#Otto Apocalypse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heliosunny · 3 months ago

Note

Since you did the Honkai 3rd boys for Lucky egg, how about Otto for this series if it's okay? I can already smell the scary shit this man bout to do 😭

If not him then either Kaveh or Alhaitham will do (I hope it isn't demanding, I genuinely enjoy your writing and the lucky egg series)

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Otto Apocalypse x Reader

No one really knew where the machine came from. One day, it just appeared, gleaming under the spring sun in the city’s central square. Children clustered around it. Teenagers lined up. Even adults gathered to watch it.

“Lucky Egg Dispenser– A Companion Chosen by Fate.”

That was all.

Everyone said it was harmless fun. A magical pet, maybe a servant, maybe something more. It was all random, luck and chance.

You tried your luck. You didn’t expect much, but when you turned the crank, a shimmering white-gold egg rolled into your hands. Something about it made your heart whisper: this is yours.

But trouble noticed too.

“Oh. Wow. That’s a good one.”

You turned. Seraphina D’Argent. You recognized her instantly, the polished shoes, the designer coat, the effortless arrogance. She was flanked by two assistants, a chauffeur hovering behind her.

She held her own egg, dull and brown, with a couple of jagged marks across its shell.

Her eyes locked on yours.

“Well, looks like the machine glitched.”

“Uh. No, I don’t think so.”

She laughed a little, tucking her hair behind her ear. “No offense, but... I don’t think you’re the type it was meant for. Why don’t we trade?” She held out her egg like it was a generous offer.

You shook your head. “I don’t think it works that way. I think... the egg chooses. Not the other way around.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Before you could react, her assistant stepped forward and reached out. You took a step back, but the man was quick. He grabbed your wrist and pried the egg from your hand.

“Don’t make a scene,” Seraphina said. “It’s not worth the trouble. I can give you mine, and maybe even pay you for the inconvenience, alright?”

You looked at the cracked egg she shoved into your hands. It was colder. But you knew what would happen if you resisted further. Her father owned half the district. The other half owed him favors.

So you said nothing.

“Good choice.”

She walked off, cradling the egg like it was her birthright.

You were left standing there with the egg and the quiet, awful sense that something important had been taken from you.

The next three days passed in a blur.

You brought the egg home, uncertain if anything would hatch at all. But it did, one morning, as sunlight streamed through your window.

A boy sat on the floor, staring up at you. He looked delicate, but there was something old in the way he moved.

“My name is Joachim” he said. “I was sent to you.”

In that same day, in the grand marble atrium of the D’Argent estate, your egg hatched.

Otto Apocalypse opened his eyes, and he immediately sensed it, something viscerally wrong.

“You’re even more beautiful in person!” Seraphina said, stepping toward him. “I knew you were special. I just knew it.”

Otto’s expression didn’t change. He tilted his head. “You are..?”

By nightfall, the D’Argent estate was silent. Otto stood amidst shattered glass and blood-slick marble, dabbing at the crimson staining his collar with the same detached precision one might use to brush away dust.

You woke that night with a chill creeping down your spine.

Joachim sat at the foot of your bed, his eyes locked on the door as if expecting something to burst through. When he noticed you stirring, his voice came out low.

“Is something wrong?”

You swallowed. “No… nothing.”

---- Joachim wasn’t like a normal child. From the moment he hatched, there was a strange, almost eerie intelligence in him, like his thoughts were always two steps ahead of yours.

He learned quickly. Within days, he began handling small things for you: running errands to the corner shop, organizing books, even fixing the broken kitchen drawer. It was easy to forget sometimes that he’d come from an egg, like a pet or a servant. He felt like a… quiet constant in your life.

But something had changed lately.

He became tense when walking past the windows. He’d pause, tilt his head slightly, then resume as if calculating something. At first, you thought he was just daydreaming.

Then one afternoon, when he came back from picking up tea and milk, he stopped in the doorway.

“There was someone standing by the side of the house” he said, “They disappeared when I got close.”

You looked up from your book. “Did you see who it was?”

“No,” Joachim answered. “But they stood very still. Like they were watching.”

You frowned and went to the window, pulling aside the curtain.

The yard was empty. Just wind, rustling leaves, and the streetlamp flickering in the distance.

“There’s no one out there.”

Joachim didn’t move from the doorway. “They left when I arrived. But they’ll come back...”

You looked over at him, startled by the certainty in his tone.

That night, the house felt unusually quiet.

Dinner passed in the usual way. Joachim always ate exactly enough, no more, no less. You noticed the way he glanced at the window now and then, but he didn’t speak of it again.

Later, after the dishes were done and the rain had started to fall gently against the windows, you curled up on the couch with one of his new books. It wasn’t anything you would’ve picked, honestly—Foundations of Probability and Chaos in Structured systems. You didn’t even know where he’d found it, but when you asked what he wanted from the bookstore, he pointed right at it.

Now, he sat curled neatly on the floor beside you, his hands in his lap. He didn’t look at you while you read, but you could tell he was listening.

You cleared your throat and continued:

“‘In a system without outside interference, patterns tend to stabilize. But when an unpredictable variable is introduced, one with high entropy, the structure begins to break down. Not due to internal failure, but because the system was never built to handle chaos masquerading as control.’”

You paused. Glanced down.

Joachim looked… content, somehow. As if this cold logic brought him comfort in a way emotion never could.

“You really like this stuff, huh?”

He nodded slightly. “Because it explains things people don’t want to explain. Most people are afraid of patterns breaking.”

You stared at him for a moment. His words weren’t childish at all.

“You’re a little scary sometimes” you said, but smiled as you said it.

He looked up at you. “I’m only trying to protect what matters.”

You reached over and ruffled his hair.

“Sleep soon.” you said, closing the book.

Joachim gave a quiet nod. “Yes. But we should check the locks again.”

“Still thinking about the person from earlier?”

“Yes...”

Far from your house, beneath the cover of dusk and rain, Otto walked. He knew you were near. He could feel you. The first one to touch the egg. He couldn't be wrong.

----

You had spent the morning tidying up. Joachim, of course, had taken one of his usual errands to the bookstore. You’d given him a pouch to pay for whatever he likes.

You were just rinsing out a cup when you heard the latch on the door click.

You turned, half expecting to see Joachim. Instead, there was a man.

He stood just inside your living room. His hair, impossibly blonde, looked like it was spun from fine thread.

You stumbled back, “Who are—how did you get in here?”

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, “It’s me. I’m home.”

You had never seen this man in your life.

“Get out!” you said, reaching behind you blindly for the knife.

“Please,” he murmured, coming closer. “It’s me. Otto. Don’t you remember? From the machine?”

“No, I never... You’re not supposed to be here!”

“You’re confused. It’s alright. I can explain everything. Once you remember—”

Before he could finish, something heavy slammed into his temple.

A book, held by Joachim, struck Otto hard enough to knock him sideways.

“Stranger-”

You stood there frozen, while Otto groaned faintly on the floor. You couldn’t believe he was already getting up—as if a direct hit to the head meant nothing to him.

“He’ll wake up soon,” Joachim added, “We need to bind him.”

You didn’t even question it. You ran to the hallway closet, dug out the old rope you’d never used, and together, you and Joachim dragged Otto’s body to the kitchen chair.

“I can explain.” he whispered.

Joachim stepped between you immediately.

“You’re not wanted here.”

Otto didn’t even look at him.

He was staring at you.

“You are my rightful owner.”

“Right... then what am I?” Joachim said.

Otto tilted his head slightly. “No one.”

Neither of you said anything for a minute.

You swallowed. “You weren’t meant for me.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

Joachim, calm as ever, turned slightly toward you. “What do you want to do?”

You stared at Otto, who is now bound to the chair by restraints. You took a seat across from him—not too close, setting a low table and a cold cup of tea between you like some perverse peace offering.

Joachim lingered nearby, not quite at your side but close enough that his presence was a threat. His eyes never left Otto, sharp and unblinking, the way a hawk watches a wounded rabbit.

Finally, you spoke. “So you’re saying that I should accept you? How is that even possible? I already have Joachim.”

“I have to remind you that you didn’t trade your egg willingly. You hesitated because you felt the connection before reason could interfere. That’s what matters.”

“That connection doesn’t mean he belongs here.” Joachim added.

Otto glanced at him.

“I understand your role. You’re merely my replacement.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “But you’re not me.”

Otto turned his attention back to you. “I’m not here to threaten you. I just want to return to my owner.”

“By breaking into my home?”

“You didn’t exactly leave a door open for conversation.”

That stung a little. Because it wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Let me stay.”

Joachim stepped forward instantly. “No.”

You raised a hand to stop him.

Otto continued. “You don’t have to trust me immediately. You can keep the restraints. But I only want a chance to exist in the space that should have been mine.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

Joachim spoke again, quieter now. “If you let him stay, he won’t leave. You know that, right?”

“I do.” you murmured.

Otto didn’t interrupt.

You weren’t stupid. Letting him stay meant inviting a problem into your life that couldn’t be solved with locks and rules. But you also knew something else:

He had been meant for you.

That truth was quietly sitting in your chest like a weight.

The apartment lights had dimmed into their nighttime setting. Otto sat rigid in the chair, the binding cable cutting into his wrists, skin mottled from the pressure. Sweat gleamed on his neck, but he stayed silent.

You studied him. He hadn’t met your eyes since his last statement since you’d refused to answer.

Joachim lounged on the couch beside you, arms crossed, gaze locked on Otto like a sniper.

Eventually, you stood up without a word and walked over to Otto. He stiffened immediately, like prey expecting a final blow.

You adjusted the rope, just enough to ease the pressure, not enough to free him. Back on the couch, you dragged the blanket over both yourself and Joachim.

“I’m not leaving.”

Joachim shot him a glance. “Y/N doesn’t want you here.”

“They haven’t told me to leave.”

Joachim’s voice sharpened. “That’s not the same as being wanted.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?”

You didn’t say anything else.

You were tired.

Eventually, you leaned your head on Joachim’s shoulder, and your eyes fluttered shut. The blanket shifted slightly as he adjusted to your weight. He stayed still after that.

You woke up some hours later.

It was still dark.

The two are still fighting.

“…You’re clinging to function,” Otto was saying. “Not purpose.”

Joachim replied, “Function is purpose when you’re protecting someone.”

“You’re trying to replace what was lost,” Otto said quietly. “I’m restoring what was never supposed to be taken.”

You didn’t move. You just listened.

“And what happens if Y/N picks me?”

Otto didn’t answer immediately.

“They won’t.”

Neither of them realized you were awake.

By morning, you moved around the kitchen, making two cups of coffee, one for yourself, and one you instinctively handed to Joachim, still on the couch. He accepted it, his eyes flicking to Otto every few minutes.

Otto watched the two of you.

Removing him won’t be enough.

Otto had already imagined it.

Joachim's body hit the floor with a sickening thud, his temple striking the edge of the glass coffee table. The impact sent a spiderweb of cracks through the tempered surface, jagged lines radiating from where his skull connected. Blood seeped into the carpet fibers.

The scene was almost artistic in its plausibility.

But utterly useless.

Because grief would only chain you to him tighter.

And Otto couldn’t afford your grief.

What he needed was not subtraction.

He needed displacement.

You must turn away from him yourself.

He could do that.

He had time.

Later that day, you brought Otto a protein pack and untied his hands long enough for him to eat. He didn’t try anything. Just thanked you, sincerely, then folded his hands in his lap again.

That was the first moment he touched you. And it was subtle, so subtle you might not have noticed, but Otto felt the link spark beneath the skin.

There it is.

A master-servant conduit that had never been properly formed—because he had been stolen before it could bloom.

-----

At first, you thought he’d just gone out to think. Maybe to walk, or to breathe air that didn’t belong to the same room as Joachim’s constant glares.

But when Otto didn’t return that night, you began to worry.

By the second day, worry turned into guilt.

He’d been unpredictable, yes. But he hadn’t hurt anyone. He hadn’t even resisted when you left him unattended for minutes at a time. He ate quietly. He answered your questions when asked.

Joachim noticed your silence immediately. “It’s better this way.”

You didn’t argue.

----

Elsewhere.

Otto stood under the shuddering blue glow of a fractured dungeon rift—deep beneath the outer districts.

He wiped the blood from his cheek with his sleeve.

[UNLOCKED: Chrono Reversion Core] STATUS: 9.3% charged

Otto smiled to himself.

He hadn’t given up. He had simply seen a better path.

To rewrite the moment that went wrong.

All he needed was power.

He picked up the shattered core of a high-level anomaly and watched it flicker in his hand. The energy pulsed faintly.

It would do.

He closed his fist around the core. The interface updated again.

STATUS: 11.6% charged.

Still a long way to go.

But that was fine.

He had time.

----

[Reversion Core: 32.8% CHARGED]

Still not enough.

Otto sighed through his teeth as blood dripped from his gloves.

The subject lay strapped to the surgical cradle. His body trembled under the feedback restraints, barely alive.

Otto’s hands moved with the quiet care of a man who’d done this many times before. There was no frenzy in him, just the steady, awful certainty of a task seen through. He didn’t relish the screams, but he didn’t waste them either. Pain was a language, and he listened closely.

“Why are you doing this?” the man sobbed, “Wh-What did I ever do to you?!”

“You were born on the wrong side of an equation. Nothing more.”

Then the knife moved again.

The man choked on a sob. “Please—please, you don’t have to—”

“I do. Because love, like time, must be precise. It has rules. And you, I’m afraid, are part of the cost to restore what was broken.”

The man’s scream was cut off by a surge of containment light—then silence.

The core extracted from his chest flickered in Otto’s palm like dying starlight.

He turned to the girl watching from the corner of the lab.

Her name was Kahla. Maybe 17. Otto had pulled her from a trafficker's cart three weeks ago. Collapsed from hunger, half-drugged and barely conscious. He had fed her. Given her clean clothes and a bed.

And now, she followed him.

"Did he deserve it?" she asked.

Otto looked at her for a moment. Then stepped toward her and crouched down to her level.

“Do you believe people deserve to die?”

Kahla hesitated. “I… don’t know.”

“I don’t believe in justice, Kahla. I believe in necessity. And love is the greatest necessity of all.”

“Love?”

He nodded. “There is someone I belong to. Someone the world ripped away from me. And if that world resists correction… I will break it.”

Kahla looked away.

Otto stood, wiping his gloves. “You don’t have to understand it. Only help me gather what’s needed.”

[Reversion Core: 34.9% CHARGED]

He stepped away, already calculating the next target.

He would kill for you.

Because you were worth it.

----

Days passed. Kahla and Otto worked as a team. They carried the mission together.

“You’re late”

He didn’t look up as she entered. He was elbow-deep in a man’s ribcage, carefully pulling a core from its anchoring cartilage.

Kahla didn’t answer right away.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the state of the chamber. Limbs twisted unnaturally. Eyes open but vacant. Several bodies strapped to the wall.

There were… eight this time.

More than usual.

Kahla swallowed. “You didn’t say you were starting.”

“I did,” he said simply. “You didn’t listen.”

Otto straightened slowly, core in hand, the heart-like organ glowing dully in the dim lab light. He turned it in his palm, admiring the structure.

“Did you know,” he said conversationally, “that pain extracted too quickly creates noise in the signal? Like static. You can only get a clean feed if they understand what’s happening. If they know they’re dying, and that no one will save them.”

He glanced at her, as if she should be taking notes.

“You want to know the difference between agony and fear?” Otto asked, moving to the next body, still breathing, barely. A woman. Mid-thirties. Her jaw had been broken at some point, it hung open at an unnatural angle.

“Agony is survival. It's the body trying to outlast itself. But fear…” He brushed hair from the woman’s forehead. “Fear is the soul realizing there’s no one left to witness it.”

Kahla tried not to gag.

Still, she didn’t leave.

Otto stepped back. “Finish her.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“You've seen how I do it.” he said smoothly, wiping his hands on a cloth. “You’re not helpless anymore, Kahla. If you want to live in this world, you need to learn how to remake it.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“And yet, here you are.” Otto turned to face her fully. “Eating from my table. Wearing my clothes. Breathing my air. You think survival doesn’t have a cost? Then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Kahla’s hands trembled as he pressed the blade into them.

She stepped forward, inch by inch, toward the woman. Her mouth trembled. “She’s… she’s still alive.”

“Exactly,” Otto said. “That’s what makes it count.”

The woman looked at Kahla.

Kahla’s hands froze midair.

“If you don’t, I’ll have to do it. And if I do… it won’t charge the core the way it should. Her pain doesn’t resonate with me anymore. But you, you’re still human. You’re still clean.”

Later, as they left the facility, Kahla’s hands still wouldn’t stop shaking. But Otto offered her a handkerchief, as if they’d just left a dinner party.

“You did well.”

“I felt her...” Kahla whispered.

“And now you’ll never forget what it takes to love someone properly.”

“That wasn’t love.”

“No,” he agreed. “That wasn’t.”

Then, with terrifying clarity, he added “But it gets me closer to them.”

[Reversion Core: 48.7% CHARGED]

Just a little more.

And time would be his to bend.

Kahla had stopped asking questions two days ago. She no longer hesitated when he pointed to a target. Her hands, once trembling, had become steady.

He praised her for it.

She had started to believe that she was important to his mission.

But as they descended into the final chamber, the place Otto had meticulously constructed to house the energy needed for the last sacrifice, she noticed.

She saw her name.

“You lied to me..”

Otto stood behind her. He only gave her a look of mild, almost weary patience.

“No. I gave you purpose. You accepted it.”

Kahla turned toward him. “I helped you. I killed for you. I trusted you.”

“And because of that,” Otto said, “you’ve made yourself valuable enough to matter in the final step.”

He gestured toward the circle.

“You should be proud. This is a far greater fate than what the slave market had in store for you.”

Kahla tried to run. Of course she did.

But he had prepared for that too.

The paralysis sigils activated before her second step. She crumpled to her knees.

“You told me I was clean,” she choked. “You said I could still stay human.”

Otto approached her quietly, stepping into the circle with her.

“And you were,” he said. “Which is why you’re perfect now.”

He knelt and held her head gently, like he had done with every victim before.

“This will be quick. You’ve already suffered enough.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to curse him. But what came out was something smaller.

“Why? What makes them worth all of this?”

Otto didn’t hesitate.

“Simply because... of love.”

Then he plunged the blade through her chest.

The core surged with light.

[Reversion Core: 100.0% CHARGED] ACTIVATING REWRITE: SEQUENCE 002. CONFIRMED.

Otto did not feel himself die. He felt himself return.

He opened his eyes inside the dispenser room, where warm white light streamed down from overhead panels, and the capsule containing his egg was cradled gently in your hands.

His rightful master.

You tilted your head at the smooth shell. You joked softly that the color reminded you of sunlight through glass.

He could hear your voice through the walls of the egg. He knew it by heart now.

Three days later, you woke up to see the shell was cracked at the top.

The capsule hissed faintly as it opened. You blinked in the dim morning air, rubbing sleep from your eyes, unsure whether you were dreaming. You hadn't expected it to hatch today.

And a boy stepped out.

No, not a boy. A young man.

He looked straight at you.

And then he threw his arms around your waist, pressing himself against you like a child who had found his parent after being lost for days.

“Wha—hey! Easy there..” you murmured, catching yourself before pushing him away. You could feel how fast his heart was racing. He was warm.

You weren’t sure what kind of personality egg you had gotten. The ones from the machine were always a surprise. Sometimes playful, sometimes shy, sometimes downright strange. But this?

This felt like someone who had been waiting for you his entire life.

Tentatively, you placed a hand on his back. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned further into your arms.

You sighed softly, letting him stay like that.

“So…” you asked after a long pause, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he looked up. “Do you already have a name, or do I have to give you one?”

“Otto Apocalypse.”

“Otto, huh?” You repeated it aloud “Alright. That sounds like someone reliable.”

He nodded once, eyes still on you. And then his body slumped.

“Wait—Otto?”

You caught him before he hit the floor. His face had gone pale, his skin slightly cold. For a horrible moment you thought you had done something wrong. Maybe you activated something. Maybe he was defective.

No, he was breathing. Just unconscious.

You rushed to check his vitals, and the system’s tiny assistant orb finally chirped a response, projected above his form.

[STATUS: Safe. Magic Core Stabilizing. Cause: Skill Exhaustion (Unclassified Use)] [Recovery Time Estimate: 3–5 Days]

“You scared the hell out of me, Otto…”

Three days passed.

You stayed beside him the entire time. You barely went to work. You fed him sips of warm broth with a straw when the assistant orb told you it was okay. You took his temperature every few hours and read aloud whatever you could—weather reports, news headlines, random pages from economics books—just to fill the silence. You didn’t know if he could hear you, but it felt wrong to let the quiet take over.

On the fourth morning, just as you were about to doze off, something tugged at your sleeve.

You opened your eyes slowly.

Otto was sitting up.

“You're awake.”

“You didn’t leave.”

“Of course I didn’t,” you muttered. “You’re mine now, remember?”

He smiled at that.

----

The kitchen was quiet except for the running water and the soft clink of plates in the drying rack. Otto stood, sleeves rolled to his elbows, washing the dishes. You watched from the doorway for a moment. He had even memorized where the towels went, how the cups stacked.

Then, thinking it’d be funny, you stepped forward without a sound and reached out to poke his side.

The moment your fingers touched him, a pulse surged through your vision.

[ANOMALY DETECTED] Subject: OTTO Danger Rating: 14.3% Redemption Sync: 03.7%

You jerked your hand back with a small gasp.

The image vanished.

Otto turned, towel in hand, blinking at you in mild surprise. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah… just static. Weird vision thing.”

Later that evening, you found him in the kitchen again, this time bent over the stove, quietly sautéing vegetables. You couldn’t help it. Despite your nerves from earlier, he looked so focused. The warmth from the stovetop lit his face, and you found yourself walking toward him again.

You reached out, brushing your fingers across the edge of his arm.

The vision came back—but stronger.

[ANOMALY DETECTED] Subject: OTTO Danger Rating: 38.9% Redemption Sync: 07.4% Event Countdown: 00:03... 00:02... 00:01...

You grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back, hard.

The moment he stumbled away from the stove, the oil pan flashed—a sudden, violent spark leaping up. The corner of the towel hanging too close to the burner caught fire instantly.

You grabbed it and shoved it into the sink, dousing it with water.

“How did you not see that?” you snapped. “It was about to go up.”

“You pulled me before it happened.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Because I saw it. There was a box or a screen or something. It showed numbers, danger level, countdowns... like a warning.”

Otto stared at you for a long moment.

“You could see it?” he asked.

“Yes. And there was another number. Redemption… sync?” You folded your arms, trying to calm your racing thoughts. “What does that even mean? Did you do something, Otto?”

He didn’t deny it.

“I don’t know how you’re seeing that. But if you are…” His eyes lowered to the floor for a moment. “Then maybe it’s not over after all.”

“Not over?”

Otto didn’t speak of it again.

After the fire, he brushed away your questions with a gentle smile and a quiet apology, claiming it must have been leftover code in your visual implants—some glitch from the hatching synchronization, perhaps. He kept washing dishes. Kept cooking your meals. He even offered to do the laundry more often.

The strange visions hadn’t come back since. Maybe it had been a fluke. Maybe your nerves were still catching up with your new life, and Otto’s presence had simply overwhelmed your system.

But Otto knew better.

That night, long after you had fallen asleep, he lay in the dark, watching the ceiling.

You were never meant to see it.

The system wasn’t supposed to show you anything. It had been keyed to him alone. But somehow, that connection between you had begun to open doors. Dangerous doors. He realized, with growing tension, that your very presence might be interfering with the karmic balance he had disrupted.

Which meant the universe hadn’t forgiven him.

And if it hadn’t forgiven him, it might be trying to punish you instead.

He couldn’t allow that.

Not you.

He turned his head toward the soft shape of you curled beneath the blanket beside him. You had fallen asleep facing him.

Otto had rewritten the world for this.

He would not let it collapse again.

He closed his eyes, slowly. Then opened the system interface within his own vision—an admin-level command screen he had buried deep, so deep it threatened to fracture what little code his form had left.

[Command Input: Search — Compatible Energy Divergence Points] [Target: Y/N] [Objective: Isolate Karma Aura Interference → Transfer Vector Options]

Names. Not all human. Some were hatching soon. Some were adults already living in the outskirts of dungeon zones or slums near defunct portal rings. But they shared something in common. A proximity in soul frequency to yours.

If he used them as substitutes then the karmic load that hunted him and bled into you could be redirected.

He would have to monitor their aura readings. Wait until one reached full compatibility. And then remove them. Completely.

Until the Redemption Sync bar returned to zero.

Only then would you both be safe.

Otto smiled to himself.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I’ll clean everything up this time.”

-----

You rose early to catch the tram into Sector 3, a coffee in hand and your ID chip blinking green as you passed the checkpoints. The office wasn’t glamorous but it paid well enough, and more than that, it gave you something stable.

And when you returned home, Otto was always there.

The smell of warm food drifting from the kitchen. A towel hanging neatly where you left it. Soft slippers by the door.

But while you worked…

He also began his routine.

He mapped energy patterns, watching as candidates rippled across the system’s karmic field. None of them matched your aura completely.

One afternoon, while hanging the last of the laundry on the balcony, a name blinked across the screen in his mind.

[MATCH FOUND] Name: LYRA KREHN | Aura Type: Near-Identical] Compatibility: 99.87% Transference Potential: SUCCESS

Otto stared at it for a long moment, then quietly folded the towel in his hands and went inside.

---

His hands found her throat. She bucked against him, lips parting around a scream that never left her lungs. He adjusted his grip, thumbs pressing just so beneath her jaw. Her pulse hammered against his palms like a trapped bird. Then—slower. Slower. When her body went limp, he didn’t let go. Not until the Redemption Sync bar finally dropped.

[Redemption Sync: 0.00%] Karma Load: Fully Redirected

When he returned home that evening, the sunset painted the apartment in gold and warmth. The quiet hum of the heater filled the space, and from the kitchen, something savory simmered on the stove.

You were there, humming faintly under your breath, putting the finishing touches on dinner.

Otto slipped off his gloves, placing them quietly on the sideboard.

He moved to set the table. Each plate placed with care. Each spoon aligned.

Then, just as he reached to light the table candle, you crept up behind him.

“Wait—don’t turn around yet” you said, and giggled.

He obeyed without hesitation, closing his eyes with a faint smile.

You reached up, fingers brushing past his hair, and gently looped something around his neck.

Your handiwork. Soft, thick, woolen, a little uneven at the edges.

“Okay, you can open them now.”

He did.

It was a scarf.

“Surprise,” you said shyly. “I’ve been working on it during lunch breaks. I just… wanted to thank you. You’ve done so much for me. Really.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak.

You almost worried he didn’t like it. That maybe you had made it too short, or picked the wrong color.

But then he turned to you, slowly, and pulled you into a tight embrace.

You felt the scarf wrap gently against your cheek, still warm from your hands. His chin rested atop your head.

“I love it,” he whispered. “It’s perfect.”

You smiled, relief blooming in your chest.

In that moment, wrapped in soft wool, with your heartbeat pressed close, he thought of the girl he’d killed hours ago, the terrified look in her eyes when she reached out for mercy that never came.

It was worth it.

All of it.

For this warmth, this moment, this one soft breath against his neck.

He would do it again.

And again.

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