself, especially technologically, for her toy friends in Safe Haven. She learned in the PizzaPlex, and would vow to do better for Safe Haven.

[seat-safety-switch]

I don't know what it is, but for some reason, I really hate having the city inspector show up. Every time I get an improvement or repair to the house done, I always get nervous that they're going to find something wrong. This, of course, is ridiculous. I didn't do the work. Some other person, who I paid with my missing landlord's credit card, did some professional business-type things with the full expectation it would be inspected.

To make matters worse, something real creepy happened to me the other day. Soon, I would discover exactly why I had such anxiety around allowing a stranger to peer into the innermost guts of my home, and gaze upon the work performed by another.

I had to put in a new hot-water heater. This job could be done by myself, but it would involve getting slightly wet, and it was better to let my absentee landlord, who disappeared under mysterious circumstances, improve the equity he has in his house with a much-needed renovation. Besides, I was too busy out in the yard, using a chunk of tree trunk to dislodge the recalcitrant passenger-side motor mount of a 1968 Dart. That's a story for another time; you're here to hear about this Bob Vila-ass homeowner shit.

A technician showed up, riding a relatively primo-looking late-00s (I guessed 2006) Ford E-250 work van with a couple dings on the rear bumper that were evidence of an aggressive attitude towards parallel parking in the urban environment. I don't remember what she looked like. She dropped off a big hot water heater, hooked everything up, then carried the old one off slung over one shoulder. That's when things went weird.

For weeks after, my surveillance network (a bunch of deer cameras I stole from the woods) was constantly tripping with sightings of a mysterious new home invader. When I checked the photos in the morning, all I'd see in the shots were khakis, a city-coloured polo shirt, occasionally a pair of anti-slip, steel-toed low-rise sneakers. Never a clear picture of his face. He'd stick a "sorry we missed you" label to the door, and escape into the night.

When I called the city to complain that home inspections should not be done at 3 am, they told me that the inspector by that name had died long ago. I started to get really freaked out, which I guess is a common reaction, because the municipal help-line technician went on to explain.

"We're really short on staff, so we've been getting some of our inspections performed by the living dead. Keeps the pension payments down, too. Don't tell the union."

[hi-sierra]

Biologics, chapter 0.5

Hello, hello! I finally have added a significant amount to my story, Biologics, resulting in a total of ~4400 words. Not a whole ton, I know, but unfortunately life gets to ya. It isn't quite where I want it to be to consider a proper chapter one, but I feel like there's enough written for me to post. General warning that this is intended to heavily lean into the theme of "eroticism of the machine", so if that doesn't appeal to you, you've been warned. It does, however, have many general sci fi worldbuilding elements, so I hope it has a somewhat broad appeal!

So yes, if you already read the first snippet, that's going to be mostly a one to one repeat with some grammatical adjustments. Feel free to scroll down until you get to the new stuff. Flow-wise, there just wasn't a good place to break between the two sections.

Look at me rambling. And I wonder why I can't get any of this stuff done. Anyways, here it is!

Biologics

Pappy always said that manufacturing biological transportation was nothing knew. I mean, shit, humanity's been breeding horses for how long? To him, not much was novel about what was going on in the shipyards way out by Neptune when I was a kid.

But Pappy didn't know a lot of things. And he certainly didn't meet Roseanna.

The Federation Navy had experimented with Biologics for decades. The idea was to create self regenerating ships- organic matter that interfaced with the hull, moving new titanium plates and patches into place down to microscopic precision. If you had a living, growing mass interfacing with steel, a ship didn't have to head all the way back to the yards to patch up after every dogfight.

The first generation... worked. With a full time crew, that is. Full time people on deck jabbin the rigid, chitonous matrix full of growth hormones to get them to set just right. Full time onboard bioengineers to compute what signaling cocktail ya need to hit 'em with to get it to grow back right. Skilled onboard technicians to shave back the chitin when it tried to overgrow the titanium, and slap some new cells in to seed the process in heavily damaged areas. Less input material, less time in the yards, but far more manpower. Great for a Federation cruiser on deep space peacekeeping missions. Far too complex for small craft. Right?

Until some bastard put brains in 'em.

Well. A lotta suits would say that they weren't brains. They were a diffuse network of sensory neurons and ganglia, living inside the body of the ship, integrating signals from a skin of alloyed metal and fibrous protein, calculating power draw too and from various components, integrated with the mechanical and electrical components of the ship to precisely manage the "wound healing" process of the vessel. And of course, it just so happened that one of those ganglia was larger and more complex than the rest of them, and it just so happened that the computer interfaces with this ganglia exhibit complex, thinking behaviors on the level of human cognition, and it just so happens that most pilots and navigators reported them developing their own personalities.....

But of course, the Navy didn't want anyone to have some kind of pesky empathy in the way of their operations. And they certainly didn't want anyone side eyeing the rate at which they disposed of the damn things, just to let them suffer and rot. So as far as the official record was concerned, they weren't brains. But I knew different.

Like most people in the belt, I found Rosie on an... unsponsored field trip to the Neptune scrap yards. She wasn't a ship then. She wasn't much of anything. Not much more than a vat with the central ganglia and just barely enough of the stem cells needed to regrow a network. But I took her all the same. Brains were valuable. Few pilots outside the Navy had them back then. Nowadays, a black market for "brain seeds", a cocktail of neuronal stem cells and enough structural stem cells to grow your own into the chassis of your ship, was thriving. The Navy was pumpin' em out, and leaving them to die. It was cruel. Sometimes, being scavenged and resold was a kinder fate. But more often, some nasty piece of work would pick them up eventually, and treat them like just another goddamn ship. They may be vehicles, but they're a livin' being too.

I digress. I'd never do that to Roseanna. I make sure she gets proper care. And for a good, proper, working ship? That includes some good, proper work.

The asteroid we were docked in was one of my usuals- good bars, nice temp quarters, nice views of the rock's orbiting twin, and a spacious hanger for Rosie to rest in. The chassis I had imprinted Roseanna to was a 40-meter light skipper, with some adjustments for handling deep space trips, as well as some... personal touches. It was pretty much the smallest thing you could actually use to live in and work for long periods of time, but it got the job done. The angular design made the entire ship look like a wedge, or the blade of a bulky dagger. It didn't hurt that each bottom edge was fortified with a sharpened titanium blade, turning the entire sides of the ship into axe-like rams.

Those would probably come in handy today.

I approached Roseanna on the catwalk above her, marveling her alloyed scales. I could almost see her shudder in anticipation as my footsteps vibrated through the air above her. I took the steps down, and hit the trigger to open her top hatch.

When the news got out of the Navy scuffling with a rebelling mining station, an electric air raced across the station. Some went about their day as normal. Some resigned themselves to picking at the leftovers after the dust had settled. And some, like me, knew that they could get the finest pickings.

I slipped into the pilot's seat like it was an old boot.

"Welcome, Captain Victoria."

Rosie could talk, but more often than not, she chose not to. But she understood me just fine. Most of our communication took place using her three prerecorded lines- her welcome statement, affirmative, and negative- as well as a tiny screen showing a small, emoticon face. Many pilots chose to give their ships an elaborate render, but Rosie preferred it this way. It was the first face I gave her, from somewhere out of the scrap heaps, and she refused any offer I made to upgrade. Hell, she even had a hi-res screen for external cameras and comms, but she refused to interface directly with it. Secretly, I was overjoyed. To me, the little pixelated screen was her face. That was her voice. And it was beautiful to see her true self through them.

I brushed my hands across her paneling. Across the switches, the hydraulic controls for the plasma fuel, the steering, the boosts, the comms channels. The thing with Biologics was that you were still the pilot. For whatever reason, they hadn't quite gotten to the point where the brains could take over their own piloting. My personal opinion was just that their personalities lacked the ambition to. Cuz they certainly could take over some ships functions directly, and had the skill to do complex mechanical and electrical tasks. The Navy never let 'em drive, though, and most pilots didn't even know they could give them the ability to control any of the ships functions directly. But with a little help, a little bit of solid engineering, and a pilot that knew their ship... well, you could do a lot. And me and Rosie? We knew each other well. Over the years, I'd added some nice things for her, and she loved using them to help me out.

As my fingers touched the brushed aluminum controls, rimmed with chitinous layers affixing them to the ship, I could feel the walls around me holding their invisible breath. "Do you know what we're doing today, Rosie?"

Her tiny panel flickered on.

[...?]

"We got a scrap run."

[ ^_^]

[ :) ]

[ ^_^ ]

Her panel flicked between various expressions of excitement. My finger quivered on the main power, holding for a moment before flicking it on. The primary electronics of the ship hummed to life, and the parts Rosie controlled pulsed with it. My hands moved across the main functional panels- main hydraulic plasma valve, exhaust ports open, and finally, flicking the switch the start the plasma burner.

My hands gripped the steering. The hanger's airlock doors opened in front of me. My neck length hair started to float as the station's gravity shut off. I hit the switch to unlatch from the supports above. For a moment, we hang there. The dull crackle of the idling plasma burner is the only sound that resonates through Rosie's hull.

Go time. I punch the boost.

The station shakes. Rosie was never a subtle one.

The mechanics are deafened.

The crowd of spectators are deafened.

The other pilots in the hanger are deafened.

But me? The vibrations of Rosie's hull shuddering under me was the sweetest symphony my ears ever had the pleasure of hearing. As we shot out of that hanger, I found myself involuntarily humming a high note, harmonizing with the sweet rumble of my baby's acceleration as we shoot out into the inky, black expanse of space. The twin asteroids shot by us as we disappeared, leaving only the faint blue plasma trail from our engines.

My hand is firm on the boost, weathered hands tightly gripping the bar of the accelerator. I remember installing this thing in her- it was an aftermarket adjustment, not included in the usual light skipper chassis. Gently stripping away the back of her chassis, caressing her insides as I rooted the paneling, firmly attaching the tanks and burners on her insides... these hands had taken great pleasure in that. Bested only, of course, by the first time I had felt the thing roar to life.

And what a feeling it was. Rosie's entire chassis, biological and mechanical, shuddering under my grasp. The grip of my calloused hands on the boost controls, tight and sweaty around the ridged grip of the horizontal bar. The noises she made, as if to shout in glee and wild abandon at being unchained and let loose into the eternal field of space, as she was made to do. The gentle touch of her skin on my back, my body pressed in contact with the small fraction of hers that was my seat. I glanced down at her face panel.

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

My humming gave way to a chuckle, and then a wholehearted, exhilarated laugh. Someone was enjoying herself. The flickering faces on her panel reminded me of the happily panting station dogs back on Mars.

But as much as I would like this to just be a joyride, I had promised Rosie a scrap run. And the pickings were looking good. I glanced down at the nav. I was intentionally headed at a slightly indirect angle- Rosie's boost was her main attractive feature (both as a ship, and as a working partner), and the extra leeway I had in travel time let me strategize a bit more. I doubted we would be the first people there, but I figured we could get in before the main rush. The only trouble was darting in and grabbing something right from under the noses of the first locusts. The scrap field in question included a disabled heavy mining freighter, a goliath of the ship larger than some of the asteroids it made supply runs between. I assumed that most other scavengers would be approaching directly from our station, and the other stations in its proximity. With Rosie's boost, we could overshoot, hook around, and put the freighter in between us and the guns of the more violent craft. Rosie has no long range weapons of any kind- not only would they slow down her miraculous speed, but she didn't like them. I tried installing a small plasma cannon once, and she expressed immense distaste. Maybe they were too brutish for her, or maybe she didn't like the way they felt inside her, burdening her with pressure from the inside that didn't befit the delicate touches I usually graced her with. Rosie loved speed, precision, elegance, and stealth above all else. It's just the kind of ship she was.

That's not to say she was a pacifist, or defenseless. Quite the contrary. She just prefers a more... personal touch.

The navicom beeped at me. We'd reached the point where we needed to make that hook. My bare feet gently swept across the titanium flooring to the steering pedals. My right hand delicately gripped the steering joystick, while my left eased its grip on the boost accelerator.

"Ready for this, darling?"

[ >:) ]

I slammed the steering to the left, and Rosie gleefully complied. The wide bank of the turn as we rotated and soared through the sea of stars twisted my body in its inertia, compressing me further into her. As the angle straightened out to the proper heading, I punched the boost again, and Rosie roared forward.

Slowly, our target came into sight. Damn. This thing had taken some serious damage. Mining freighters typically weren't heavily armored- their only job was to get material from point A to B- but this one had clearly been through some serious modifications. Modifications that now lay in ruin. Titanium plating was scattered in a field around the core of the freighter. I couldn't quite tell what was stuff left behind by the battle, and what was the result of shoddy craftmanship- but it didn't matter. What did matter was that the entire thing had been split almost in half, and the scattered cargo that was leaking out. Cargo that most likely included half the weapon supplies of this little rebel faction. Would fetch a pretty penny, to the right buyer. And hell, if it was just gonna sit here unclaimed...

Ah shit. It wasn't gonna sit here unclaimed. Despite my best efforts, it looks like we weren't the first ones here. A larger scavenger gang had already arrived, and it looks like it was one of the ones I knew- Augustus and his lot. Most likely, they'd be after the weapons intact, one more thing to use to shakedown the scattered independent stations I always flitted between. He would not be happy to see me n Rosie here. What he called his "fleet" was a single, mid-sized carrier ship, about half the size of the freighter we were looting, and the dozen or so scout fighters and strip mining crafts he had looted from the Navy and various corps, and one Biologic that he called his. I respect that part, to be honest. What I don't respect is him immediately turning around and using that charge every goddamn station his ever-increasing "protection fees". Not to mention my personal disdain for the way he treated his ship. Didn't even give her a damn name. I digress. But any chance to loot something from under that slimebag's nose was a win in my book. I knew he wasn't gonna make it easy, though.

Welp. That's what our positioning was for. The side facing us was the main starboard face, and like the rest of the ship, it was peppered in small holes and gashes. Seems like the main damage had happened from the other side, and a few cables and scaffolds on the starboard just barely kept the two rear cargo compartments clinging to the front.

"Alright Rosie, time to creep it in slow. Be quiet, now, don't want them picking up a plasma surge"

[ :| ]

Ha. That was her "my lips are sealed" face. She's having fun with this already.

I cut the booster, coasting closer and closer to the bust open vessel. I eased the reverse thrusters ever so slightly, my fingers gently stroking the dual brake levers, lightly teasing at them to wait until we were as close as I thought we could be without attracted attention.......... before slamming both sides back towards me. For just one, crucial moment.

The goal here was to approximately match the speed and trajectory of a floating piece of titanium plating. Rosie's frontal blades were essentially that, anyways, so all they would see is a somewhat more angular piece of rubble. Hopefully they hadn't seen that same piece of rubble screaming out of travel speed, but I was cautious enough with my distances that I didn't think that was a problem. And they hadn't seen me yet. Once we were close enough to the freighter itself, we were blocked from their raw sightline, and Rosie was running quiet enough to not tip off any of their energy sensors.

But there was still no guarantee. Rosie, however, had no shortage of tricks. Something that she and I had developed together was a nice little bit of snooping. Well cared for and well trained, a Biologic brain had the problem solving of a human, and the computational power of a machine. But them together, and you've got a perfect decoder. And I happened to know that Augustus used an encrypted local frequency to keep his

"Alright Rosie, thinkin you can eavesdrop a little?"

Affirmative.

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[..!]

:D

My comms crackled to life. "...7 heavy cannons in center-front portside bay, 3 replacement fighter hatchs...."

The comms crackled back and forth, with each pilot giving updates to what they were finding in their own little segment that they were slicing apart. Occasionally, I saw Augustus or the fighters flick between the slicing ships, overseeing their progress on the port bays. Good. Let them focus on the other side for now. Slowly, the fleet was overshadowed by the freighter. We made it. I released my breath- shit, didn't realize I was holding it- and took a better look at what we were dealing with. It looked as if the scattered debris field had mostly been the remnants of the hull, as well as light weapons for small craft and even infantry. They would fetch some small change, sure, but Rosie's cargo capacity was small. Packing efficiency was the name of the game. I saw the gash that it had all been flooding out of on this side- the entire freighter was covered in them- and peered inside. And ho boy, did my heart flutter.

Heavy cannons.

Jump-graded travel boosters.

Raw, precious metals.

And, hidden in the back corner, seemingly bolted into the wall.... a brain.

We'd hit jackpot, and potentially rescued a poor ship from abandonment, or worse.

"Alright Rosie. Time to get to work."

Affirmative.

And here was another lil something that made Rosie special- her manipulation arms . She always preferred that delicate touch, and wanted to interact with the world in a tactile, real way. So we worked on it. Together. I was tired of taking spacewalks to grab small pieces of scrap, or using the entire goddamn cargo bay on a piece that only had a tiny core, or scraps of precious metals inside. So we needed something that could pluck apart our finds. Do some light disassembly in the field, extract what was valuable, and load it in with the most packing efficiency possible. So I gave her arms- snake like appendages, coiled up in her cargo bay, with thousands of points of articulation. At first, I tried to make some kind of control system that I could use from the cockpit. But Rosie had a different idea. At her urged, I jacked them directly into the same sensory and motor systems that let her grip onto, position, and repair her hull. And by god, it worked.

When I showed her off the first time, no one had ever seen anything like it. Because there was nothing like it. A ship taking real mechanical control, over something so precise and delicate, was something that only a deeply intelligent, deeply skilled ship, with complex decision making and tactile movement could do.

And I was goddamn proud of her.

Every time she deployed them, I watched awe. Rosie gave a face of determination, and sinuous, metallic, tentacle-like appendages slid out in a bundle from the cargo bay opening on her underside. Each one was headed off by a different attachment- a precision laser cutter, a simple three-pointed grabbing claw, a drill, a tiny buzzsaw, camera that let me see what was going on, and more. Each one could be swapped out, depending on the task at hand. With eight of them slithering out from her cargo bay, though, there was usually something for everything. They extended out as a single bouquet, down through the hole of the cargo compartment, and split apart once inside. Each arm got to work.

Her observation monitor flickered on, giving me a view from the camera arm. I would've liked to get the brain out first, but two heavy cannons and a booster blocking the way anyways. We'd cut through that, picking off the energy cores and precious metals in the circuits as we go, and work our way towards the back. Rosie seemed to like the plan as well. My only job was to watch the comms, and watch the sensors.

I watched the camera as the petite tools of the arms excised and picked apart the titanium shell of the first heavy cannon. Her tools- the delicate 'fingers' of her arms- picked, pulled, tugged, and gently gripped every necessary notch, every joined titanium plate that needed to be undone, ever scrap of precious material. Firm, yet precise. Strong, yet never breaking or mishandling a single piece of cargo. As Rosie worked, my eyes darted across the energy sensors. I could see blips firing off as the ships on the other side of the freighter as the slicing ships worked and flitted between their stations from the other side. The comms crackled with their reports to Augustus- they seemed to be moving back and forth to the main carrier to drop off their hauls. It seemed like they had a lot to go through- we'd have plenty of time.

On the camera view, I could see a grabbing claw retracting back through the cargo bay. The first cannon had the back section cleanly excised from the massive barrel and chassis, leaving a path for the tools to get to the booster. The precious energy cell was sliding its way back into Rosie's cargo bay. God damn. She was quick with that. The laser cutter and saw were already making short work of the booster, too. We'd get to the brain in no time.

The chatter on the other line continued. We were still safe, but Augustus' crew had made more progress than I had hoped. Once the slicers had picked apart the port, they'd loop around to the starboard. We had to grab what we could as fast as we can- but I knew neither me or Rosie was gonna leave without that brain. Rosie gracefully sliced the fuel cell and ignition from the plasma burner, leaving the bracketing and vents behind. The second heavy cannon was soon to follow. Each cut through each piece had left a winding path towards the back of the chamber, allowing a physical path to what I had seen just barely poking through: a container for a genuine ship's brain. Rosie slid her camera arm in for a closer look.

The brain was bolted into the chassis of the ship, as well as some containers of growth factor. Seemed like the intent was to grow her in to this freighter. That was certainly an ambitious task, but if they knew what they were doing, it would be well worth it. A self-repairing, intelligent hauler as large as this one would be the heart and soul of resistance movements everywhere, supplying every backwater mining station or moon that longed to be free. Unfortunately, the brave and principled can still be stupid, and these chucklefucks had no idea what they were doing. Slapped in a random cargo bay, desperately trying to get growth out from there with no proper imprinting guidance... shame. If they'd've found me before running into the Navy, I might've helped them out. But at least now, we could give her a better life. I knew a lot of good, caring pilots that would take loving care of a fine ship like her.

From what I could tell, we were still safe from Augustus. Based on what I was hearing on the comms, each slicer was working on its last cargo hold subsection, and after that, they'd be poking around this side. We had to get this brain and get out.

Tenderly, her claw arm gripped the top of the brain's chamber, as her other fingers started working on the rivets. A saw would bust through part of the titanium bracket holding the chamber down, and when it got too close to the container itself, laser cutters took over, delicately slicing off each affixation point one by one. Rosie worked in a clockwise direction, first working down the three riveting points on the right, sawing off the bottom bracket, and then working up the rivets on the left.

C'mon Rosie. You got this. Just need the top plate....

"Finishing up there, slicer 5T?"

Shit. That was Augustus on the comms.

"Sure thing boss. Just gotta get this load to central. Mind if someone takes a peek on the other side for parasites before I get there?"

Shit.

"Sure thing. Fighter 3A, get your ass in gear and make a full pass of the ship."

An energy spike pinged on my sensor panels as the fighter revved up a booster.

"Gotcha boss. Starting at aft segment."

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit

We still had a sliver of time before we were seen. They'd wanna get a good pass everywhere- there were ships far stealthier than us out there. But it was minutes at most. We had to finish up.

"Rosie, how're we doing there? You done?"

Negative.

[ ;( ]

"Fuck. Rosie, we gotta get outta here."

Affirmative. Affirmative. Affirmative. Affirmative.

Rosie-speak for "I know, I know, I know"

My eyes were fixed to the scanner and my cockpit windows for a visual, but I spared one moment to check Rosie's cam. She was finishing sawing through the top bracket. Just a little more....

"Aft clear, moving to starboard cargo bays."

The brain snapped off of the hull, and Rosie's claws were zipping it back to her cargo bay. I revved the engines into standby. The arms tenderly guided it through the path we had cleared, and out through the hole in the hull. We might be able to barely slip away without them knowing.....

I looked up through the cockpit, just as the dinged-up, formerly Navy fighter showed itself from behind a piece of debris. It froze for a moment, and then lined its nose to face me. Cannon ports shifted open, and slowly took aim.

"Well shit, Augustus, you're gonna wanna see this. Get your ass over here, I'm switching to public comms."

I heard slight fuzz as he switched his channel.

"Alright, leech, I'll keep this simple. You have thirty seconds to relinquish your haul before you join the debris."

For a single, cold moment, I swear I made eye contact with him through our cockpits.

[twinsimming]

Hello, I really love your mods, especially the utility mod that was just recently released. It has definitely motivated me to go back to the sims 3 which was something i was thinking about for a while now. That being said, with your utility mod in mind, I thought about the sims 4 and these awesome mods by Lot 51, that allowed you to have internet service. I think the name of the mod was simzlink, and i was wondering if it was even possible or if you ever thought about creating a mod like that?

Yes! I successfully converted someone!! 🥳 (kidding, of course)

A mod like Lot51’s Simzlink is definitely possible. I could even incorporate an internet/TV utility into a future Utilities Mod update if players are interested. Though it won’t be as detailed as Lot51’s with the installation process, active technician career, etc.

I’d probably make internet and TV/cable one utility instead of two separate ones for simplicity (and my sanity’s) sake.

Without internet, sims would be blocked from using computers or laptops, and without TV/cable, sims couldn’t interact with TVs. There could be network outages as well.

Let me know if that sounds good!

[dollish-shard]

Splitters

Combining mechs do not exist.

Many have seen them; several smaller mechs that come together, each shifting into a limb to form a massive machine. Observers assume that each mech has its own pilot, a team working in perfect sync.

Observers are wrong.

Technically speaking, the machines do exist. Officially, they're known as "Super-Titan Class Multi-Vector Mechanized Assault Vehicles."

Technicians call them Splitters. They're not multiple mechs. They're one mech.

They don't have multiple pilots. They have one pilot.

A mech pilot is fully integrated into their craft, not just in body but in mind. Every aspect of their consciousness merges with the machine; they are, in essence, a secondary computing unit, working in tandem with the onboard AI.

In this state, their body is meaningless.

An AI can be partitioned into multiple parts, each one working as a smaller part of a network rather than a singular intelligence.

There is very little difference between an AI and a human consciousness. Especially those of mech pilots.

When their mech splits, so does the pilot; their mind and self cut into pieces, each fragment controlling a different part of the greater whole. They are always connected, but separate, and thus capable of far greater coordination than multiple pilots working together.

The splitting process is perfectly safe. Each piece is smaller, intertwined with the onboard AI, optimized for controlling that specific part.

The tricky part is putting the pilot back together in the same way.

Splitter pilots are even more broken than most pilots. While others fixate on unity, on the melding of flesh and steel into one, Splitter pilots become obsessed with the feeling of separation. Of being multiple selves, each one half them, half their mech.

They tend to develop psychosis, twisted forms of plurality in which they are a collective of halves. Many of them have been known to attempt to hack off their own limbs in an attempt to 'separate each other.' And of course, they feel the same yearnings as other pilots.

While regular pilots feel incomplete, Splitter pilots don't even recognize themselves as being themselves anymore. They're merely a vessel for parts of their true self, a body they couldn't care less about.

They complain even less when you use them, too.

[ultimatelytired]

Support pt. 2

word count: 13,184

Fandom: FNAF Security Breach  Pairing: N/A x Female!Reader Pronouns: She/Her  Relationship: N/A Occupation: Mechanic Ability: N/A

Keys:

[F/N]: Female Name  [L/N]: Last Name [N/N]: Nickname [H/C]: Hair Color

Warnings:

due to the fact that I started playing security breach/ruin while also watching theory videos about fnaf my obsession with this game has resurfaced and I thought of a part two regarding this story.

this has become more than what it was intended for.

there will be a part three because this was supposed to include the gameplay but it spiraled into something else.

that is all.

"Support" pt. 1

"Congratulations! You're being promoted!" [F/N], who was currently hunched over her workbench working on the latest upgrades for the main four, looked up at her boss with exhausted eyes. She blinked once, then twice, then a third before letting a sarcastic yay before flipping her helmet back down and continued working "Didn't you hear what I just said? You're being promoted!" she let out a sigh as she put down her tools and turned back to her boss, pushing the helmet back up with her thumb and wiping the sweat with the back of her forearm.

"I heard, I'm just not excited what I'm being promoted to." as well as the more you're going to dump on me, she didn't say that out loud but her face said it all. She cocked a brow when a mask was presented to her, she recognized it as one of the masks that technicians would wea-- "No, no way." he nods.

"Yes way." he places the mask into her hands and gave a cheery smile "You're being promoted to a technical engineer!" she looked down at the mask then back up at him.

"... but I'm a mechanical engineer, not a technical one." he waved his hand to dismiss her words.

"Pish posh, how hard can it be?" he looked away when her gaze turned scrutinizing, as if four years of studying to obtain her Degree of Mechanical Engineering was easy "If that doesn't color your fancy, not only do you get new tools, you get a pay increase." he smirked when he saw the way she cocked a brow, it was always the money.

"Well, I guess it's fine." she murmured as she flipped the mask over and saw the circuitry on the inside of the mask "Do I really have to wear this though? I'm gonna look ridiculous." he chuckled softly.

"The mask looks like that so when you have to work around the guests, you look family friendly to the kids." she flipped the mask back around to look at the unsettling face, she looked up at him with a really look on her face "Just put the damn mask on." she stared at him for a second longer shrugging and taking her helmet off and finally putting the mask on, nothing happened until it turned on and everything looked... different.

"Whoa, this is crazy." she awed as she looked around.

"Pretty cool, right?"

"Heh, I guess." she was then startled when dialogue appeared in front of her.

[Welcome to V.A.N.N.I., the Virtual Augmented Neural Network Integration Unit. Do not be surprised by your surroundings. You are still in the real world, but Fazbear Entertainment has made it better. With this security mask, you can locate and repair all the pesky security nodes that are locking down the mesh network here in the Mega Pizzaplex! Call me Helpi. You can always count on me because it's my job to help you succeed in your new job!]

"Don't tell me this thing is going to be around 24/-- ow!" she rips the mask off and rubs her head after feeling a stinging pain in her skull.

[Lucky for you, the transponder implant allows me to communicate wirelessly even when your mask is removed. Just another Faz-mazing benefit of being a class b technician. Of course, you will have to put your mask back on to get any real work done.]

"Argh, great. Now I've got a voice in my head, thanks." he grins.

"You're welcome." she rolled her eyes and placed the mask on her bench, he then handed her an odd looking tool "Now this is a Faz-Wrench, it's what the technicians use to charge conduits to grant them access into certain rooms, while in the AR world, it is used to breach security nodes and also reboot animatronics."

"Reboot them, huh? Have they ever needed to be rebooted?"

"Not recently, no. They've only needed to be rebooted when there's been a breach in their programming, but even then that's never happened. But, the best part about the mask is that the animatronics are unable to see you."

"What?" he nods.

"Uh huh. While wearing the mask, you can walk by the animatronics completely undetected. Additionally, the mask can allow you to pass through certain solid objects in the real world or cross AR only bridges, which allows you to access locations that were otherwise inaccessible in the real world." her eyes widened at the information as she looked between him and the mask.

"How the hell is that possible?" he shrugged.

"Fazbear technology." she closed her eyes "Anyways, your additional duties are as I stated. I expect you to be able to adapt to your new tasks with ease."

"How... fazerrific." he pats her shoulder.

"There's the enthusiasm!" he then finally backs away "Well, have a great rest of your day!" she slumped in her chair as she watched him leave then looked back at the creepy mask, why did it have to be so creepy looking? She tossed the Faz-Wrench on her bench while grabbing a cloth and chucking it over the mask, she didn't want it looking at her.

"At least I'm getting paid more..." she sat there for a moment before putting her helmet back on and going back to work, the Glam Gang needed these upgrades for their upcoming show.

[a few weeks later]

"Mum! A lady just walked through a wall!"

"That's nice, sweety. Now, go play with your friends so mummy can talk to her friend."

"But mum, I really saw it!"

"Uh huh, you have such a wild imagination." the child pouts and opens his mouth to insist that what he saw wasn't his imagination until he saw the same woman poke her head out of the wall, he gasped when he saw her bring her finger to the lips of the creepy rabbit mask she was wearing before disappearing back through the wall "Mum!" [F/N] snickered softly when she heard the boy cry out about what he saw before shaking her head and going back to fixing a circuit board, having this mask was so fun. Not only did she get to play pranks and mess around with the animatronics, but it was fun to mess with the children. She doesn't do it very often but she was prone to walking through walls in front of the children just to freak them out a bit, it was hilarious to hear children chatter about the ghost rabbit lady.

"Never gets old." she snickered as she pushed the mask to the side of her head and started working on a arcade machine that started playing up, complaints about how the ticket dispenser was jammed. When she finally got it fixed she put the control panel back in place and smiled when she saw the tickets run out smoothly, she grabbed the handful and gave them to a kid that just so happened to be walking by. She laughed when they took it with great enthusiasm and ran off to tell his friends, she puts the V.A.N.N.I. back on and turned to leave but something caught her eye, she noticed a very prominent purple cable leading to the back of the Fazcade, specifically to where the security office was. She picked up her clipboard and saw there wasn't much on her list so she followed the cable to see where it would lead, surprisingly, it didn't lead into the security office but to the far back where the abandoned arcade games were. When she was finally at the end of the cable she lifted her head and raised an eyebrow at what she found "Princess Quest? I've never heard of this game before." she murmured as she looked at the machine closely, seeing how it pulsated while being surrounded by black glitches. She took the mask off and looked at the machine once more, she tried turning it on but no matter what she did it wouldn't switch on. She then noticed that it said "Princess Quest 2", so there was another one? But where could it be?

"[F/N]? Come in, [F/N]." she glanced down at the walkie talkie strapped to her thigh, she unbuckled the holster and took the walkie talkie out of it just as Vanessa spoke again "[F/N], do you copy?"

"I hear you loud and clear, Ness." she heard the woman chuckle at the nickname.

"I hate to bother you, but one of the security bots that monitors Roxy's Raceway got damaged. Apparently it drove over a couple wires and they got tangled it its wheels. I'm gonna need you to fix it." she salutes her, not that she could see it.

"I'll get right to it."

"Thanks, hope I didn't interrupt anything." she looks at the arcade machine one more time before shaking her head and leaving the room.

"Nah, I wasn't doing anything important. I'm in the Fazcade right now, shouldn't take me that long to get there."

"Thanks, the last thing we need is to replace another security bot. We haven't been needing to do that thanks to you."

"It's what I was hired for." Vanessa laughs once more "I'll radio you once I'm done."

"Good. I'll be by if you need assistance, though I highly doubt you'll need it. See you later." with a new task added to the list, she puts her walkie talkie back in her holster and leaves the Fazcade. She made sure to say goodbye to DJMM before entering the elevator, questioning the odd "true facts" that plays in the elevator, then stepping out into the atrium. She smiled from where she was at the sight of the main four performing on the stage, the songs were repetitive but it was fun watching them rock out. And who do they have to thank for such a wonderful outcome? She mentally pats herself on the shoulder before finally making her way to Roxy Raceway, she ducks under the automatic shutter doors and hears the erratic sounds from the security bot.

"Alright, dingus, time to get you fixed." slipping the V.A.N.N.I. mask on, she deactivates the machine before pushing it over but setting it down gently to get the wires untangled from its wheels. She grimaced when she saw just how tangled they were in its gears so she had to be as careful as she could as to not damage to wires and the bot itself, it took a bit of time but she finally managed to untangle them. She set the bot upright then checked its system to see if anything else was damaged, she didn't see anything but rebooted the machine so that it would instead head to Parts and Service so she could do a maintenance check on it "Head to my workshop, I'll be there to do thorough examination on you." it salutes her.

"Aye, aye." she shook her head as it rolled out and made its way to Parts and Services, she began to follow after it until she noticed the same prominent purple cable she saw back in the Fazcade. She followed it and saw that it was leading into the Glamrock Beauty Salon, she looked back towards the exit before shrugging her shoulders and following it, maybe she'll find another one of those "Princess Quest" games. As she followed it, she would occasionally take off the V.A.N.N.I. mask to see any changes to the environment, the closer she got to more reality seemed to glitch out. She enters the salon and weaved past the security bots monitoring the building before finally finding the arcade machine hidden in one of the backrooms, and just like the last one, it pulsated while being surrounded by black glitches.

"Princess Quest 1, huh? So there was another one, but what's an arcade machine doing here? Maybe this one will work, unlike the other." she takes the mask off and looks the machine over once again, it was unlike any other arcade machine. It was predominantly black with red trim outlining the frame, giving it a bold but slightly ominous vibe. On the side there's a glowing yellow-orange silhouette of a princess, probably representing the character you play as, on the side, holding what looks like a small lantern or magical object "I wonder if it'll sta--"

"[F/N]!!" she let out a scream when the door to the room was suddenly kicked open by Roxy, before she could question why she did it she was picked up by the canine and dragged out of the room. She let out an oof when Roxy placed her on a swivel seat and spun around a couple times before finally stopping in front of the girl, she perked a brow before letting out a sigh when she saw the state Roxy was in "You've got to fix me! A kid got pizza sauce in my hair!" she leaned over and saw streaks of red in her frizzled hair, I guess she tried getting it out herself but only made it worse.

"You didn't make a scene, did you?" she sniffled, her usually perfect eyeliner and mascara now running down her face.

"I-I tried to keep it together, but once I was out of sight I came here as quickly as I could." [F/N] nods as she grabbed a box of tissues and handed them to the animatronic wolf.

"Good job, management doesn't like when you guys cause a scene in front of the guests. Well done, I expected nothing less of you, Roxy." she shook her head when Roxy beamed a little.

"O-Of course, it was me, after all." she nods.

"Anyways, how'd you know I was here?"

"I passed that security bot and asked if it knew where you were."

"Ah, I see." Roxy's ears flickered up when she saw [F/N] stand up and start walking away.

"W-Where are you going? Aren't you going to fix me?" she waved her hand to dismiss Roxy's anxiousness as she approached a jukebox, she saw that it was plugged in so she smack it a couple times before it sprung to life.

"Well, if I'm gonna give you a makeover, we might as well listen to some classics." she said as she cycled through the many vinyl's, she settled for Duran Duran's "Girls on Film" and turned back to Roxy "So, what are we feeling today?" she asked as she pulled out the many makeup sets provided by Fazbear Entertainment "I may not be as good as a professional makeup artist, but I am pretty good at bringing out a woman's beauty." Roxy couldn't help but gleam at that. It's almost been an hour since [F/N] had started when the salon doors were kicked open by none other than Chica, who was in search for Roxy, and she found [F/N] holding Roxy by the underside of her snout and apply a glittery green lipstick to her lips.

...

...

"Are you gals having a makeover... without me?" [F/N] let out a sigh when Chica started crying, she brought the chicken over to the empty seat beside Roxy, who was currently cooing over her newly applied makeup "Do me next..." she whispered softly with a pout, [F/N] deadpans at the puppy eyes Chica was giving her before pulling out a makeup pallet that matched her color scheme.

"What do you want first?" she clapped her hands in glee. She was going between both female animatronics, from doing Roxy's manicure to applying an eyeshadow that was a soft pastel shade of glittery pink to Chica's eyelids. She was fixing up the streaks on Chica's cheeks when the doors to the salon were kicked open once more, this time it was Monty who entered and was staring at the three of them in mild confusion.

"... what's going on here?"

"... don't question it." Chica giggled softly.

"Wanna join?" he took a deep breath.

"... sure." by the time Freddy arrived at the salon he found [F/N] on a stool as she styled Monty's hair into a pompadour with a comb in between her teeth and a can of hairspray in her hand as she shaped his hair, she tossed the hairspray away as she combed his hair the way she wanted before throwing it away as well then getting in front of his face. His glasses were resting on her head so they wouldn't get in the way and he could just briefly see his reflection through the lenses, she then pulled out just a strand of his hair and curled it around her finger.

"There, I always thought you'd look good with a pompadour." she murmured as she jumped off the stool and grabbed the mirror from Roxy's hands and showed him his reflection, he whistled when he saw what she did.

"Wow, I'm looking good! I should come to you more often, cher."

"Hah, I hope this doesn't becoming a reoccurring thing."

"So this is where you lot have been." they all look over at the sound of Freddy's voice, he raised a brow when he saw the three animatronics all look towards [F/N]. She looked at the three of them then nodded her head, he flinched when three eyes gleam in his direction and then he was suddenly grabbed and sat down in Monty's seat.

"It's your turn, teddy bear." Monty grinned.

"You're going to look so beautiful~" Chica cooed.

"[F/N]'s hands are blessed." Roxy praised, he looked past them towards [F/N] and shrieked when he saw her raise her closed fists and in between her fingers were different makeup cosmetics.

"How did I get here?" they couldn't help but laugh at that. When Vanessa finally found them it was Roxy and Chica doing Freddy's nails by filing and painting them, Monty was holding [F/N] by her waist as she wore Freddy's hat so she could do a different design regarding the face paint he usually wore. Freddy was giggling softly at how focused [F/N] was to not mess up the linework, it was only when she finished did Vanessa make her presence known.

"Ah hem." they all look towards the entrance and saw Vanessa, not looking to impressed to find them all hiding in the salon "Care to explain yourselves." they all look back to [F/N], who looked at them all before shrugging.

"What's a makeover before the big show, Ness? Don't tell me you want one too?" they all laugh when she raised her hands and backed away.

"No way." Monty put her down and she all but collapsed into an empty chair, breathing tiredly, while the animatronics gathered around, marveling at their new looks. Roxy couldn’t keep her eyes off her reflection — her face sparkled under the salon lights, glitter catching every flicker and gleam. She traced a claw along her jawline, utterly mesmerized. Chica was squealing with delight, spinning around in front of the mirror, her voice bouncing off the walls.

"Look at me! The pink really makes my eyes pop!" she gushed, fluttering her eyelids dramatically. Monty was admiring himself too, running a hand through his newly styled pompadour, the hairspray and sheen making him look even sleeker and wilder than before.

"Now this is rockstar material," he said, flashing a sharp grin at his reflection. Even Freddy, who didn't have the flashy changeable features like the others, looked pleased. His new face paint, swirled in soft blues and silvers, gave him a warm, friendly glow — like a true superstar.

"Sometimes," Freddy said with a chuckle, "a little paint can go a long way." [F/N] watched them, slumped in the chair, a tired but genuine smile tugging at her lips.

"I'm glad you like it," [F/N] said, her voice weary but firm, "but don't expect this to be a reoccurring thing." She flinched when they all turned to her in unison, a desperate gleam sparking in their robotic eyes.

"Oh, please? You made us look so good!" Freddy pleaded, hands clasped in front of him with surprising earnestness. "I'm sure the kiddos will love our new looks!" Chica chimes in next, nodding so fast her earrings jingled.

"Yeah!" Chica said again, practically bouncing. "I'm sure even management would love for us to have different looks from time to time — so we don't get boring!" Roxy leaned forward, her glittering makeup making her eyes look even sharper.

"W-We could do this maybe, like, once every two weeks? O-Or once a month? Yeah?" she bargained, voice hopeful, ears twitching. Monty threw an arm around Roxy’s shoulders with a loud clank of metal.

"We promise we won't cause a hassle," he said, flashing another cocky grin, "and we'll even make sure our monthly maintenance is up to date!" The others chimed in with enthusiastic nods and hopeful, mechanical smiles. She stared at them — these huge, glittering animatronics who were begging her for makeovers like overgrown kids. She sighed, rubbing her face.

"Fine," she muttered. "Once a month. Maybe. And only if you behave." she holds her hands out to stop them from grabbing her but that doesn't stop them, Vanessa couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of [F/N]'s arms strung over Freddy's shoulders as she was pulled into a forced group hug. Despite her tired and disgruntled attitude, she couldn't help but smile weakly as she returned the hug.

So—

Management did indeed like the makeovers [F/N] gave to the animatronics — so much so that they made it mandatory she continue to do so. At first, [F/N] was reluctant, already stretched thin between her usual duties and trying to survive the Pizzaplex’s chaos. But when they mentioned another pay raise, she quickly changed her tune. Instead of squeezing it into their regular monthly maintenance checks, it became its own event: Every month, like clockwork, the animatronics would parade back into the Glamrock Beauty Salon — excited, chattering, almost childlike in their eagerness. From new hairstyles between Roxy and Monty, to simple touchups to their makeup for Chica and Freddy, it was a peaceful bliss for all five of them. [F/N] liked it because all she had to do for that day was glamorize them then relax the rest of the day, maybe she had to thank that kid for getting sauce in Roxy's hair.

"Skeet, skeet," she snickered to herself as she rolled into Bonnie Bowl on her newly acquired Heelys. Why was she wearing them? Because Monty had bet she couldn’t use them without wiping out — and now, out of pure spite (and style), she was rolling around the Pizzaplex, mocking him each time she zipped past. Why was she at Bonnie Bowl? Well, apparently the pinsetter mechanisms for a few of the lanes were acting up, and it was her job to fix them before morning. She had a rope tied around a few Caution Bots, letting them lead her toward Bonnie Bowl. She cheered when she let go and coasted through the entrance — only to slam directly into the ball rack with a loud thud.

"Alright, let's see if I can get a strike," she muttered, grabbing a ball. Rolling up to the first lane, she swung her arm back and let the ball fly. It barreled down the lane, knocking all the pins clean off their feet. She pumped a fist in the air as she watched the strike and waited to see if the mechanism would fail. When it didn’t, she ticked a mark on her clipboard and moved to the next lane, repeating the process twenty-one more times. She didn’t get a perfect strike every time, but out of the twenty-two lanes, only six had issues with the pin elevators. Not bad. Rolling along the sidewalk behind the lanes, she located the numbered mechanisms and got to work fixing them. She was lucky they were numbered — otherwise she’d be rolling back and forth all night trying to find the broken ones. As she worked, she noticed an awful lot of Caution Bots lingering around in the back. Were they supposed to do that? Sure, they were designed to warn customers about wet floors and other hazards, but these ones were practically nudging her while she tried to work.

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped that, mmkay?" she said, shoving them back gently to give herself some space. They didn’t let up, though — in fact, more kept gathering. By the time she tightened the last bolt, she was surrounded by nearly a dozen bots. Dropping her torque wrench into her belt, she gave them a tired look. "Okay, fine. You've got my attention. What do you want?"

Instead of answering — not that they could — the Caution Bots began pushing her deeper into the maintenance area, further from the lanes. She started to feel a little uneasy. Were they about to kill her? But no — they stopped in front of a boarded-up section of wall. Confused, she looked down at them — just as one of the bots squeezed through a small opening. She knelt down and peeked through the gap, squinting into the dark room beyond. She could make out a cluster of bots surrounding...something she couldn’t quite see. The first bot beeped at her, urging her to follow.

With a sigh, she stood, pulled the small crowbar from her belt, and started prying off the boards. When she finally cleared most of them away, she put the crowbar back and grabbed her flashlight. Shining it into the dark, she still couldn’t quite make anything out — until she stepped a little closer. And then she saw it.

"What the hell is that?" she whispered. There, crumpled on the far floor, was a broken, battered animatronic. She took a step closer and let the light shine on it just to inspect the damage and try to see just which animatronic it was. It collapsed on the ground, limbs twisted and splayed out awkwardly. Its endoskeleton and inner wiring are partially exposed, and what’s left of his outer shell is filthy, cracked, and faded. Its once-bright paint — mainly blue and red — is grimy and chipped away almost entirely in places. Its face looked severely damaged: the jaw is hanging open unnaturally, one eye is popped out of its socket while both were glowing a sickly yellow "There was only one blue animatronic, Bonnie?" her finger gently brushed against his face and it suddenly sprung to life.

"S-S-Strike! Nice go-- going there, k-kiddo! You j-just got a-a-a str-- strike!" she jumped back in surprise when he spoke, but it wasn't really him speaking but a dialogue from his programming. When his body stopped spasming she finally let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, she approached him once more and kicked his head just to make sure he didn't suddenly wake up again.

"What is he doing here? The reports said he went missing in Monty Golf," she muttered, furrowing her brows. Her eyes dropped to his chest plate — or what was left of it — and noticed the deep, jagged claw marks tearing through the metal, exposing his inner endoskeleton.

Was he attacked?

She never personally met Glamrock Bonnie, but she knew he had been the bassist before... Monty. Her gaze flickered back down to the vicious claw marks. She shook her head. No — Monty couldn't have done this. It was impossible, right? He didn’t even have those claw upgrades until after Bonnie disappeared.

"... he’s still functioning," she mumbled, watching the faint flicker of life in the broken animatronic. She paused, thinking it over — then shrugged. It's not like she had anything better to do.

The next half hour was spent dragging Bonnie’s broken body — and whatever spare pieces she could find — into a nearby maintenance cart. It wasn’t easy; she was lucky his head didn’t fall off when she hoisted his torso up. Each piece was heavier and more fragile than it looked, and it took several frustrating attempts to get him situated without completely falling apart. By the end of it, she was sweaty, scuffed up, and exhausted — but she managed.

"I am not going to have fun lugging his ass back to Parts and Services," she grumbled under her breath. Before leaving, she grabbed a dirty sheet from a nearby pile and draped it over his broken form. He had been abandoned here for a reason — and she definitely didn’t want anyone spotting him.

Luck seemed to be on her side: none of the security guards, and thankfully not Vanessa, were patrolling the atrium when she rolled out of Bonnie Bowl. As long as no one wandered into Parts and Services, no one would know what she had found. Once inside, she carefully laid out each piece on the worktable, lining them up one by one like she was assembling a jigsaw puzzle. His limbs, his shattered chest plate, even the loose wires — everything had a place, and somehow, she’d figure out how to put him back together. Some pieces from his endoskeleton was missing, which was the worst part of all of this because she was going to have to get pieces from... them.

"Okay... I think I jotted everything down. What's missing and what he needs to power him back online." for a better look she was wearing the V.A.N.N.I mask to see which pieces she needed and wrote those down as well, that was when Helpi appeared.

[Proceed with caution about what you power up, [F/N]. Powering up dismantled machinery often leads to dangerous consequences.]

"Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don't know." she murmured as she waved her hand to dismiss the text, but she started thinking. Why was she doing this? She didn't need to fix Bonnie, he was practically decommissioned and everything about him has already been replaced by Monty, just like Roxy did with Foxy. But looking down at his broken down body, clinging to what little life he still had... she was a mechanic, and it was her job to fix what was broken "Alright, bunny boy. Let's get started."

And so—

[F/N] had started picking up more nightshifts, dedicating nearly all her free time to getting Bonnie back up and running. She spent her days fixing what she could under the radar, and stayed overnight to get in extra hours without raising suspicion.

Bonnie’s outer shell was severely damaged — cracked, and dented — but it wasn’t beyond saving. Fortunately, Fazbear Entertainment still had most of his original parts gathering dust in the basement, tossed aside like forgotten junk. Navigating the basement wasn’t easy though; the place was crawling with old, half-functional endoskeletons. The only way she could get around them safely was by using the V.A.N.N.I. mask — a trick she wasn’t exactly proud of, but desperate times, desperate measures. She set up a separate, hidden room to work on him, far from the main Parts and Services bay. That way, if someone happened to walk in, they wouldn’t see what she was up to. Bonnie stayed hidden most of the time, tucked away safely — she only pulled him out when she needed to use the Cylinder to properly align his parts and test his systems.

"Okay... I think I’ve fixed most of your programming. Most of it got fried by something," [F/N] said as she typed away at the terminal outside the Protective Cylinder, eyes flicking between lines of code.

[Whatever caused Glamrock Bonnie to malfunction has been completely overridden. Good job, superstar!]

"It wasn’t easy. Whatever was inside it was bad." she said as she huffed a laugh while she flexed her sore fingers. "What can't this Faz-Wrench do?" It had taken multiple attempts just to flush out the corrupted data before she could replace it with something fresh. Whatever had latched onto Bonnie's systems was stubborn — outdated, malicious, and deeply rooted. "It was completely outdated. Fitting him with something new should bring his systems back online."

[Very much so. That chip is what all active animatronics are fitted with — though his differs slightly. Since he hasn't undergone the same maintenance cycles as the others, his endoskeleton remains heavily outdated. He will not be able to access the shared network.]

"I see..." she muttered, frowning thoughtfully. "But what can we even do with so few resources for his model?" She pushed the final command. The Cylinder doors hissed open, revealing Bonnie’s partially repaired frame inside. Pulling her V.A.N.N.I. mask up and out of the way, she stepped inside with the small chip in hand. Carefully, she slotted it into the back of Bonnie’s head, following the intercom's calm, mechanical instructions. One by one, she began plugging his limbs back together — reconnecting joints, wiring, hydraulic lines — rebuilding him piece by piece like a forgotten relic being stitched back to life.

[Now, all that's left is for the final touch.]

"Yup." she holds out the Faz-Wrench and watched as it buzzed to life.

[Reactivation: 0 of 1]

...

...

[Animatronic Reactivated]

SAFE MODE...

REBOOT...

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION... CHECKING COMPONENTS... OK INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS... OK INITIALIZING AI ENGINE... OK MEMORY STATUS...

ALL SYSTEMS... OK

Bonnie’s body twitched once — a sharp, sudden jolt — then fell still. A few tense seconds passed before another shudder ran through him. His fingers twitched. His head gave a slow, mechanical tilt. Then, with a sharp hiss of vented air, his eyes slowly flickered open — soft, unfocused glows against the dim room.

"Hmm... optical receptors seem to be operational," [F/N] said, her voice casual but focused. The sudden sound startled Bonnie. His head snapped toward her voice, mechanical joints creaking in protest. He found [F/N] looming over him, studying him closely as she tapped a knuckle lightly against his faceplate. "Only one of his eyes was damaged but I had to replace both with some spares from Monty’s stockpile."

"H-Hello..." Bonnie’s voice crackled weakly to life. [F/N] perked up immediately, grabbing the clipboard she had left nearby and scribbling down notes in a quick, messy hand.

"Voice module’s operational too," she said, grinning a little. "Good — real good. Glad I managed to patch that one up." Bonnie watched her silently, blinking slowly, still trying to make sense of what was happening — and of the stranger who was putting him back together piece by piece.

"Wh-where…?" His voice was weak "W-who are…?"

"Oh, that's right. I'm new to you, but I've been around for nearly a year now. My name is [F/N], and I'm the new mechanic for Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex." Bonnie blinked slowly, the flickering light behind his eye struggling to stay steady. His whole body trembled slightly, like it was taking real effort just to sit up. Without thinking, [F/N] took a step forward and grabbed his arm to steady him. "Whoa, easy there, champ. You’ve been offline for a long time. Gotta let the systems catch up." she spoke, her voice now steady.

"What... what happened?" she shrugged as she helped him settle back down.

"Why don't you tell me? I found you abandoned behind Bonnie Bowl, and might I add, in pieces. It took me forever to put you back together. Your systems were fried, your frame was a mess... I’m no professional technician, but," she tapped her chest with mock pride, "I think I did a stupendous job reprogramming you." Bonnie’s lights flickered faintly as he processed her words. His hands, clunky and trembling, flexed weakly at his sides. He didn’t understand how or why — but somehow, he was here. And somehow, she had brought him back.

"Thank you..." she chuckled softly.

"Don't worry about it," [F/N] said lightly, flipping through her clipboard. "It's my job to fix those who are broken. But you're still not completely patched up yet. You’re missing a couple components that I need to replace before you're one hundred percent operational." She tapped the side of the clipboard with her pen, scanning the list of parts she had ordered — all disguised in the paperwork as "upgrades for the other animatronics." Bonnie shifted slightly, servos whining as he tested the movement in his repaired limbs. He looked up at her, the faintest trace of awe in his voice.

"This is... surreal. The last mechanic I remember was a man." [F/N] chuckled under her breath.

"Yeah, well... that was a really long time ago. Fazbear Entertainment’s been without a real professional mechanic for a while now."

"Really?" Bonnie tilted his head, confused. "How strange." She narrowed her eyes slightly, stepping closer.

"Hmm. I'm sure I fixed your memory bank. Maybe you just need some time. Systems like yours don’t exactly reboot overnight." ," she said thoughtfully, reaching up to lightly tap the side of his head. Her fingers drifted lower, brushing across the newly repaired surface of his chest plate — the metal cool and smooth under her touch. "Whatever damaged you and left you back there... they didn’t want you being found." Bonnie remained still, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as if he was trying — and failing — to reach for memories that weren’t there anymore.

"I apologize." she shook her head.

"There isn't a need, we still have plenty of time to get you back in shape. I'm sure Freddy, the gang and the children will be thrilled to see their favorite and loveable bunny up and running again!" she cheered and that seemed to lift his spirits.

"Yes, yes! I have missed them very much! M-May I see them now?" she gave him a guilty look.

"Unfortunately... not yet," [F/N] said, frowning sadly at the defeated noise that came out of him.

"Oh..." Bonnie visibly deflated at her words, his shoulders slumping with a faint mechanical creak. Seeing it tugged at something in her chest. She sighed, setting the clipboard down and crouching a little to meet his gaze.

"Listen, Bonnie," she began, choosing her words carefully. "I... wasn’t supposed to fix you. I wasn’t even supposed to find you." He blinked slowly, confusion and sadness flickering behind his damaged optics.

"What?" she nods.

"It was a miracle I even managed to, and that’s only because the Caution Bots wouldn’t stop bothering me." She huffed a dry laugh under her breath, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "If management finds out I wasted resources on a 'decommissioned animatronic'..." she hesitated, grimacing. "The worst case? I get fired."

"So... what, then?"

"So... if you want to stay — really stay — I have to bring you back to perfect condition," she said, her voice firming up again. "Good enough that management can’t just write you off. Good enough that they have to let you stay."

"O... Okay," he said, voice crackling faintly but sincere. [F/N]'s face lit up instantly. She reached out without thinking and gently took his hand, giving it a small, apologetic squeeze.

"Good, good!" she beamed. "And I'm really sorry you can't see the others yet — but I promise I'll get you up and running as fast as I can." Her enthusiasm was infectious. Even in his weakened state, Bonnie felt a flicker of something warm inside his worn-out systems. It wasn’t much, but for the first time since reactivation, he managed a small, genuine smile. Weak — but real.

And that’s how [F/N] spent the following weeks — carefully, patiently — getting Bonnie back up and running. Like the other animatronics during her first week at the Pizzaplex, he was wary of her at first, flinching slightly whenever she got too close or adjusted his wiring. It was understandable. From what she had been told before becoming the go-to mechanic, their last technician had been cruel, treating them like nothing more than broken machines to kick back into shape.

But [F/N] was different. Sure, she knew what they were — robots, circuits, programming — but there was something about them that felt alive. Something that made her treat them like more than just animatronics. And little by little, Bonnie began to realize it too. It was a little embarrassing, but when she was checking his motor skills and teaching him to walk again after laying dormant for a long time, she treated him as a toddler who was walking for the first time.

"Come on, big guy! I'll be right here to catch you." she reassured as she stood a couple feet from where he was sitting, she chuckled softly when he pressed his pawed hand over his eyes to shield himself from the embarrassing image.

"I-I can do this by myself..."

"Sure, bunny boy. But what's a little help, hmm?" peeking out from between his fingers, he saw her standing there, hands still outstretched, patient and encouraging. "I promise to catch you." Bonnie hesitated a moment longer... then slowly dropped his hand and pushed himself up with a mechanical whir, joints clicking softly as he found his balance. "There you go," [F/N] teased, hands still out. "C'mon, don’t leave me hangin’, superstar." Bonnie grumbled under his breath, ears twitching in clear embarrassment as he took a shaky step forward. His servos whined from disuse, and his heavy frame wobbled precariously.

"You're doing great," she said, grinning wide enough for him to see it. "Like a big ol’ baby deer."

"I am not a baby," Bonnie muttered, taking another uneven step — and immediately tipping sideways. [F/N] laughed and lunged forward just in time to catch him, staggering slightly under his weight but managing to steady them both.

"Whoa, easy there, big guy!" she said brightly, patting his arm like he was made of paper instead of reinforced alloy. "What’d I tell you? I'd catch you." Bonnie stayed frozen for a second longer than necessary, blinking down at her with wide, embarrassed eyes before slowly straightening up, careful this time.

"Th-Thank you," he mumbled.

"Hey, no problem," she said with a wink, stepping back. "Besides, I'm not letting you face-plant after all this work fixing you. That would seriously ruin my repair record." Bonnie huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh — shy, but real. By the end of the day he was walking all on his own, under her supervision, and though he wasn't yet able to move as well as he did in the past, at least he wasn't fal-- oh, spoke to soon.

"Hey, no problem," she said with a wink, stepping back. "Besides, I'm not letting you face-plant after all this work fixing you. That would seriously ruin my repair record." Bonnie huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh — shy, but real. By the end of the day, he was walking on his own, moving carefully under [F/N]'s watchful eye. His steps were still stiff and unsteady, but he was upright — and he hadn't needed her to catch him for a while now. Progress. She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching him pace the small room.

"Look at you go, practically a track star." Bonnie huffed again, a little louder this time — almost a laugh — as he focused on taking another solid step forward. At least, until his foot caught on a loose wire. He stumbled, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to catch himself — but it was too late. "Oh, spoke too soon," [F/N] muttered just as he crashed face-first into the floor with a loud metallic thud.

...

...

"You okay down there, champ?" [F/N] snorted, trying and failing to hold back a laugh. Bonnie groaned miserably into the floor, one hand giving a feeble thumbs-up.

Bonnie was now resting inside a charging station, his systems whirring quietly as he powered down after a long, exhausting day of rehab. Meanwhile, [F/N] sat hunched over a cluttered worktable, sketches and blueprints spread out in a messy fan around her. She twirled her pencil between her fingers as she stared at the latest design she was working on: a new, custom upgrade for Bonnie’s hands.

She was basing it off both his original schematics and Monty's claw design — trying to create something better. Stronger, yes, but more refined. The claws Monty had weren’t exactly her favorite piece of tech. They hadn’t been designed by her, and they had clear flaws. Sure, they let him play the bass better with the strength boost, but Monty’s lack of regulation often meant snapped strings, shattered basses, and more than a few frustrated tantrums.

[F/N] tapped her pencil against the table thoughtfully. Bonnie deserved better than that. He needed precision and strength — not brute force. She glanced over at the charging station, where the faint blue glow around Bonnie’s frame pulsed with each slow breath of the charger. A small smile tugged at her lips.

"I'll get you something even better, big guy," she murmured under her breath, scribbling a few more adjustments onto the blueprint. "Something that won’t just make you strong... but make you you again."

Hours passed. The Pizzaplex had long since fallen into its eerie nighttime silence, save for the occasional mechanical whir or distant buzz of a maintenance bot roaming the halls. But in the tucked-away workshop, the only sound was the scratch of [F/N]’s pencil and the occasional tired sigh.

She was determined to get it right. Every line on the blueprint, every measurement, had to be perfect. Bonnie wasn’t just another project — not to her. But eventually, exhaustion crept in. Her pencil slipped from her fingers, clattering softly against the table, and her head dipped forward until she slumped against her arms, fast asleep. The soft, even rise and fall of her breathing was the only movement in the room.

Across the way, the charging station gave a low hum as it completed its cycle. The doors hissed open, releasing Bonnie in a mist of cool air. His systems rebooted sluggishly, optics adjusting to the dim light. For a moment he simply stood there, trying to get his bearings — until he noticed her. [F/N], curled up awkwardly at her workbench, fast asleep amidst scattered blueprints, loose wiring, and tools.

Bonnie’s ears drooped slightly, a strange, unfamiliar feeling stirring somewhere deep in his still-recovering systems. Carefully, quietly, he stepped forward, mindful of the newly calibrated servos in his legs. He moved with surprising grace for someone who could barely walk earlier that day. He stopped just beside her, tilting his head as he studied her sleeping form. There was smudged pencil lead on her fingers, a wrench tucked under one arm like she was guarding it in her sleep, and a soft little frown of concentration still lingering on her face even in rest.

She’d worked herself to exhaustion — for him.

Bonnie’s gaze shifted to the blueprint in front of her. Even without fully understanding all the technical details, he recognized the shape of the new hands she was designing: built for precision, for control, with a strength that could be guided rather than forced.

Built for him.

Slowly, Bonnie reached out, his newly repaired fingers hovering uncertainly for a moment before gently pulling a nearby spare cloth over her shoulders like a blanket. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

"...Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible, before sitting down against the wall nearby, content to keep quiet watch until she woke. It wasn’t until a couple hours later that [F/N] stirred. She blinked blearily, sitting up with a groggy groan and rubbing her eyes. Her fingers brushed the cloth draped over her shoulders, and she froze for a second, confused. She didn’t remember grabbing a cloth... her sleepy gaze drifted across the room — and there, sitting quietly with his back against the wall, was Bonnie. He stiffened the moment he realized she was awake, his optics darting away quickly like a kid caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. [F/N] blinked again, then smiled sleepily.

"Were you... watching over me?" Bonnie shifted awkwardly, fidgeting with the edge of his paw plates.

"N-No... I was just... resting," he said, very unconvincingly. She let out a soft laugh, sitting up straighter and letting the cloth fall into her lap.

"Right. You were ‘resting’... conveniently right next to me." Bonnie's ears twitched, and if he could blush, he probably would have. [F/N] stood up, stretching her arms over her head with a loud yawn. "Well, I appreciate the concern, Bunny Boy. Guess you’re sweeter than you look." Bonnie ducked his head shyly, but a faint, pleased whirr came from his chest. She moved to her worktable, tapping the designs she’d fallen asleep over. "I’ll have your new hands ready soon. Then we can finally get you back to playing bass — without snapping it in half like a certain someone." Bonnie chuckled softly under his breath.

"Thank you," he said again, this time a little stronger, a little more sure. [F/N] grinned at him over her shoulder.

"Anytime, big guy. That’s what friends are for, right?" The word friends made Bonnie's chest give a tiny, unfamiliar flutter — a warm, strange feeling he couldn’t quite explain.

But he decided he liked it.

Very much.

Bit by bit, Bonnie was slowly becoming himself again.

As she worked with him day after day, [F/N] couldn't help but wonder about the animatronic sitting before her. She never personally met Glamrock Bonnie before — at least, not when he was fully active. When she was little, she remembered visiting a Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria once or twice, but her memories of him were hazy at best. In her mind, he was always just the bunny with the bass... or was it a guitar? She couldn’t even remember which.

But Freddy and Chica remembered him.

And when [F/N] had mentioned Bonnie’s name in passing conversation, both had lit up with a fondness that was hard to ignore. They missed him terribly — and from the way they spoke, Bonnie had been quite the lively character. Freddy described him as "boisterous, but dependable," while Chica had simply called him "a big, goofy show-off with a heart of gold." [F/N] smiled a little at the memory as she adjusted the fit of the prototype hand she'd built. Bonnie watched her closely, his newly repaired optics focused on her with a cautious but growing trust.

"You know," she said as she tightened a few screws, "from everything Freddy and Chica have told me... you were a real handful back in the day." Bonnie's ears perked slightly.

"Handful...?"

"Yeah," she said, glancing up at him. "Loud. Energetic. Always goofing off between shows. You sound like you were the life of the party." Bonnie stared at her for a moment, as if trying to reach back into half-broken memories. His expression softened, and then, faintly — a chuckle.

"I... I think I remember," he said, almost shyly. "I liked making them laugh." [F/N] grinned, giving his newly installed hand a little test squeeze.

"Sounds about right. They miss you, you know." Bonnie blinked slowly, his voice dropping a little.

"...I miss them too." She sighed softly, reaching out and gently taking his hand into hers, her other hand giving the top of his paw a reassuring pat.

"I know you do," she said quietly. "But at the rate we’re going, I’m sure to have you up and running in no time." Bonnie's optics softened, and a small, genuine smile crossed his face. Her confidence, her steady presence — it was comforting in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

"Okay," he said, his voice steadier. "I trust you." [F/N] beamed at him, giving his hand a small squeeze before stepping back.

"Good! Now, flex your hands," she ordered, her voice flipping from compassionate to all-business in a blink. Bonnie couldn’t help but chuckle — a deep, low sound — at how fast her demeanor changed. Still, he did exactly as she asked without complaint. Slowly, he opened and closed his fingers, testing the new joints. There was a slight stiffness at first, but already he could feel how much more natural the movement was compared to his old ones.

"Not bad," she said, watching closely, a pencil tucked behind her ear. "How's it feel?"

"Different... but better," Bonnie admitted, flexing his fingers again and rotating his wrists carefully. "Stronger. Smoother."

"That's what I like to hear," she said with a proud little grin, jotting a few quick notes onto her clipboard.

Now came her biggest problem yet — she needed a bass guitar. She couldn't just take Monty's. He would definitely notice if it was tampered with, and if it went missing for any length of time, he'd throw a tantrum the size of the entire Pizzaplex. The last thing [F/N] wanted was to deal with that kind of fallout. Ordering a new bass was off the table too. Management would absolutely question why she needed one when Monty’s was still perfectly functional. She couldn't afford to draw attention — not with Bonnie still a secret project hidden away in her workshop.

That left her with only one real option: make one herself.

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck as she stared at her notes. It wouldn't be easy. She'd have to dig through the piles of discarded parts, broken props, and scrap metal collecting dust down in the basement — the same place she'd scavenged for Bonnie’s replacement parts. It was risky. Time-consuming. Honestly, a little crazy. But when she glanced over at Bonnie, quietly recharging in his station with that peaceful look on his face, she decided it was worth it.

"Guess it's time to play junkyard hero," she muttered, grabbing her flashlight and tightening her toolbelt. If she could rebuild an entire animatronic out of scraps and stubbornness, she could definitely build a bass guitar.

Right?

Well—

She was sprawled over her workbench, the mask slipping off her face, her duffle bag of parts spilled across the table in disarray. Why was she so exhausted? Because she'd been darting around the basement, collecting parts while carefully avoiding the endoskeletons. They were usually dormant, but tonight—something had changed. They were more active, more aggressive. It would have been impossible to gather anything if not for the V.A.N.N.I. mask. Still, they'd gotten too close, closer than she was comfortable with.

“What the hell is up with them?” She shook her head, dumping the contents of the bag onto the table. She grabbed a couple of busted guitars, each showing signs of years of damage. Most had broken necks, some were missing tuning pegs and string trees, but the one in the best shape just needed a few parts replaced on the body. She wasn’t a luthier, but she could build a bass from scratch. This project had to be a secret from Bonnie. She wanted to surprise him with his own personal bass after he'd lost his to Monty. Each time they went through his maintenance, she’d make sure to hide everything related to the bass, keeping it out of sight so he wouldn't find it. Even when she had to leave Parts and Services to do her work as the mechanic and technician for the Pizzaplex, she made sure it stayed hidden—no one could know.

But, all the projects were slowly taking a toll on her body.

“If Moony catches you, he’ll be very upset,” Chica warned, watching [F/N] dismiss the concern with a casual wave of her hand.

“Eh, I’m doing great. I’m not causing any incidents—so all’s well that ends well,” [F/N] replied, trying to brush it off. Chica pouted softly and gently reached forward, cupping [F/N]'s cheek.

“I can’t help but worry we’re overworking you,” Chica said, her voice softening. “You’re one of the few mechanics we'd actually miss if you suddenly left,” she added with a chuckle.

“Aw, don’t worry about me,” [F/N] grinned, though it didn’t quite reach her tired eyes. “Besides, I highly doubt management will find anyone to replace me. I’m one of the few people who actually puts up with their bullshit.” Chica raised her hand as she saw [F/N] start to sway slightly, her exhaustion obvious.

“Okay, sweetheart,” she said, her tone shifting to one of gentle concern. “Just make sure to visit the Daycare, or I’ll send Moony after you myself.”

"Are you threatening me?" [F/N] laughed, her own smile returning despite the heavy weariness tugging at her. "I never took you for that kind of person." They shared another easy laugh, the moment light and natural, before [F/N] turned back to her work. She knelt down to check over Chica’s frame again — but paused when something caught her eye inside the animatronic's open chest cavity. Leaning in closer, [F/N]'s brow furrowed. Reaching in carefully she paused when she pulled out an empty chip packet.

"...Ah hah," Chica started, averting her gaze from the mechanic "How'd that get in there?" [F/N] shook her head in exasperation, tossing the crumpled wrapper into the trashcan behind her with a practiced flick.

"What did I say about eating the garbage, Chica?" Chica gave a sheepish little laugh, her servo claws fidgeting.

"I know, I know," she said, voice lilting with guilt. "I just... I get really hungry." [F/N] couldn't help but laugh, a tired but fond sound, as she wiped her hands on her pants.

"You're lucky you're cute," she teased, tapping Chica’s beak lightly. "Otherwise I'd have to report you to the janitorial team."

"Heh, thanks."

"Don't make me catch more trash inside you," [F/N] warned, crossing her arms. "You know what it does to your systems. It screws with your wiring and it's a pain to get it all out."

"I'm sorry, truly," Chica said, hanging her head in shame. Satisfied, [F/N] nodded and took a step back, pressing the correct colored buttons to reseal Chica’s chest plate. With a soft hiss, the panel clicked back into place. "Thanks again, sugar. My voice box had been acting up lately," Chica said brightly, giving a playful salute.

"Don't worry about it," [F/N] said with a tired chuckle. "Just be careful with what you consume, okay?"

"I will!" Chica chirped before twiddling her fingers in a cutesy farewell and skipping off toward her elevator. Once the bird was gone, [F/N] all but collapsed into her seat, burying her face in her hands. The exhaustion she'd been fighting — from the endless repairs, Bonnie’s reconstruction, and the slow, painstaking restoration of his bass — was finally catching up with her. She groaned softly, rubbing her face in an effort to ward off the overwhelming urge to just pass out right then and there.

"I'm so close," she told herself stubbornly. "What's a few more hours?"

Just as she reached for her clipboard again, a thought struck her.

"Wait a minute... what time is it—?" Before she could even glance at the clock, the power abruptly cut out, plunging the room into darkness. A low, sinister chuckle echoed through the air, and the faint jingling of bells quickly followed. [F/N] sighed, shoulders sagging in resignation. "Go ahead, do your thing," she muttered into the darkness. From the shadows, long, spindly limbs wrapped around her gently but firmly, and a familiar, unsettling face — all bells and toothy grin — appeared at her side.

"It's past your bedtime," Moondrop whispered, voice dripping with faux-sweetness as he cradled her against him like a wayward child.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Let's just get this over with," [F/N] grumbled, waving a lazy hand at him. Moondrop only giggled — that eerie, childish sound — before whisking her off the chair like she weighed nothing at all. She didn’t even bother to struggle; her body was practically deadweight by the time they reached the Daycare.

True to his word, Moondrop had already prepared a little tent in a quiet corner, complete with a pile of soft cushions and a blanket. Without much ceremony, he tucked her inside, setting the blanket over her as if she were one of the Daycare kids. No disturbances. No alarms. Just the quiet hum of the Daycare’s systems. When the lights inevitably switched back to day mode and Sundrop sprang to life, he immediately noticed her sleeping form and smiled warmly. Grabbing a facemask from the first-aid kit, he carefully slipped it over her eyes to shield her from the sudden brightness, patting her head once before quietly bustling around to clean the area. Every now and then, he’d tiptoe past her on exaggeratedly quiet feet, making absolutely sure not to wake her.

Throughout the night, a few of the animatronics stopped by one by one — Freddy, Chica, Roxy, and Monty — peeking in through the entrance of the tent. They each lingered for a moment, quietly ensuring she was okay before slipping away again without a word. None of them dared wake her; they just shared small glances among themselves, respectful and oddly protective. The Daycare — usually so chaotic and full of noise — was, for once, calm. And [F/N] slept on, wrapped up in a rare, peaceful stillness she hadn't felt in weeks.

Hours later...

"Mm..." [F/N] laced her fingers together as she stretched her arms over her head, hearing her knuckles crack with the movement. She blinked herself awake and tugged off the mask shielding her eyes. It took a second to register where she was — the cozy little tent Moondrop had set up for her. She smiled, tired but genuinely grateful. "I definitely needed that," she muttered, brushing hair from her face. Her attention shifted when Sundrop appeared at the opening of the tent, arms crossed, his usually cheery face pulled into a dramatic frown of disapproval. "Thanks for caring so much," [F/N] said softly, her voice free of sarcasm, her gratitude genuine. Sundrop beamed.

"Well, of course! There's isn't anything we wouldn't do for you, friend!" She smiled warmly, her heart squeezing a little at the sincerity of it.

"I appreciate that. Then stop eating glitter glue, dammit." At that, Sundrop immediately averted his gaze, whistling innocently.

"I'll do almost anything for you," he mumbled under his breath. [F/N] rolled her eyes but laughed, the sound light and infectious. The others chuckled along, unknown to them, Vanessa had been making her rounds when she noticed that Rockstar Row was suspiciously quiet. Curious, she followed the trail to the Daycare—and froze, blinking at the sight before her. Peeking through the door, she caught a glimpse of the impromptu "sleepover": all the animatronics were piled together in a loose circle, with [F/N] fast asleep in the middle, completely content and safe among them. Sundrop fussed with a blanket over her while the others lounged nearby, watching over her like protective siblings. Vanessa smiled to herself, letting out a quiet, relieved chuckle.

"And here I was getting worried she'd drop dead in the middle of one of her shifts." Shaking her head fondly, she stepped back and let them have their peace.

[weeks later]

"Haha! I did it! It's done!" [F/N] cheered, her arms thrown up in triumph.

Spread out on the workbench before her was Bonnie’s new bass, gleaming under the workshop lights. It wasn't perfect — not by Fazbear Entertainment's shiny, corporate standards — but it was theirs. Every part had been carefully scavenged, restored, and repainted with steady, meticulous hands. She ran her fingers gently along the neck of the bass, admiring the deep, rich blue accents she added to match Bonnie's original colors. It was sturdy, well-balanced, and most importantly, made for him.

“All that’s left is to tune it,” she said with a grin, grabbing a nearby tuner and sitting down with the bass cradled in her lap. The familiar feeling of strings under her fingers, the subtle vibrations humming through the wood—it almost made her giddy. She wasn't a professional by any means, but after tuning Chica’s guitar and Monty’s bass more times than she could count, it had become almost as easy as breathing for [F/N]. Her hands moved automatically, adjusting the tension of each string, plucking lightly to hear the notes ring out. It sounded terrible, of course, but it wasn't going to take long for her to get it sounding like new.

The low, steady hum of the bass strings filled the otherwise silent room as [F/N] carefully plucked and adjusted each one, her brow furrowed in focus. She sat cross-legged on the floor, the newly restored bass resting against her legs, the fresh paint gleaming under the workshop lights. She didn’t notice the soft sound of footsteps behind her — or the tall figure that lingered just beyond the doorway.

Bonnie stood there, one paw braced lightly against the doorframe, his ears tilted forward in curiosity. His eyes, brighter now thanks to her repairs, softened at the sight before him. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. He simply watched. The way she worked, with such care, such deliberate attention to every small detail — it stirred something in him. She wasn't just fixing something broken. She was giving something back to him. Something he thought he had lost forever. He caught the small smile that tugged at her lips when she strummed a note and heard it ring true. She tilted her head, tuning by ear, completely immersed in what she was doing. There was a quiet joy about her — a kind of pride and excitement that made Bonnie’s nonexistent heart ache a little.

And still, he didn’t disturb her.

Instead, he leaned silently against the frame, arms loosely crossed over his broad chest, content just to stay in that moment. Watching. Grateful.

He could wait a little longer to say thank you.

Bonnie's ears twitched slightly when he heard her voice — so soft, so full of affection for something she built just for him. He watched as she cradled the bass like it was something precious, her cheek pressed against the cool metal of the neck, her excitement lighting her face from within.

"He's going to love you," she whispered, tying a bright ribbon into a neat, proud bow around the bass’s neck. Bonnie felt something in his chest that he didn’t have words for. A warmth that buzzed through his frame, low and steady. He stayed silent, letting her have this moment without knowing she had an audience. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, hands on her hips, beaming with satisfaction. Something about it made Bonnie's own smile tug wider. Not because of the gift itself — though it was beautiful — but because of her. The care she put into it. The way she thought of him even when he wasn’t looking. She turned around and the presence that was watching her disappeared back down the hall he came from, she looked around once more before picking up the finished bass and putting it away before Bonnie could appear and see it. "I can't wait for him to see this."

And that’s where we find [F/N], hunched over Bonnie’s frame, polishing the metal and preparing his paint job. The body was smooth—free of dents or cracks—but still devoid of the signature colors that made him who he was. A photo of Bonnie, from before he was trashed, lay next to her on the workbench, the only reference to guide her as she worked. She glanced between the photo and the blank canvas before her, carefully adjusting Bonnie’s chin with one hand, holding him steady as she worked.

Her fingers, skilled from years of doing Roxy and Chica’s eyeliner, moved with ease, applying the delicate touch around his eyes. The eyeliner was subtle but precise, creating the sharp outline that defined his expression. She was meticulous, ensuring the curve was just right, just like she had done a hundred times before on the others. As she finished, she took a step back, making sure everything aligned perfectly, her tired eyes scanning his face for any imperfections that didn’t exist.

Next, she moved on to the paint. The airbrush in her hand hummed softly as she began to layer color over his frame, each stroke smooth and deliberate. There was no damage to cover, no wear and tear to fix—just an empty surface awaiting the familiar hues that once adorned him. She worked quickly but with purpose, spraying layers of color—deep blues and purples, with accents of gold—building him back up, piece by piece.

“Nearly done…” [F/N] murmured to herself, finishing the purple lining along Bonnie’s jumpsuit. She admired the smooth, flawless strokes with a small smile before reaching for a purple earring. Standing on a nearby stool to get a better angle, she carefully clipped it to Bonnie’s right ear. She chuckled softly, flicking the earring gently with her finger. Once satisfied, she stepped down from the stool and grabbed a brush to tidy up Bonnie’s hair. With gentle, precise strokes, she smoothed the strands into place, making sure every lock was styled just right.

The air was quiet except for the soft sounds of her movements, but as she finished and stepped back to take in her work, Bonnie looked as vibrant as ever. The purple hues, the gleam of the earring—it was as if he’d never been damaged at all. She took a moment to admire the work, the small but significant transformation that brought him back to life in her own way.

“Perfect,” [F/N] said with a satisfied smile, stepping back to admire her work. She grabbed a small mirror from the table and held it up in front of Bonnie. “Don’t you just look beautiful?”

Bonnie took the mirror from her slowly, almost hesitantly, his fingers brushing against the glass as if uncertain it was real. He lifted it to his face, eyes widening as he took in his reflection. The vibrant purple tones of his jumpsuit gleamed under the light, the freshly applied eyeliner sharp and precise, and the small earring catching the light just right. His face softened, and for a moment, there was a trace of disbelief in his eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. He turned his head slightly, inspecting every detail, the smooth metal surface that had once been dull now shining with life.

“I… I don’t even recognize myself,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. He lifted the mirror a little higher, his gaze lingering on the work [F/N] had done. “You… you really fixed me. All this time, I didn’t think I’d ever look like this again.” she chuckled, crossing her arms.

"Doubted me, hmm?" There was a pause, and he turned to her, his expression softening.

“Thank you, [F/N]. I don’t know what to say… I’m… I’m grateful.”

[F/N]'s eyes widened softly at the look in Bonnie’s gaze—the deep gratitude, the way it shimmered in his eyes, as if he could hardly believe someone had actually found him and restored him when he’d been left abandoned behind his bowling alley. He hadn’t asked her to fix him. Hell, nobody had. It had been a choice she’d made on her own, just because she could. But as Bonnie sat there, looking at her with such appreciation, she realized it wasn’t about what she’d gotten in return—what she had was a simple thank you. And that, in itself, was more than enough. She cleared her throat, breaking the quiet moment, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

"W-Well, don’t thank me yet," [F/N] said, her voice softening as she stepped back slightly. "There’s still one more thing to complete the look." She briefly left his side, disappearing behind a nearby shelf. Bonnie’s eyes followed her, a curious expression crossing his face. When she returned, though, he already knew what was coming. She pulled something out from behind her back—a bass guitar, the same one he had seen her tuning just hours before. [F/N] held it up with a hesitant smile. “It took me a bit of time, with all the pieces I had to scrounge for, and the fact that I’ve never made a bass guitar before... But whatever. I made it for you.”

However, [F/N] watched Bonnie stand up and carefully place the bass down, she was taken by surprise when he began approaching her. She instinctively took a step back, confusion flickering across her face. But before she could say anything, he reached her, and in one smooth motion, he wrapped his metallic arms around her, pulling her into a warm, careful embrace. She squeaked in surprise, her hands instinctively pressing against his chest, but she could feel the careful restraint in his hold. His arms were strong, yet he regulated his strength to make sure he didn’t crush her or bring her any harm. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of his body, the warmth of his touch unexpected and comforting.

"I’ve already said it a thousand times over, but thank you," Bonnie's voice was low, almost reverent. “T-Thank you for not giving up on me. This means so much to me.”

He gently pulled away, and [F/N] found herself staring into his eyes, wide and soft with a look that took her breath away. He wasn’t the same worn, broken animatronic she had found behind the bowling alley. He was whole again, and in that moment, his gratitude was unmistakable. He looked at her as if she had done something far beyond what she ever expected of herself.

"I wish I could give you something back," Bonnie said quietly, his voice sincere, his tone gentle. "You’ve done so much for me... I just... I wish I could show you how much this means."

[F/N] hung frozen for a moment, taking in his words. She wasn’t used to this kind of gratitude, not like this. Freddy and Chica were affectionate in their own ways, always warm and supportive, and even Sunny had his playful moments of kindness. But none of them had ever done something like this—not in the way Bonnie had just shown her. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the depth of his words, the weight of his sincerity. His hands, though metallic, were careful and tender as he held her. It was something she hadn’t expected, and the softness in his gaze made her feel a wave of warmth, something she hadn’t realized she needed until this very moment. She cleared her throat, trying to shake off the feeling that was rising in her chest.

“You don’t have to give me anything, Bonnie,” [F/N] said softly, her voice a little shaky. “Seeing you back on your feet... that’s more than enough for me.” At her words, Bonnie’s body seemed to deflate slightly, a soft, almost helpless expression crossing his face. He stood there for a moment, the hum of his internal mechanisms filling the space, before he spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

"I’ve been on the receiving end ever since I reactivated,” he said, a faint sadness in his voice. “I want to be able to give you something, even if it’s small…” For a moment, it felt like she was dealing with a child, unsure and desperate to give something back, and it was clear he wasn’t going to let go of the idea anytime soon. She could see it in his eyes—the same persistence she’d seen in him when he was first reactivated. Her hand gently patted his arm, a comforting gesture, and she looked around for something to ease the tension. Her gaze fell upon the bass he had so carefully set aside, just to hug her. She smiled softly at the instrument, an idea forming in her mind.

“Well, um, how about...” she began, trailing off as a soft hue dusted her cheeks. Her heart fluttered embarrassingly slightly at the thought of what she was about to suggest. She cleared her throat. “How about you play me a song?” Bonnie’s ears perked up immediately, his eyes lighting up as he leaned forward.

“Oh, I can do that! I’ll play you the best song, just for you!” Before [F/N] could even process his excitement, he plopped her down onto a nearby stool with a gentle but hurried motion, his hands moving as he rushed around Parts and Services. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of him scrambling, grabbing a nearby bass amplifier and setting it up with a purpose. As he took the ribbon off the bass, he paused for a moment, studying it with an almost mischievous glint in his eyes. Instead of discarding it, as one might expect, he carefully tied it around his neck and fashioned it into a makeshift bowtie. The sight of him wearing it so proudly made her smile. How adorable. She couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at the sight of him, so proud of his little touch.

"You look great, bunny," [F/N] said with a teasing smile, her eyes sparkling as she took in Bonnie’s new look, complete with the bowtie. His ears drooped over his face, flustered by the nickname that, somehow, now sounded different coming from her. A soft, surprised hum escaped him as he straightened up again, his metallic body now feeling a bit warmer from the unexpected affection.

“W-Well, you ready for the greatest song ever?” he said, trying to regain his usual confidence, though his fingers betrayed his excitement as they twitched in anticipation to finally play after so long. [F/N] grinned and nodded, leaning back slightly against the stool, her arms crossing in playful challenge.

“Yeah, big guy. Give me your best shot.” Bonnie’s eyes gleamed with determination. With one last glance at her, he took a deep breath and strummed the bass, sending a deep, resonant note through the air. The sound was rich and soothing, the music vibrating through the room as he settled into the rhythm, his hands dancing over the strings with a skill that made it clear he hadn’t lost his touch, no matter how long it had been since he’d last played. [F/N] watched Bonnie intently as he played, her eyes focused on his every movement. She leaned her face into her closed fist, a small smile tugging at her lips as she rested against the workbench. For once, she felt a sense of peace settle over her. The chaos of the past months, the countless hours spent repairing Bonnie, finding parts for his bass, and ensuring every detail was perfect—it all led to this moment.

It wasn’t just the music she was hearing—it was the culmination of everything she had worked for. Bonnie, whole again, playing the instrument he had lost, reclaiming what had been taken from him. And she had played a part in that. A small, quiet part, but one that mattered more than anything. She closed her eyes for just a moment, letting herself soak in the warmth of the moment. The satisfaction of knowing she had helped him find something lost, of knowing she had given him back a piece of himself, was a feeling unlike any other.

It was perfect.

[spicerackofblorbos]

Chapter 2: December

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x fem!mute!Reader (she/her pronouns), set in a modern semi-fictional world

☾ Summary ➼ Due to childhood trauma, you find yourself an adult without the ability to speak. After years of working on it, you have found ways to live without a voice. Now here in your late 20s, you are 5 months in getting used to a new town. On a fateful day in late November, you and your adopted sister visit a local bookstore-café, unaware of the friendships about to blossom. Throughout the months, one friendship in particular develops into something more.

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, oblivious feelings, angst, mention of minor character deaths, trauma, illness, adoption, mentions of fire, disabilities, alcohol use, very light nsfw mentions (to be continued as writing is ongoing)

☾ Author's note ➼ Hey guys! Here's the next chapter, I hope you like it. If you missed the first chapter, you can check it out here! The last one was pretty long but that's because it had to set up a lot of stuff, so this one is a little shorter. The interactions with Levi are short (heh) but I promise the next chapter will have a lot more. Buckle up buttercups.

☾ Word Count ➼ ~5.6k

The town of Jinae started out as a cute crossroads village of sorts. It held only the bare necessities for those traveling from one major city to the next. That meant that small motels, dinky diners, and two-pump gas stations peppered the main road going in and out. A modest residential zone paired with an all-in-one school rounded out the town. Jinae’s purpose was clear; providing the needs to those just passing through.  

However, Jinae saw an enormous growth in just the span of 25 years. A pharmaceutical company called Titan LLC sought to place roots in this small village, building a research facility in the hills 10 minutes away from the downtown area. With the prospect of new jobs came more people and more people meant an inevitable expansion to create space for them. Thus, the little village turned into a quaint, bustling town. It was also this company that brought you and Hange into small-town life.  

Hange had been a part of Titan’s company for a few years, working in a facility in your hometown. Because Titan was privatized medicine, you were not allowed to know much of what her job entailed. All you knew was that she was a lab technician and spent most of her time studying and working with viruses.

Hange often joked about making zombies, but part of you wondered how much of her statement was a joke and how much of it was wishful thinking. But then she had been given a promotion to head-researcher and they requested that she be relocated to the facility in Jinae. Hange was quick to accept.   

Unfortunately for you, their new position is the reason why you found yourself cursing at the intricate filigree mask that dug into your face. It made any attempt to look down at the spread of auction items before you difficult. You glide your fingers across an informational plaque pertaining to an art piece that sat behind it, not really minding what the art piece really was. Your mind wandered to the argument you and your sister had a couple weeks ago.  

For context, Jinae hosts a winter gala every year as a way to boost community through the networking of big and small businesses alike. All proceeds from the gala’s events, tickets included, would go into improving the town. But, in more recent years Titan had become one of the town’s biggest benefactors and subsequently the gala’s biggest sponsor. Hange was pretty wishy-washy with the details, but they mentioned that part of the proceeds now goes into Titan as funds for their future projects. Of course, it made you suspicious, but it was not the reason why you were so upset at the time. 

This was the first Christmas Eve that you were not home with your family. Generally, by this time you would be lounging around with your other siblings, drinking hot cocoa and watching silly little holiday movies. Hange was upset about that too but with her new position, their attendance at the gala was mandatory. Titan had mentioned something about making the company personable and being a part of the community. You understood for the most part, but you were still frustrated that you were not wearing soft pajamas and were instead tripping over a dark, floor length evening gown.  

The thought of the previous conversation makes you huff as you continuously make your way through the auction items, again not really taking note of the piece before moving on to the next. You’ve heard of silent auctions before but have never seen one in person. It was quite strange to you, but you quickly find it’s an interesting concept as no one really had to interact with anyone else. After about the 20th display, your eyes start to glaze over. You think maybe your time would be better spent elsewhere, but then your eyes catch a familiar donor’s name on a plaque card.  

Were they here? 

You lean over to take a closer look at the small text on the card.  

“To You, 2000 Years From Now: A History of Ymir”  - First Edition  - Author: Frieda Reiss  Graciously donated by No Regrets Café 

You peek at the item behind it. It’s a light blue hardcover book, no more than maybe 300 pages. The cover was canvas with gilded text. In the center sat an embossed trunk with several branches shooting off in a myriad of directions. It reminded you of a leafless tree. You were not very familiar with the goddess Ymir due to the lack of religious background your home had growing up. But you did pick up bits and pieces as you got older, so you at least recognized the name.  

Lost in thought, you straighten up and take a step back. As you do, you’re knocked forward as you collide with something behind you. A cold liquid splashes down your exposed back making you gasp in surprise. When you turn around, you’re faced with a very angry man dabbing a cloth at his wine-stained dress shirt. He stares at you furiously and you feel your face heat up in embarrassment.  

“Can you watch where you’re going?! This is a very expensive shirt!” He screeches at you. His sudden volume startles you, causing you to flinch. Hands shaking, you attempt to unclasp your clutch to reach for your phone. 

“I don’t want your money! I want an apology! Do you know how long this will take to get out?!” His round spectacles flash at you as he scowls. He jerks towards you with his hand up in an accusatory point at your chest. 

You manage to fish out your phone but your tremoring, sweaty hands cause your phone to slip out and hit the ground with a loud ‘thwap’. At this point, everyone around is staring at the loud scene and whispering to each other. You look back up at the man, frustrated tears threatening to brim over. With no way to communicate, you’re reminded of the times when you were a child. You ball your fists in an effort to hold yourself together, nails digging into your skin.  

Suddenly you see someone bending down in front of you and picking up your phone. Standing up, they peer up at you with familiar sharp, gray eyes. A breath hitches in your throat as you immediately recognize him. He wore a half mask covering his scarred side, but you knew instantly it was him. He observes your face intently and you’re not certain if he recognizes you.  

“Excuse me, sir. I��m in the middle of something. Would you kindly move?” The man sneers. Levi narrows his eyes at the voice and spins around to face the tall stranger.  

“No, I don’t think I will. Apologize to the lady.” Levi’s voice is dry and devoid of emotion. 

“I beg your pardon?” The man’s face contorts in bewilderment.  

“Then beg.” Levi folds his arms across his chest and glowers hard. When he’s only given a shocked silence in return, he continues, “Apologize to the lady, I won’t ask again.” His voice is now icy. 

“Well, I never...”  Blanching, the man mumbles a ‘sorry’ before stumbling away.  

“Oi! Hydrogen peroxide and cold water on that stain immediately!” Levi calls out to the man. Without checking to see if the man heard him, he rounds on you. Your mouth sat agape as you stared down at him. His gaze is still hard as he inspects your face. When your tears start spilling over and you choke on a sob, his eyes widen in surprise. He steps forward right as you pull back, holding your arms up to stop him.  

Through blurry eyes, you spot the French doors separating the ballroom from the rest of the convention center and rush towards them for a quick escape. You run through and down a few hallways, a loud bang resonating behind you as the heavy doors close. You almost don’t notice the hurried heavy set of footsteps following you.  

You slump down on the first bench you see, curling up on yourself against the wall. You notice how badly you're shaking, and your tears come even faster. Clenching your dress in fists, you attempt to take deep breaths as you hang your head low, staring at the floor. The bench shifts as Levi sits next to you. He hands out your phone as well as a white handkerchief for you to take. You do so without giving him a second glance, taking the cloth to dab the wetness from your eyes before shoving it right back into his hand. You note the black coloration staining the white from your makeup. 

How unbelievably embarrassing this is for you. You’re not able to speak up for yourself, then you’re humiliated by all the criticizing stares. And now you’re practically falling apart in front of someone you still hardly know. You didn’t want Levi to see you like this and it made you angry at how pathetic you felt. You open your notes app and type out a quick message.  

‘I didn’t need your help.’ You don’t even look up as you hand him your phone. He quietly scoffs at you.  

“Huh? What do you mean you didn’t need help? You were visibly distressed. And that asshole would not leave you alone.” He places your phone back in your open, awaiting hand. You snatch the phone from his grip before he lets go of it, your fingertips brushing across his causing him to flinch. 

‘I’m not some damsel in distress for you to save. It wasn’t your place, and you don’t get to decide what you think I need or want.’ Frustration flares in your chest as hot tears threatened to fall yet again. You turn your head away in case they do. He digests your message in silence, the only things heard were the muffled sounds of the orchestra and your sniffles. What you don’t notice is the shot of pain that flashes across his face before falling back into his neutral expression.   

“Tch, I don’t know why you’re acting so defensive; I was just trying to help. Maybe show some gratitude, brat.” He snaps back. 

Your head whips up to glare at him. Levi’s posture was much more closed off and defensive than before. His hair is slicked back, and he wore a simple black suit with a white cravat in place of the usual bowtie. He's scowling at you, unamused. The audacity makes that same frustration in your chest bloom into a fiery blaze.  

‘Are you being serious right now?’ You practically throw your phone at him, your anger now evident on your face.  

“As a matter of fact, I am. I’m not the one who can’t communicate. Why are you even here?” His eyebrows furrow into a knot to match your furious expression, voice icy again. He shoves your phone back into your palms and you’re already typing away. 

‘I can communicate just fine, asshole. I’m not about to thank you for something I did not need. And for the record, I didn’t even want to be here!’   

“Why did you even come then?!” 

‘Why did you?’ Your phone skids across the floor from the excessive throwing of your phone, you’re not sure who threw it. 

You bolt to your feet at the same time as him, frosty expressions aimed at each other. The tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hear waves crashing in your ears as your pulse races from the heated argument, chests rise and fall with heavy breathing. The past month, you two had gotten along, but now it felt as if you wanted to strangle him.  

“My little strawberry!! Where oh where did you run off to??” the shrill voice of your sister comes echoing down the hallway. Without giving Levi a second thought, you turn on your heel and start heading towards where the voice came from, picking your phone up from the floor as you go. You clutch your dress in both hands and pull it up to keep yourself from tripping on it, not caring that your worn-out combat boots were peeking out. There were definitely a few tears escaping from your eyes, rolling down your face and onto the floor as you stalked through the halls. 

Who did Levi think he was, scolding you like that. You two barely knew each other, so how could he assume that you needed help. He never took time to ask anything about you, save for those few questions at the bar a few weeks ago. You’ve only seen him a handful of times since then; It became the new normal to see you and Hange hanging out with the co-owners of the ‘No Regrets’ café after hours. Even then, Levi continued to be the man of few words. He’d offer grunts or scoffs in return for conversation in between sips of tea. And truly it never bothered you. But that also meant you and Levi had never had a real conversation. You knew nothing about him, and he knew nothing about you. 

You almost run headlong into a wall of a human as you round the corner, completely lost in thought. They catch you before you tumble backwards and fueled by the argument mere moments ago, you slap their hand away. You stare up at sky-blue eyes boring into yours and instantly regret it. You sign a quick apology, looking away from Erwin’s piercing gaze. He only examines you with silent consideration. 

‘If you’re looking for your ass of a friend, he’s back there.’ You sign to him stiffly.  

“Oh, well, I was actually looking for you. Hange needs you for something... are you okay?” Erwin asks softly. You wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, continuing to avert your gaze. As if that was answer enough, he says nothing else. Leading the way, he starts walking in what you could assume to be Hange’s direction. You follow close behind, staring at the back of his shoes as you went. You both walk in silence, and you mentally thank him for it. Once you step back into the ballroom, you spot a familiar frazzled brunette conversing with one of her coworkers. 

“Hange!” Erwin waves them over and they hold up a finger. After a few minutes they bound over and wrap you in a tight hug.  

“Oh my lovely, I heard about what happened and when I tried to find you, I couldn’t! Where were you?” She pulls away from the hug and studies your face. Their look of relief is suddenly replaced with a look of deep concern.  

‘Can we go home now?’ You sign to them before they can say anything, pleading with your eyes.  

“Well, I need to make a few more rounds but, I suppose we can leave. Give me about 15 minutes and then we can head out, okay?” They grab your hand and squeeze it reassuringly. With a reluctant nod they run off, leaving you with Erwin. You wrap your arms around yourself, and a heavy sigh escapes your lips. A couple moments of silence pass until his deep voice breaks it.  

“I don’t know what happened but try not to be too harsh on Levi.” You glance up at him but he’s not facing you, instead he’s surveying the crowd. He continues, “Levi has a rough demeanor. He may not always know how to handle emotions properly, his included, so I would caution you not to take it personally. In truth, he did not want to be here. I’m the one who dragged him out to make pleasantries with other businesses.” 

You don’t really know what to say to that, so you don’t. You still felt inklings of anger lingering in your body; you weren’t ready to let it go. To be and feel so humiliated in front of Levi was too much and you hadn’t had time to process it. Your heart squeezes as you remember the way Levi looked at you before you ran out of the ballroom. Something had startled him. Did your emotional reactions disturb him in a way he wasn't expecting? It could explain why he was so brusque with you. 

You glance up at him as he turns to you. You explore his face while you attempt to figure out what it is you wanted to say. Erwin’s eyes were bright and inquisitive, and it struck you how much of an antithesis he was to Levi. Erwin’s warm, soft nature clashed heavily with Levi’s cool, blunt personality. While Erwin was a summer breeze, Levi was a brewing storm. Whereas Erwin felt like a radiant sun warming you through the bone, Levi felt like a raging bonfire with flames threatening to lick at your skin and leave burns. Levi was not welcoming in any capacity and yet you were drawn to him like a magnet.   

‘He’s very stubborn, isn’t he?’ You sign at him finally. The blonde man chortles at your deadpan expression.  

“He very much is and based off what I know about you in the short time I’ve known you, I would say you’re the same.” He winks at you with a grin. You huff as you fold your arms across your chest in defiance.  

You wonder if that was an insult or compliment. You haven’t given much thought to the possible similarities and differences you both had, though you didn’t expect to be so explosive together. Whether it was just bad timing or you two just didn't get along as well as you thought, you didn't know. But what you did know was that you wanted to be home as soon as possible and out of this suffocating gown. Your eyes wander around the ballroom to try and find where your sister went off to. The only sights you see are people mingling and laughing, the dancing all but forgotten. Levi hadn't come back yet, and you felt your heart tug at the thought of him again. How frustrating he was to you.  

Finally, you spot Hange coming towards you with a wide smile, her jacket already pulled on with yours in hand. She must have stopped by the dinner table to grab yours on the way back. You step in to meet them halfway, shrugging on your coat the second she hands it off to you.  

"Well Erwin, I'm afraid we must part ways again. Keep me updated on your travels tomorrow, yes? I'd hate to find out you went out in blaze of glory by sliding off the highway." Your sister jokes as she walks past to give Erwin a playful punch on the arm.

Travels?  

You spin around and raise your eyebrows at him as you sign, 'You're going out of town too?' 

"I am, I'm going to visit my family for the holidays. I hear you will be doing the same as well. So, you," Erwin pats Hange's head with fondness and continues, "better let me know when you both arrive safely to your destination. And I will do my best to do the same." He flashes you one of his glittering smiles.   

'What does Levi have planned for tomorrow?' You can't help but ask. You internally kick yourself for your curiosity.  

"As usual, he's planning to open the cafe for a little bit in the morning and then he's going to visit his - someone close to him." Erwin shoots you an inquisitive glance, the corners of his mouth twitching as he responds. 

Levi working on Christmas seemed a little excessive to you and you speculate that those dark circles under his eyes were due to a workaholic nature. But the last part bothered you more than you cared to let on; Who is it that he had plans to see?  

"I know it's only been a month but that sounds like such a Levi thing to do. I think since the cafe will be open, we'll stop in to get a boost of caffeine before heading out. What do you say, my darling?" Hange wraps her arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. The thought of being near Levi again after what just transpired makes your stomach flip. In an effort to conceal your discomfort at the idea, you just roll your eyes and nudge your sister with your elbow.  

"It won't be a long stop I promise, then we can get to mom and dads in no time!" It seemed to work on Hange because she took your annoyance as taking too long to get home.  

After quick goodbyes and safe travel wishes, you find yourself staring out in the winter night as Hange drives down well-lit streets. The lamps flash on your face every other second as you pass them, your arm is propped up against the door’s console with your hand cradling your chin while you stare out. It's silent between the two of you for a while until Hange pipes up at a red light. 

"So, what happened between you and Levi?"  

Your head whips around so fast that you hit it against the window and your sister guffaws. You wince as you rub at the sore spot. She's staring straight at you with a sparkle in their eyes. Their enthusiasm makes you think she's looking for a specific answer, but you won't play that game. Turning to face them so they can see you clearly, you do the biggest eye roll you can muster.  

'It's nothing.'  

"It doesn't seem like nothing. You were crying before Erwin brought you to me. Plus, Erwin texted me what he thought happened. I just want to know your side."  

'It's nothing.' You repeat more forcefully.  

"Well alright then, missy." Hange teases, dropping the conversation. The light turns green, and the car starts off again on the wet pavement. You notice it had started to snow, that big fluffy kind of snow that stuck to the windows where you could see the little snowflakes if you looked close enough before they melted away.  

You turn back in your seat and huff. You were not as angry as you were before, but irritation still scratched at you. You were tired of thinking about Levi tonight. The only thing you wanted on your mind was the warm bed waiting for you just 20 minutes away. But you should have known that getting that silver-eyed man out of your brain was futile. It didn't matter that other people kept bringing him up, all you could see was him.  

"Erwin told me it's his birthday tomorrow." Hange mumbles quietly, causing your ears to twitch as they pick up what was being said.  

You only glance at them through a side eye, afraid your face would give away any indication of that statement bothering you. You bite your cheek and look back out the window at the passing assortment of buildings. Would he be alone on not only Christmas but on his birthday as well? You then remember Erwin mentioning something about him going to see someone close to him; was it a girlfriend? At least he wouldn't be alone. But that just bothered you even more. 

'God, he is so frustrating.' You think. You press your forehead against the cool glass, relishing how it felt against your warm skin.  

.

When what felt like the 100th customer had asked him why he was working today instead of spending time with his loved ones, Levi's eye twitched. Like with all the others, he slid their order to them and turned around without so much of a scoff. Today's traffic was busier than he anticipated, and it made him antsy. He only planned to be open for a couple of hours but with him being the only one in the shop he didn't have a chance to flip the signs off quick enough. Luckily the clientele didn't stick around, opting to take their orders to go before they travelled wherever the hell they were going to.  

He was in the middle of steaming milk when Hange walked in with a small box and a huge smile. For once there wasn't a line, so they leant up against the register while he worked on the lattes for the couple waiting at the end of the bar. Not a single word was said as she just stared holes into his skull.  

"If you're just going to sit there and say nothing, will you at least go unplug the open sign for me. I'm closing." Levi requests as he shoves the cups to the couple. They mumble a ‘happy holidays’ to Levi before shuffling out the door, Hange locking it behind them.  

"Well Merry Christmas to you too, Shorty." They tease as they slide up to the register again. Their eyes were shining brightly behind their glasses as they beamed a smile down to him.  

"What do you want, Four Eyes?" 

"Well for starters, I'd like a sugary English breakfast tea latte and the boldest coffee you have. Both mediums please! Aaaaand," she pulls out the small box she came in with out from behind her in a dramatic flourish. "This is for you." She places the box gently out on the counter and slides it forward.  

"What the hell is that?" he asks unamused as he rings up the orders. Breakfast Tea? Does that mean you're out in the car right now?  

"It's a box!" 

"Well obviously, why is it here?"  

"It's for you, dumbass. And before you say anything, no it's not from me."  

There's a deafening silence as Levi processes what Hange says. ‘Not from them’ meant logically it would have had to come from you. That very thought makes his stomach somersault. Hange starts rifling through their bag as Levi takes the box and places it behind him on another counter.  

"Don't worry about it, it's on the house." Levi mutters as he walks away to start on the drinks, his mind wandering as he went into autopilot again. If this box was really from you, did that mean you weren't mad at him anymore? Especially after last night, you bestowing him a gift was the last thing Levi expected. He felt a pang of guilt, not a lot but enough to make him regret some of the words he chose to spit at you. But then he remembers that defiant stubbornness of yours. It really grated on him, and it made him want to fly out of that door to confront you right then and there. He shakes his head at the thought. 

Levi finishes pouring a heap of sugar in the tea in front of him, making sure to be precise with the amount. His mind flits to the memory of your first visit to the café so long ago. Sliding on the heat guard, he then places it next to Hange’s steaming coffee.   

“Thanks, Shorty.” Hange picks up both cups and gives Levi a wink. 

“Tch, just get out of my café, will you? I have somewhere to be.” Levi pulls off his apron and hangs it up on the hook by the back wall. With his back turned, he hears Hange shuffling behind him. “What now?”  

“Nothing. It’s just,” they pause. “You two are just so alike, it’s scary. Stubborn and too proud to ask for help.” When Levi doesn’t say anything back, the doorbell rings then he’s left with silence again.  

After stepping over quickly to lock the door, he wipes his hands on a towel and saunters over to the box shining in the afternoon sun. It was a navy-blue rectangular container, about 6 inches in height. Golden constellations wrap around the whole thing, ones he could make out easily. On top sat a tule bow and a note.  

Thanks. 

Nothing else.  

Levi clicks his tongue and pops the lid off carefully. Inside sat something small and metal. He gently pulls it out with just his fingertips and upon a closer inspection, he’s shocked to find it’s a can of loose-leaf tea. Specifically, an herbal blend that’s supposed to help with relaxation and sleep. A sudden explosion of emotions came crashing down on him. Levi places the can back into the box and sets it back down before leaning against the counter behind him to steady himself. Something you had said to him a month ago reverberates in his head.  

‘Words are not always needed to convey intent.’ 

What was your intention with this, Levi contemplates to himself.  

He wonders if you like the tea. 

Half an hour later, Levi pulls up in the parking lot of the town’s general hospital. The lot was sparse, so he was able to get a good spot right at the front. He grabs the bouquet that rested gently in the passenger seat then sets out into the cold wind, heading for the visitor entrance.  

“Ah, Mr. Ackerman, welcome back and Merry Christmas.” the receptionist calls out to Levi as he steps in the sliding doors. Levi just nods in acknowledgment as he approaches the counter, doing his usual routine of signing in and taking a visitor tag.  

“How is she doing today?”  

“She’s coherent and very much looking forward to seeing you.” She smiles up at him. Levi just hums and starts in the direction he’s traveled many times before. An elevator and a maze of hallways later, he stops in front of a familiar door and raps softly against the wood. 

“Come in!” an airy voice calls out. With that, he opens the door gently and enters the room. The curtains were wide open which let in warm rays of sunshine. The whites in the room were illuminated by it, giving a very angelic glow to everything. A pallid woman sat in a bed, propped up with many pillows, and she stares lovingly to the raven-haired man standing with her favorite flowers.  

“Levi.” 

“Hi mom, Merry Christmas.” He shuts the door behind him and limps over to the chair by her bed. He places the bouquet on her lap in which she scoops them up right away to sniff them. She sighs in contentment at the sweet smell. She places them on the table next to her, promising to get a vase for them when he leaves. Then she turns back to her son and pulls one of his hands into her own and cradles it softly.  

“It’s good to see you. How are you doing today?” She squeezes his hand gently, and he stares up into eyes that match his own.   

“I’m fine. I just saw you a couple days ago, you know.” Levi rolls his eyes at her, but a genuine smile breaks out on his face. “But how are you?” 

“It’s a good day today, I think. Your uncle came by earlier but had to run off for something work related.” She waves her hand towards a large stuffed dog that sat in the corner. It had a red hat flopping in its smiling face.  

“Tch, of course he did.” 

“Don’t be so hard on him, Levi. Besides, he helped me get this for you.” She pulls away from Levi’s hand then reaches for one of her bedside tables. She pulls out a small, gift-wrapped package from a drawer and hands it to her exasperated son.  

“Mom, I said I didn’t want anything.”  

“I know but it’s your birthday and I’m your mom, so open it.”  

Levi rolls his eyes again and unwraps the paper with precision, opting to pull at the tape instead of ripping it off in one go. It’s a silver metal frame with sparrows flying around the border, a picture of his mom and him when he was just a toddler inlaid in the middle. A moment of them laughing with each other as she squeezed him in a bear hug, frozen in time. He grips the frame in both hands with care.  

“Kenny helped you with this, huh?” Levi swallows down his feelings, holding the frame close. 

“Well, the picture is mine, but he helped with the frame. Who knew that man had taste?” she chuckles softly.  

“Thanks mom, I’ll put it somewhere special.” Levi unzips his messenger bag and carefully places it in a secure pocket. Then he grabs a thermos he prepared before leaving the café, full of fresh black tea. He pulls out two teacups as well and pours the tea in each before handing them off.  

“You’re too sweet to this old lady.” 

“Tch, you’re not that old.” 

“Either way, I love you, my little Levi.” She takes a delicate sip from her cup as she settles back into her pillows. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Levi does the same with his teacup, staring out into the winter landscape through the window. It had started snowing again. He didn’t realize it, but his eyebrows furrowed as his mind wandered back to you. Were you safe? 

“Did something happen?” Her question breaks Levi out his reverie. He almost chokes on his tea, but he straightens himself up and clears his throat.  

“No. Not really. Just trying to figure someone out. They remind me of her.” Kuchel just hums in response. He continues quickly, “I brought some books, but I also have a couple of movies with me too. What do you want to do tonight?”  

Kuchel places the now empty teacup on her lap and thinks for a minute before relaxing back into the bed with her eyes closed.  

“Will you read to me?”  

Levi nods and reaches down to pull out a book about a mystical land with complex creatures and a band of misfits finding a family in one another. A small smile tugs at Levi’s lips as he curls up in the chair and starts reading, feeling at home.

☾ Previous Chapter: November ☾ Next Chapter: January

[zeejeythebug]

Atom Calis:

Species: Blue-fronted dancer damselfly.

Age: adult (the oldest of the group)

Likes: being alone, fixing things, old tools, computers, repairing a hivenode and seeing it remain functional for longer than literally two hours (a rare occurrence).

Personality: crass. Kind of a smartass. Likes to play little tricks on people. Constantly tinkering with something. Very anti-naut. Vaguely socialist, though they'd probably argue with that fact.

Additional details:

Works as a freelance FNC* maintenance technician. Though they're technically self employed, they've been contracted by Mycohex so many times that they're practically an employee (without the health benefits, of course).

Backstory:

Atom doesn't remember much of their childhood, on account of they spent it as an unintelligent water-bound nymph in an artificial lake. Once they reached maturity, however, they were claimed as offspring by their father, an original Odonaut, and relocated to the first circle of Cibarium to live with him.**

Atom and their father had a complicated relationship (to put it mildly), so as soon as they had a job that paid well enough, they moved into a crumbling apartment in the third circle.

After the attempted rebellion, Atom's father was arrested for “treasonous activity” and was sentenced to life in prison. He remains there to this day.

*There is technically only one advanced computer in Cibarium, and it works by passing a weak electric current through an advanced network of living mycelium and synthetic cables which functions like a giant brain. The network has been built into the structure of the city itself, and "personal computers" are generally just interfaces involving monitors and other equipment that have been plugged directly into it. These interfaces are called hivenodes.

This Fungal Network Computer (or FNC, as it is commonly called) is the exclusive property of a company known as Mycohex, which is owned by Drone Mellifera (a member of the Senary. More on them later).

**This is a common parenting method for dragonflies and damselflies in the world of Cibarium. The difference in environment makes it difficult to raise nymph children until they've reached maturity, so parents will often release their offspring into artificial “spawn pools” and return to claim them once they've grown up.

[graffitionnails]

Nail Technician Opportunities: Career Paths & Business Ideas

If you’re passionate about beauty, fashion, and creativity, becoming a nail technician can open up a world of exciting career options and business ideas. The nail industry is booming with trends like nail art, gel extensions, press-on nails, and bridal designs becoming more popular than ever.

Graffiti on Nails believes that talent combined with the Top Nail Tech Course in Mohali can set you on the path to a fulfilling and financially rewarding career. Let’s go through different directions you can take in this industry and explore some fresh business ideas you can start today.

What Does a Nail Technician Do?

A nail technician is a trained professional who specializes in beautifying and caring for nails. This includes:

Manicures & Pedicures

Nail Art & Custom Designs

Nail Extensions (Gel, Acrylic, Fiber Glass)

Cuticle Care & Nail Shaping

Bridal Nail Makeovers

Nail Spa Treatments

Modern nail techs go beyond just painting nails, they create tiny works of art that express a client’s personality and style.

Who Can Become a Nail Technician?

Anyone with an interest in nail care and creativity can pursue this career. Whether you’re:

A student looking for a side hustle

A homemaker wanting to earn from home

A beauty enthusiast exploring professional skills

An aspiring entrepreneur

The right training can help you turn your passion into a career.

Why Join the Top Nail Tech Course in Mohali?

Before we explore the job options, let’s talk about why training matters. Enrolling in the Top Nail Tech Course in Mohali offered by Graffiti on Nails will help you:

Learn the latest nail trends and techniques Practice with professional tools and materials Get certified and boost your profile Work with real clients under expert guidance Build your own nail art portfolio

This course is your stepping stone to a successful nail career.

Career Paths for Nail Technicians

Here are some of the most promising and trending career options after you complete a professional nail tech course:

1. Salon-Based Nail Artist

Start your journey by working in a reputed salon. You’ll gain hands-on experience and build client confidence. This is a great place to master your basics and grow your network.

2. Freelance Nail Technician

Work independently and serve clients at home, in-office, or at events. This offers flexible timings and good income potential. You set your own rates and schedule.

3. Bridal Nail Specialist

With the booming wedding industry, bridal nail services are in high demand. Offer special bridal packages, mehendi-day nail themes, and customized designs.

4. Celebrity or Influencer Nail Artist

With the rise of social media and beauty influencers, talented nail techs often get the chance to work with celebrities, bloggers, and fashion brands.

5. Nail Educator or Trainer

Once you gain experience, you can teach students or become a trainer at a nail academy. You’ll help new learners start their own journey, just like you did.

6. Nail Blogger or Content Creator

Start a YouTube channel or Instagram page to share tutorials, reviews, tips, and ideas. Many nail artists earn money from brand collaborations and sponsored content.

Trending Business Ideas in Nail Industry

Want to be your own boss? Here are some smart and low-investment business ideas:

1. Home Nail Studio

Set up a cozy nail space at home. With a small investment, you can serve walk-ins, referrals, and online bookings. Offer packages like “Party Nails”, “Festive Nails”, etc.

2. Mobile Nail Services

Offer on-demand nail services for clients at home, especially for working women, mothers, or elderly clients. Great for metro areas and bridal services.

3. Pop-Up Nail Booths

Set up a temporary booth at malls, exhibitions, or flea markets. These attract a large crowd and are ideal for promoting your services.

4. Press-On Nail Brand

Design and sell reusable press-on nails online or offline. Many customers love them as a quick and affordable alternative to salon visits.

5. Nail Product Store

Curate and sell nail tools, polishes, nail art kits, cuticle oils, and other supplies online. Combine it with tutorials to boost sales.

6. Nail Art Academy

Once experienced, start your own academy and offer your version of the Top Nail Tech Course in Mohali. Train the next generation of nail pros!

Tips for Success as a Nail Technician

Here’s how you can stand out and grow:

Stay Updated: Learn new techniques and stay in touch with global trends

Build Your Brand: Have a unique name, logo, and style that people remember

Market Smart: Use Instagram, WhatsApp, and referrals to attract clients

Focus on Hygiene: Clean tools and safe practices are non-negotiable

Offer Good Service: Be friendly, patient, and give clients a great experience

Nail Art Industry Trends in India

The nail art industry in India is growing fast. Urban areas like Mohali, Chandigarh, Delhi, and Pune are becoming hotspots for nail services. Clients are willing to spend on nail makeovers for:

Now is the best time to enter this growing market with the right skills and mindset.

Final Thoughts

Nail technology is not just a trend, it’s a long-term career option with creative freedom, flexible income, and business potential. From working in top salons to launching your own brand, the opportunities are endless.

All you need is the right training, passion, and consistency. The Top Nail Tech Course in Mohali by Graffiti on Nails is your perfect starting point. Whether you want to work, freelance, or start a nail empire, your journey begins here.Join our next batch today and turn your dream into reality. Visit Graffiti on Nails or call us for more info.

Originally published at https://www.graffitionnails.com on June 13, 2025.

[clouds-of-wings]

Chris David said during his livestream Sunday that he thinks technology has become worse over the last decades because it used to be that tech was made for people who knew what they were doing and if that was you, then you could make it do exactly what you wanted it to do. Whereas nowadays you press a button and have no clue what's going to happen - if it goes well, great, if it doesn't, there's nothing you can really do about it. It's more user-friendly for the "most standard case", but anything else is either made impossible or it's basically random if it works or not.

He was talking about his experiences as an audio technician, but it made me think of how I never figured out how to establish a LAN network under Windows 7 because in an attempt to make it more user-friendly they added a million pointless things like "workgroups" and "network privacy categories" and I couldn't figure out what any of it meant. All in an attempt to keep people from the technical side of it. Whereas in Linux I just set the IP settings to what I wanted and was done, and it has been working the same way for me for a decade. I haven't even tried to make it work under Windows 11. It also made me think of rootkits of course, and of how I'm not even using my new MP3 player anymore because there aren't any that work on it and it just sucks without one because of its pointless "safety settings" that you can't turn off. And of how phone internet sucks 10 times more than desktop internet of course, because desktop vs. phone app is probably the best example of this development. Apps can work like magic, but you can't "look under the hood" and you often have few settings - you just get what you get.

So I would say Chris is right about that. And if you've read this far then get Linux if you haven't already x)

[roofertocybersecurity]

Still Moving Forward

Just about to finish Course 3, Networks and Network Security as part of the Google Cybersecurity Professional Certification.

Struggled over the past week or so after having an operation under general anesthetic, I'm not used to staying in one place for a long time or lying for extended periods, its wreaked havoc on my body.

But I'm back at it, smashed course and coming to the end of course 3. Done some practise projects and learnt a lot of stuff. Been getting distracted a lot by wanting to engage with more knowledge so I end up talking to Gemini a lot (yes I have moved away from ChatGPT).

Used Gemini to help me setup Ubuntu and start using the command line to perform some basic tasks as I start to understand that more. Even got my daughter who is five to play some text based games with me, it's all she wants to do now.

It has made me think about IT education when I was in school. We were shown some basic website access stuff and how to use excel but no one ever taught us terminal and other backend techniques that could have inspired us more. I do remember talking to the technician a few times when I forgot a password or needed help with something, I remember being impressed by the technology he was surrounded. That must have been over 25 years ago.

rambling now. Anyway, I'm back at it and looking to smash it all by Sunday 10th November, it's now Thursday.

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 373: Evolution Concerns

We’re just worried that her growth chart is beginning to look logarithmic came the message, the most recent in a series of alarmist communiques from a technician at their daughter company in the US.

Kristina Zhestakova had received the first text as she’d been talking with prospective recruits, young women in their second and third year. She was now between meetings, walking down the hallways of The Medical University of Warsaw. The school was her alma mater and she recognized most of the landmarks, the twists and turns of the old passages, the labs and classrooms. Many of the professors were new; the plaques on the office doors had been largely replaced by female names. Twenty years, she thought with a nod, had brought on some welcome changes. 

You are working on the sequencing data? she replied, relying on the translation software of KOLECTV’s encrypted messaging app. Her English had improved over the last couple decades, ever since she’d been tasked with establishing the company’s first North American facility on the island off Mexico's coast, but she still preferred writing in her native Polish. She was glad this technician - Marcia was her name - used the secure proprietary messenger as she’d been asked; not all at this upstart American company Evolution Pharmaceuticals did. 

Yes we have the bloodwork. Working on it but it’s complicated, came the tech's next message. They all knew that MM-1A’s eldritch origins complicated things, making the polymerase chain reactions difficult and keeping them from using the Sanger or NGS. The witches and their ways tended to do that, make everything either too easy or too much of a chore. But KOLECTV’s science had learned and become powerful. We’ve already identified the location of the breath and the voice. 

Yes. Doctor Zhestakova’s heels <click-click-clicked> on the tiled hallways of the medical school. Ostensibly, she was still, in title, Senior Vice President of Biotechnology at Gray Global Enterprises, once an American shipping empire that was now little more than a shell company for a good-sized group of the collective’s holdings. KOLECTV, technically, was one of those. However, in the early days, like a tick it had drained GGE’s resources and quickly came to dwarf its parent company and now controlled its interests. It was now an enormous, if still shadowy, network with tendrils not only in the medical and scientific industries around the world, but deep in other businesses, banking and politics.

The hope was that, soon - especially after the victorious results in the recent American elections - KOLECTV would finally shed the false auspices of GGE and begin to reveal itself. It would  grow in power tenfold, it knew, when it could step out of the shadows on its six-inch stilettos and begin to claim its empire. When it is done send the sequencing package to my team at Coronado. 

Of course Doctor. We’ve also located multiple other newly active gene loci, of unknown phenotype expression, the technician’s next message explained. Dr. Zhestakova knew what that meant, other potential abilities budding within the subject. 

She’d spent many of her early years with the company, after being sent to America soon after medical school for project “Bridesmaid”, and then setting up and studying at their island research facility, KOLECTV’s first in the New World. The project, nearly twenty years prior to today, had ultimately resulted in the takeover of GGE and the facility was now one of many jewels in the crown of the movement. Dr. Zhestakova had been not only an operative (088) in that operation and an integral player in building the prototypes for what the women of the new world could be, but an early beneficiary subject (Program, 3133j) as well.

Send it all. But tell no one else, for now. I want Coronado to go over it so we can develop an isolation plan. Dr. Zhestakova knew that Oksana and others in KOLECTV’s higher ranks were made nervous by her tendencies towards self-autonomy and transgression; she’d seen the old files they kept on her. She knew that her independent streak, coupled with her Program-gifted intelligence and with what they called her “relative lack of empathy” was seen as both a powerful opportunity for the movement but something they struggled to keep in check. She knew her file also described her tendencies for excessive behaviors and indulgences. Those, over the past decade or so, she’d made good progress in controlling, reining in. 

She could really use some vodka. 

The height? The explosion in strength? We’re not worried? came the technician’s concern.. 

Fuck the height and strength. I’ve seen the monsters they’d made, the failed experiments in Siberia and Kazakhstan. That can be dealt with when the time comes. Let the other abilities manifest first, so we learn, glean, farm. No we are not yet concerned.

Others would be, she knew. Others would be very concerned. Dr. Zhestakova could only do so much, but she had been trying her best to keep the snowballing irregularities in Project MM-1A's case “under the radar”, as they might say in the US. If they were to attract notice, the project could get shut down; Kristina knew there was so much potential to be culled, so much that could be achieved. Just imagine, she found herself thinking, an army of superwomen not only bigger, taller, stronger than any man alive, like we’d planned…

No, the possibilities might go well beyond that.

…but impervious to heat, and harm, and bullets…

And in a rare moment of heart-pounding speculation…

Imagine an army of women that can fly…

=========================================

for more on the enigmatic, psychopathic and high-functioning alcoholic Dr. Zhestakova,  as well as “Project Bridesmaid”, please see required reading “Trophy”

[becauseplot]

Hiiiii little drabble for an AU that @factorialsotherfandoms and I made up like yesterday lmao. No spoilers for Ordem campaign storyline, but if you’ve watched through ~OPC 5 you should be all good on the lore that we’re repurposing.

Edit: actually kind of yes spoilers for OPC storyline now that I think abt it. Again, through OPC 5ish you’re definitely safe.

One night, as it sits through repairs on its left shoulder cyber, J0-U1 informs Technician Liz that it is a failure.

Technician Liz pauses her soldering and looks up at it. "Who told you that?"

"The researchers. The J0-line failed. They kept me to run tests on my processor, but I consistently don’t meet project standards. My Magistrate says I have too many system errors.”

And it tries, it really does, to focus its bandwidth on the data filtering through its cyber processor rather than let itself get caught on what its organics are pushing through, but that doesn’t always work. Not consistently enough to match its fellow drones. Not consistently enough to allow its Sect to operate at its theoretical maximum efficiency, according to the researchers.

“Dead weight,” is what its Magistrate called it during their one-on-one today. The reaction its organics had to that was localized enough to not be detected over the network, but of course it informed her of the error. In response, she made it flag the term for future consideration.

And now it is the future. And now J0-U1 is considering it. And it considers that it is more resources and time and trouble than it is truly worth. “So why, as a failure, haven’t I been terminated yet?"

Technician Liz stares at it for a moment longer. Then, she gets back to work on soldering its shoulder, shaking her head. "You’re not a failure, Joui. Don’t say that."

That isn’t an answer. That isn’t even true. "Okay," it says. It doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the night.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter 3. Economy

What about building and organizing large, spread-out infrastructure?

Many Western history books assert that centralized government arose out of the need to build and maintain large infrastructure projects, especially irrigation. However, this assertion is based on the assumption that societies need to grow, and that they cannot choose to limit their scale to avoid centralization — an assumption that has been discredited many times over. And while large-scale irrigation projects do require some amount of coordination, centralization is only one form of coordination.

In India and East Africa, local societies built massive irrigation networks that were managed without government or centralization. In the Taita Hills region of what is now Kenya, people created complex irrigation systems that lasted hundreds of years, often until colonial agricultural practices ended them. Households shared day-to-day maintenance, each responsible for the closest section of the irrigation infrastructure, which was common property. Another custom brought people together periodically for major repairs: known as “harambee labor,” it was a form of collective, socially motivated work, similar to traditions in many other decentralized societies. The people of the Taita Hills ensured fair use through a number of social arrangements passed on by tradition, which determined how much water each household could take; those who violated these practices faced sanctions from the rest of the community.

When the British colonized the region, they assumed they knew better than the locals and set up a new irrigation system — geared, of course, to cash crop production — based on their engineering expertise and mechanical power. During the drought of the 1960s, the British system failed spectacularly and many locals returned to the indigenous irrigation system to feed themselves. According to one ethnologist, “East African irrigation works seem to have been more extensive and better managed during the precolonial era.”[48]

During the Spanish Civil War, workers in occupied factories coordinated an entire wartime economy. Anarchist organizations that had been instrumental in bringing about the revolution, namely the CNT labor union, often provided the foundations for the new society. Especially in the industrial city of Barcelona, the CNT lent the structure for running a worker-controlled economy — a task for which it had been preparing years in advance. Each factory organized itself with its own chosen technical and administrative workers; factories in the same industry in every locality organized into the Local Federation of their particular industry; all the Local Federations of a locality organized themselves into a Local Economic Council “in which all the centers of production and services were represented”; and the local Federations and Councils organized into parallel National Federations of Industry and National Economic Federations.[49]

The Barcelona congress of all Catalan collectives, on August 28, 1937, provides an example of their coordinating activities and decisions. The collectivized shoe factories needed 2 million pesetas credit. Because of a shortage of leather, they had to cut down on hours, though they still paid all their workers full time salaries. The Economic Council studied the situation, and reported that there was no surplus of shoes. The congress agreed to grant credit to purchase leather and to modernize the factories in order to lower the prices of the shoes. Later, the Economic Council outlined plans to build an aluminum factory, which was necessary for the war effort. They had located available materials, secured the cooperation of chemists, engineers, and technicians, and decided to raise the money through the collectives. The congress also decided to mitigate urban unemployment by working out a plan with agricultural workers to bring new areas into cultivation with the help of unemployed workers from the cities.

In Valencia, the CNT organized the orange industry, with 270 committees in different towns and villages for growing, purchasing, packing, and exporting; in the process, they got rid of several thousand middlemen. In Laredo, the fishing industry was collectivized — workers expropriated the ships, cut out the middlemen who took all the profit, and used those profits to improve the ships and other equipment or to pay themselves. Catalunya’s textile industry employed 250,000 workers in scores of factories. During collectivization, they got rid of high-paid directors, increased their wages by 15%, reduced their hours from 60 to 40 hours per week, bought new machinery, and elected management committees.

In Catalunya, libertarian workers showed impressive results in maintaining the complex infrastructure of the industrial society they had taken over. The workers who had always been responsible for these jobs proved themselves capable of carrying on and even improving their work in the absence of bosses. “Without waiting for orders from anyone, the workers restored normal telephone service within three days [after heavy street fighting ended]... Once this crucial emergency work was finished a general membership meeting of telephone workers decided to collectivize the telephone system.”[50] The workers voted to raise the salaries of the lowest paid members. The gas, water, and electricity services were also collectivized. The collective managing water lowered rates by 50% and was still able to contribute large amounts of money to the anti-fascist militia committee. The railway workers collectivized the railroads, and where technicians in the railroads had fled, experienced workers were chosen as replacements. The replacements proved adequate despite their lack of formal schooling, because they had learned through the experience of working together with the technicians to maintain the lines.

Municipal transportation workers in Barcelona — 6,500 out of 7,000 of whom were members of the CNT — saved considerable money by kicking out the overpaid directors and other unnecessary managers. They then reduced their hours to 40 per week, raised their wages between 60% (for the lowest income bracket) and 10% (for the highest income bracket), and helped out the entire population by lowering fares and giving free rides to schoolchildren and wounded militia members. They repaired damaged equipment and streets, cleared barricades, got the transportation system running again just five days after fighting ceased in Barcelona, and deployed a fleet of 700 trolleys — up from the 600 on the streets before the revolution — repainted red and black. As for their organization:

the various trades coordinated and organized their work into one industrial union of all the transport workers. Each section was administered by an engineer designated by the union and a worker delegated by the general membership. The delegations of the various sections coordinated operations in a given area. While the sections met separately to conduct their own specific operations, decisions affecting the workers in general were made at general membership meetings.

The engineers and technicians, rather than comprising an elite group, were integrated with the manual workers. “The engineer, for example, could not undertake an important project without consulting the other workers, not only because responsibilities were to be shared but also because in practical problems the manual workers acquired practical experience which technicians often lacked.” Public transportation in Barcelona achieved greater self-sufficiency too: before the revolution, 2% of maintenance supplies were made by the private company, and the rest had to be purchased or imported. Within a year after socialization, 98% of repair supplies were made in socialized shops. “The union also provided free medical services, including clinics and home nursing care, for the workers and their families.”[51]

For better or worse, the Spanish revolutionaries also experimented with Peasant Banks, Labor Banks, and Councils of Credit and Exchange. The Levant Federation of Peasant Collectives started a bank organized by the Bank Workers Union to help farmers draw from a broad pool of social resources needed for certain infrastructure- or resource-intensive types of farming. The Central Labor Bank of Barcelona moved credit from more prosperous collectives to socially useful collectives in need. Cash transactions were kept to a minimum, and credit was transferred as credit. The Labor Bank also arranged foreign exchange, and importation and purchase of raw materials. Where possible, payment was made in commodities, not in cash. The bank was not a for-profit enterprise; it charged only 1% interest to defray expenses. Diego Abad de Santillan, the anarchist economist, said in 1936: “Credit will be a social function and not a private speculation or usury... Credit will be based on the economic possibilities of society and not on interests or profit... The Council of Credit and Exchange will be like a thermometer of the products and needs of the country.”[52] In this experiment, money functioned as a symbol of social support and not as a symbol of ownership — it signified resources being transferred between unions of producers rather than investments by speculators. Within a complex industrial economy such banks make exchange and production more efficient, though they also present the risk of centralization or the reemergence of capital as a social force. Furthermore, efficient production and exchange as a value should be viewed with suspicion, at the least, by people interested in liberation.

There are a number of methods that could prevent institutions such as labor banks from facilitating the return of capitalism, though unfortunately the onslaught of totalitarianism from both the fascists and Communists deprived Spanish anarchists of the chance to develop them. These might include rotating and mixing tasks to prevent the emergence of a new managing class, developing fragmented structures that cannot be controlled at a central or national level, promoting as much decentralization and simplicity as possible, and maintaining a firm tradition that common resources and instruments of social wealth are never for sale.

But as long as money is a central fact of human existence, myriad human activities are reduced to quantitative values and value can be massed as power, and thus alienated from the activity that created it: in other words, it can become capital. Naturally anarchists do not agree on how to strike a balance between practicality and perfection, or how deep to cut in order to root out capitalism, but studying all the possibilities, including those that might be doomed to failure or worse, can only help.