#Piston Technology

[medicaldevicesindustrynews]

Automotive Piston Market Will Reach USD 5,806.1 Million By 2030

The automotive piston market has garnered USD 4,199.2 million in revenue in 2023, and it is projected to rise at the rate of 4.8% from 2024 to 2030, to capture USD 5,806.1 million by 2030. The need for automotive pistons is growing because middle-class individuals can now buy cars due to their increasing per-capita income and urbanization in developing nations. The aluminum category grips a…

[strawbs-screaming]

the boxers love languages

this is for the selfshippers again,love u all (i imagined myself in a qpr with tecna from winx club when i was 9 so i understand what selfshippers have going on)

Glass joe - physical touch, hes all for pda and will usually put his hands on your shoulder or use you as a pillow when napping, also a sucker for kissing and cuddling

Von Kaiser - acts of service, hes not the best at expressing himself or showing affection through hugs or kisses so he settles for helping, he'll make coffee or tea for you, wash your clothes, give you a back massage, iron clothes, basically anything to help you

Disco Kid - words of affirmation, he finds himself happier when hes speaking to you and cheering you on, hes good at talking about emotions & hyping people up and likes seeing peoples face light up (yours specifically in this case :3)

King Hippo - quality time, he will take his time to go out of his way to do whatever makes you happy since thats what hes used to, even if you two dont share hobbies or interests he'll join you in what youre doing

Piston Hondo - acts of service, he usually comes off as cold when he simply struggles showing his emotions so he usually settles for showing it through helping you, he'll help you clean up your place, fix up anything broken when you need it, cook, clean and everything inbetween

Bear Hugger - physical touch, hes all for cuddles & kisses, he also loves hugs himself so if youre a fan of cuddling, bear huggers here for you

Great Tiger - giving gifts, he usually overanalyzes people to the point where he can pick out a gift for someone and have them love it, hes also the type to point at things and go "Wait.. They would love that" And proceed to buy it, even though its not on his shopping list

Don Flamenco - physical touch, hes very romantic & suave so hes all for touch, hes very hands on and will hold your waist, put his arm around your shoulder and maybe pepper your face with kisses

Aran Ryan - acts of service, And im not talking "yeah ill do your laundry" here, we're out of malewife territory now, he'll eat someones door if it would cheer you up when youre sad, he would steal a car if you liked how it looked, hes all for it

Soda Popinski - words of affirmation, he can express his love through words pretty well since he was forced to take a writing course when he was little (courtesy of his parents) and the only good that came out of it is him writing in his spare time to pass the time and show love better with his words, hes willing to speak for hours if it means making you happy

Bald Bull - acts of service, since he finds it frustrating to try explain himself through words since he ends up saying nonsense or finding words to explain himself and struggles to show love in other ways since hes not used to it, he'll usually do some chores, make your bed or help you with work

Super Macho Man - giving gifts, since he doesnt know any other proper ways to show love, his parents just tossed cash and gifts at him and called it love so he never really learned how to show affection

Mr Sandman - giving gifts, hes very awkward with words and has a very monotone voice unless hes faking it so his words usually come off as empty, hes suprisingly good at picking out gifts

[maaruin]

Atla worldbuilding thought: In Atla steam engines and ships with metal hull exist. Guns, on the other hand, do not exist.

There was a short time window in our history in which guns were ineffective against Ironclads. In one battle they tried the solution of ramming and it worked surprisingly well. But it didn't become common practice because gun technology caught up.

But in the world of Atla, without guns, naval battles would be ramming focussed.

[vintage-tech]

Battery operated whistling lighted piston locomotive with puffing noise, realistic whistle, and mystery action lighted pistons. ($40 at Deseret Industries.)

[taevisionceo]

📰 TAEVision Engineering 's Posts - Tue, Mar 14, 2023 TAEVision 3D Mechanical Design • Parts AutoParts EngineParts Aftermarket MAHLE Original pistons MercedesBenz EClass Multibeam LED lights SparkPlugs Pistons Conrods HKT Corp GlowPlugs • Automotive Machinery Agriculture Chevrolet BelAir Convertible 01 - Data 127 Parts EngineParts Aftermarket MAHLE Original Mahle pistons EnginePistons Pistons and Engine Testing - MAHLE GmbH ▸ TAEVision Engineering's Post on Tumblr 02 - Data 418 3D Design Applications Parts AutoParts Aftermarket MercedesBenz EClass Multibeam LED lights The new dimension of headlamp technology Headlamps MultibeamLed ▸ TAEVision Engineering's Post on Tumblr 03 - Data 068 Parts AutoParts EngineParts Aftermarket SparkPlugs Pistons Conrods ConnectingRods ▸ TAEVision Engineering's Post on Tumblr 04 - Data 255 Parts AutoParts Aftermarket HKT Corp GlowPlugs (Display Exhibition) ▸ TAEVision Engineering's Post on Tumblr 05 - Data 344 Automotive Machinery Agriculture Farm Farms Farming Chevrolet BelAir 1957 Convertible Chevrolet Suffolk County NY Scene ▸ TAEVision Engineering's Post on Tumblr

  📰 I just updated my Pressfolio: TAEVision Mechanics's Online Portfolio - Global Data - Mar 14, 2023 ▸ TAEVision Mechanics's Online Portfolio

Global Data - Mar 14, 2023

[7ndipity]

Friends With Benefits Headcannons

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How they would handle being in a fwb relationship(as well as some of their preferences in bed)

Warnings: +18 mdni, smut. Mentions of oral (m and f receiving), bondage, degradation, marking,

A/N: Could not get this concept to leave me alone while working on requests, so I thought I’d subject you all to my brainrot as well, bc I mean, that’s kinda the point of this blog, right?(sorry not sorry)

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Jin:

Was slightly hesitant when you first brought it up, but quickly came around to the idea. (Might have had feelings for you already, and knows that’s a no-go in these kinds of relationships, but in his mind that just made the shift in dynamic that much easier.)

Starts out really soft and sweet with you, not wanting to shock you or make you uncomfortable, but gets increasingly more intense and kinky as y’all get more comfortable with each other.

Is obsessed with your thighs and holds onto them for dear life when you ride him. Not so secretly loves ‘accidentally’ leaving marks on them.

Wants to be tied up and be used and edged till he’s crying from overstimulation.

So fucking loud in bed, you’ve had to cover his mouth a few times to keep others from overhearing the two of you(turns out he likes that though, as well as choking)

The emphasis in your relationship is still on ‘friends’ tho. Half of the time you hang out with everyone else like normal, but there are those nights when one of you asks under your breath “can you stay after the others leave?”

Lowkey starts getting a little possessive after a bit, fucking you like he’s got something to prove if he catches you looking at someone else. “Saw how you were looking at them. Bet they can’t fuck you this good, yeah? Can’t make you cream like this cock.”

Probably winds up confessing his feelings to you bc of this, but then you admit you’ve been feeling the same way. Turns out you’re just two idiots in love(good for y’all👍)

Yoongi:

Just comes out with it one day when y’all are hanging out, like “You wanna hookup?”

He’s super respectful about it, of course, but there’s a casualness to his approach that makes it easy to talk about. You wouldn’t know this was his first fwb arrangement from the way he acts.(He’s thought about it before, but he’s never actually followed through)

Chronically calls you in the middle of the night, asking if he can come over cause he can’t sleep.

Obviously, he’s Mr. Tongue Technology for a reason. He won’t even put his dick near you until you’ve cum on his mouth at least once, arms hooked around your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.

Surprisingly soft in bed, unless he’s had a really frustrating week, and then he’s pounding into you so hard you can’t walk right the next day, running his mouth the whole time like “Such a pretty little cocksleeve.”

He tends to feel really guilty afterwards though, so his aftercare is god tier. Warm baths and reassuring words, massaging any sore muscles, will even cook for you if you want.

Addicted to kissing you. Will straight up ask you, like “I’m bored, wanna make out?” He’s not content until he’s sucking on your tongue.(might have a slight oral fixation)

I could see him maybe catching feelings? But if he does, you will never know unless you bring it up first, cause he will take that shit to the grave before fucking things up with you.

Hobi:

Oddly enough, I think he would really love this dynamic? Like there’s something just so comfortable about the fact that it’s you and him that makes it easy for him to let go.

When the subject came up, he kinda just went with it, almost out of curiosity, but he very quickly became addicted to feeling of you around him.

Love, love, loves sneaky quickies, dragging you off to the bathroom when you're out with friends, having to be as silent as possible so no one overhears y’all, despite him pistoning himself into you as fast as humanly possible. Knowing you’re going around the rest of the night with his cum leaking out of you makes him crazy.

The term ‘sweet but psycho’ comes to mind, bc you never know which Hobi you’re going to get; The sweet one that kisses and caresses you softly as he rolls his hips into yours, or the dark one that shoves your face down in the pillows as he relentlessly pounds into you from behind.

Has a way of saying the filthiest things so that they’re somehow almost sweet? “You’re my little whore aren’t you? No one else’s, only mine.”

Loves buying you things to you to model/wear for him, mainly lingerie, but it can be anything he saw and thought you’d look cute in(not jewelry tho, he worries about that coming off as too intimate or relationship-y)

Ends up catching feelings, but takes so long to confess that it’s obvious to everyone but him.

Namjoon:

This dynamic would work really well for him, until it doesn’t.

When you first suggested the idea, he was super into it. He has a fear of getting over-attached, so he likes the easy, casual nature of it, but he’s a romantic deep down and that starts to bleed into his actions.

Tends to call you when he’s stressed, fucking all of his frustrations out into you, pounding into you from behind with your face burried in the pillows.

Other times, he’s so soft and tender, kissing and worshipping every inch of you while fucking you so nice and slow you could cry(and you have)

Loves watching you suck him off, real slow and sloppy like, and has invited you to his studio on multiple occasions for the sole purpose of this, cause it’s one of his favorite fantasies.

His other favorite tho is when you pin his hands to the bed and ride him(he’s mentioned it in too many songs to not mention). Watching you take control and use him for your own pleasure drives him wild.

I could see him fucking up and saying I love you during sex, though whether he realizes at the time is debatable.

Jimin:

Neither of you exactly brought it up, things just sort of escalated after a few too many drinks, and suddenly you were on his lap making out.

Once your brains managed to catch up, you kinda sat back like wtf?! But you both admitted you really wanted to continue, so things just kinda progressed naturally from there.

Honestly, It’s so close to dating, idk why y’all don’t just admit you love each other and save the trouble of ‘sneaking around’(Poor Jk has walked in on too many things that he can’t unsee)

Gets off on your pleasure, would happily spend the whole night with his head between your legs if you’d let him.

Needs to keep his mouth busy at all times. Will just come up to you, pouting like 🥺“I want kisses.”

Found out he was into choking by accident while you were riding him once and lost your balance and your hand slipped to his neck and he almost came on the spot. The feeling of you controlling his breath makes him lightheaded in more than one way.

His favorite is when you spoon/sit behind him and jerk him off, one hand on his cock and one hand around his throat, whispering the sweetest filthy things in his ear the whole time.(Call him ‘good boy’ and his knees will buckle)

Taehyung:

Probably brought it up first out of morbid curiosity as you were both talking one night, but was so relieved you said yes.

Y’all are almost more cuddle buddies than anything else bc he just loves casual affection, holding you close, tracing his hands over your skin.

When y’all do have sex though, he’s super intense. Lots of eye contact and deep kisses as he rolls his hips into yours, practically laying on top of you(or you on top of him, he’s not choosey). He just wants to be as close to you as humanly possible.

Likes taking you out on lil dates, even though you told him that’s not quite what fwb’s do, but he doesn’t care. He considers it a form of foreplay, plus he just likes to spoil you.

Really gets off on you marking him up. He loves finding your little masterpieces scratched into his back the next morning and wears them with pride.

One of his favorites tho is watching you fall apart on his fingers, especially while yours are wrapped tightly around his cock.

Has called you multiple times in the middle of the night while jerking off because he cums better to the sound of your voice.

Might end up catching feelings, but it would take him a bit to realize because of the aesthetically romanticized way he views your relationship.

Jungkook:

He was probably the one who brought it up initially, half joking, like “Well, why don’t we just fuck?” But then when you started actually considering it, he was like 😳”holy shit wait really?!”

Honestly, he does quite well with this arrangement, it almost becomes a weekly routine for the two you: you meet up, you hang out/have dinner, you fuck. Sounds like the perfect evening to him, tbh.

He’s actually such a big softie. Loves slow, deep sex where it just hands trailing everywhere, lips on lips, swallowing each other's moans and sighs. (He doesn’t admit it at first, but he loves it when you sleep over so he can hold/cuddle you.)

But he also loves being rough with you, manhandling you into whatever position he wants and pounding into you till you're screaming his name.

(honestly, he probably goes between both styles in the same session)

He has crazy high stamina, so y’all almost always go multiple rounds, not stopping till both of you are absolutely wrecked (“I’m not done yet, understand?”)

Wants you to sit on his face, and I mean sit. He gets so irritated with that hovering bullshit and will pull you down on him. “What, you think I can’t handle it or smth?!”

It wouldn’t be a Jk list if I didn’t bring up his possessive streak, so yeah, don’t let him catch you looking at anyone else, unless you want to not walk properly tomorrow. He doesn’t care that y’all aren't a technical couple, your his and he’s yours.

Taglist:@sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[l0velysmut]

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

contains: short smut, jealous miguel, dom!miguel, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, brief breeding kink.

wc: 1.3k unedited

Once again, Miguel has caught you in the middle of a conversation with a random Peter Parker. One that Miguel’s told you multiple times to stay away from because the man looks at you as if he’s undressing you with his eyes.

Of course, that’s not really the case, but Miguel gets in his own head and over thinks whenever he sees you talking to another man. He believes that since he’s a man, he knows how other men think.

But you’ve reminded him over and over again that no man or woman could compare to him. Nobody could make you feel as loved as he does, or make you feel as much pleasure as he does, so there’s no need for him to be jealous, but he constantly feels the need to remind you.

So that’s how you got in the position you’re currently in.

You’re bent over Miguel’s desk in his dimly lit office, legs shaking as he pistons his girthy cock in and out of your weeping hole. His legs are in between yours, keeping your shorter legs spread for him.

Your suit had been ripped to shreds for the millionth time this month, so Miguel had a clear view of his cock sliding in and out of you with ease due to how wet he made you.

Your juices are dripping down your inner thighs, and you can’t help but moan every time the tip of his cock kisses your cervix each time he thrusts into you roughly.

“You wanna act like a little slut, then I’ll treat you like one.” He says in a gruff voice, putting his hand on your head, pushing your cheek into his desk.

“Miguel!” You call out his name weakly, attempting to push at his abs which were covered by his suit since the only part of him that wasn’t covered by the impressive technology was his cock.

He groans when your walls clamp around him, nearly trapping him inside of you. He licks his lips and looks down at where you two connect, then his eyes trail up a little to your other hole which was clenching around the air.

He brings the hand that wasn’t holding your head down to your ass, squeezing the flesh in his large palm before giving it a light smack. His thumb then shifts to your butt hole, and he presses his thumb against it, making you moan loudly and shiver beneath him.

“Shit,” He mumbles. “It’s like you want everyone to hear us, dirty girl.”

He pushes his thumb in a little bit, and you try to squirm away from him. When he notices, he takes both of his hands and grabs your hips, pulling you closer to him and sinking his cock deeper inside of you — if that was even possible.

“Where you going, mami? Huh?” He growls, fucking you harder and rougher.

The grip he has on your hips would for sure leave bruises, but you didn’t have a care in the world because the way he was fucking you was turning you into a blathering mess.

You could feel your orgasm coming, and you tried to alert Miguel, but the second you opened your mouth, only a string of moans left it.

Your brain felt like complete mush, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t like when Miguel got jealous.

“F-Fuck! Miguel!” You practically scream, not caring who could hear you two.

He stares you down as he grinds his hips into yours. You clench around him, causing a beautiful moan to leave his plump lips.

“You gonna cum, baby? Gonna make a mess on my cock?” He teases, one hand going up to your head to tangle his fingers into your hair. “Go ahead, pretty girl, cum for me.”

You whine and reach your hand behind you to try and stop him from fucking you as rough as he is, but he just takes both of your hands and pins them above your head, his upper body hovering over you.

He presses kisses to the side of your head, moaning and groaning into your ear.

With a few chants of his name, you finally felt blood thundering to your brain as euphoria crashes over you at a high intensity. You swear that you went deaf for a moment because for a few seconds, all you could hear was your heart pounding in your ears as white hot pleasure took over you.

“Ffffuck, yeah.” He groans as you cum around him, walls fluttering and spasming around his imposing girth. A smirk spreads across his face when he sees your entire body shaking which was caused by his pace which never faltered. You thought he would slow down, but no. He just continued to fuck you as if you didn’t need any time to recover from the fierce orgasm you just had.

“This is my pussy, do you hear me?” He shouts, and then chuckles when he sees your fucked out expression. “Course you can’t. Poor baby can’t hear a single thing.”

He lifts himself slightly, his hands releasing yours and placing his hands on either side of your head. He could feel his own climax boiling inside of him as he continues to fuck you at a brutal speed.

He grits his teeth, and a groan bubbles in his throat when his cock twitches repeatedly inside of you. His balls tighten, giving you a few more thrusts before he stops, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he empties his load inside of you, painting your walls with his thick cum.

He stays still for a moment, breathing so heavily that he’s practically panting. He remains deep inside of you, making sure all of his cum was pumped into you.

You lay there with your limbs shaking beneath him, trying to take deep breaths to calm your aching body down.

With a sigh, he pulls out of you slowly which makes you whimper at the empty feeling.

“You okay? I didn’t hurt you, right?” He asks, turning your body onto your back so you could look at him.

You shake your head, and open your arms, telling him that you wanted him in them.

“You were perfect,” You say to him with a small, tired smile. “Made me feel so good.”

He puts his head in the crook of your neck, and inhales your scent deeply, his eyes briefly turning their occasional shade of ruby red.

“Only I can make you feel this good, right? I’m the only one who can make your entire fucking body shake,” He softly rubs his large hand up and down your bare stomach. “I’m the only one that can fill you to the brim.”

“The only one.” You whisper, and wrap your arms around his neck.

You two stay like that for a moment before Lyla decides it’s time to stop minding her business and remind Miguel that you needed proper aftercare.

He grumbles and lifts off of you, taking Lyla’s word and going to get you some water, something to eat, and something new to wear.

As he walks down the halls of the Spider HQ, he doesn’t miss the way people either smirk at him or give him a horrified look. And his chest fills with pride when he makes eye contact with a certain Peter Parker who looked particularly scared and immediately looked away from Miguel’s menacing glare.

When Miguel reaches the cafeteria, Jess suddenly pops up next to him with a smirk and a knowing look.

“Sounds like someone had fun. Y’know, if you two don’t stop, Y/N might end up like me.” Jess says, a hand on her baby bump.

He glances down at her baby bump, and an eyebrow quirks. Then, an image of you with a baby bump forms in his brain, and he could feel his cock hardening once again.

He says nothing to her; just grabs some water and food and treads back down to his office, his mind buzzing with an overwhelming want to breed.

The second he came back, you could see something different in his eyes, and you noticed that his mood had shifted almost drastically.

“What’s wrong, Miggy?” You ask, placing a hand on his bicep.

“How would you feel about having a few kids?”

a/n: idk how i feel ab this so lmk if y’all like it

[infochameleon]

Let’s Talk About Piston Air Compressors!

The piston air compressor is one of the oldest and most common types of air compressors. It operates on the positive displacement principle. In simple terms, this means that compression is achieved by forcibly reducing the area of the space that the air in question is occupying. 

To understand how a piston air compressor works, we must first understand the parts that make up the machine, so let’s go through the basics: 

1. The cylinder: the cylinder is the chamber where air compression takes place.

2. The piston: the piston is the mechanism that decreases the area of the chamber, and is therefore responsible for causing air compression.

3. The connection rod: the connection rod connects the piston to the crankshaft.

4. The crankshaft: the crankshaft is connected to a power source which causes it to rotate; this in turn causes the piston to move up and down. 

5. The suction valve: the suction valve is the opening through which air enters the air compressor.

6. The discharge valve: the discharge valve is the opening through which now compressed air exits the cylinder to be stored in a tank. 

Now that you’ve had a rundown of all the parts involved, let’s talk about how a piston air compressor actually operates, from start to finish. 

First, the power source is turned on, and the crankshaft begins to rotate. As the crankshaft rotates, the piston begins its motion. As it descends toward the bottom of the cylinder, air from the atmosphere is sucked into the chamber through the suction valve. 

The piston reaches the bottom of the cylinder, and then begins to ascend back toward the top, decreasing the area of the chamber, which is now filled with air from the atmosphere. As the area decreases, the pressure in the chamber increases. The air becomes compressed. 

When the pressure in the chamber exceeds the pressure of the discharge valve, it is released (through the discharge valve) into a storage tank for later use. 

And that’s it! The piston air compressor is truly elegant in its simplicity. 

[internetskiff]

While I personally prefer the industrial aesthetic of Portal 2, it's kinda hard to deny that Portal 1's BTS areas had a sort of vibe to them that is unlike Portal 2's take on it. The industrial areas from Portal 1 are basically a hell of nonsensical technology. It's hilarious, it seems like GLaDOS rebuilding the place from scratch after her awakening somehow made it arguably LESS of a nightmare. I mean, just look at this.

That's not so bad? OK. It gets worse. Why did Aperture have these devices.

What do these pistons even DO they're just here to crush people and smudge up the ceilings with MOLD. Did they put these here so the janitors would always have massive stains on the ceiling they would have to clean (or, more than likely, die trying)?????????

Some of these areas look like they wouldn't even be TRAVERSABLE unless they just handed portal guns out willy nilly.

You know you've fucked up when the homicidal robot is more generous with catwalk placement than whatever termite mound of construction workers that had to pile on top of eachother to build all of this. The only areas I'd argue look even remotely hospitable are the offices, which actually do look kinda cozy, but you'd probably end up getting squashed by a stray piston before you could even GET there.

Y'know Chell is pretty formidable but I think who we really need to fear is whoever the hell worked maintenance before the incident because if you can survive this building-sized tetanus-infested oven I'm pretty sure not even the fuckin Combine would be much of an issue for you. "Oh yeah I had to dodge like 10 pistons in order to get to Turret Manufacturing" like JESUS CHRIST.

[dnvrsmedia]

Touch Me, Feel Me

Sevika x Reader (afab) smut

Kinktober

an: uh hi! it’s been a real long time & i come back bearing very filthy smut as promised HAHA

warnings: breeding kink 🤓

Ragged breaths escape your plush lips, dry from exhaustion. Eyes tilted up and back, unable to keep focus as the brute above you thrusts her hips in an ungodly manner.

Being the mechanic that you were, tinkering with hex tech was a pastime you enjoyed frequently. Knowing that Sevika’s birthday was coming up motivated you to finish something you had been working on for a long time. You were able to make technology to allow someone to regain feeling in a prosthetic. This idea came to you during one of the many nights you laid on Sevika’s chest. Soft strokes of her arm lightly scratching your back in comfort.

“I miss the way you feel on my arm.” Sevika kept her gaze on the ceiling.

Thoughts flurrying in her brain. Her strong jaw clenched in an act to make her exclude any emotion that may slip. You on the other hand, stunned. Sevika refuses to talk about her lost arm. The adjustment that was made post explosion left your relationship chipped, but not broken. From then on, you worked diligently to give your lover a new meaning.

You didn’t necessarily think your new technology would lead to Sevika attaching the device to her thick and lengthy silicon cock. Although, Sevika being Sevika, it truly didn’t surprise you.

“F-fuck! Vika, oh my-“ Your moans of deep pleasure increase by tenfold, the buff woman above you pistons her hips deeply into your core.

Her flesh hand snaking its way across your budding clit, rubbing furious circles into damnation. Drool dripping hotly onto the sheets from your gaped mouth as your center leaks from your pleasure. Slick coating the thick member while leaking down Sevika’s thick mountainous thighs. Her essence mixing with yours as her cunt weeps at the sensations of your warmth encompassing her member.

“That’s fucking it, baby. You like how this dick feels, huh? How full i’m- oh fuck- how full i’m making you?” The most powerful woman of Zaun grunts in your ear as her hips never farther.

Babbling is all you are left with as the piece works your walls. Stretching and massaging the spot that makes your toes curl. Sevika can feel the clenching of your muscles around her and moans a moan you’ve never thought could manifest from betwixt her lips. Your eyes full of adoration of how good she is feeling. You turn your gaze to watch as Sevika’s muscles contract in every movement made. Her abs on full display as her body contorts. Her nipples fully erect on her chest make you dizzy. It’s not very often that Sevika allows you to touch her breasts, but when she does it always makes her shiver. With no rational thoughts flowing through your brain, you unconsciously lift your hand up to her chest, catching a hold of her swelled bud, and pinch.

A roar from the bellows of her being errupts from the brute above. Like a light switch was flipped, Sevika shifts her body to contain your hands above your head in restraint.

“Who fucking told you it was okay yo do that? What a fucking whore you are. You say you made this for my arm but deep down we both know you wanted this.” Sevikas impossible pace picks up faster than you thought was possible.

At this point, silent screams are leaving your body as it is being found impossible to make noise. Your eyes fully roll to the back of your head in pleasure, unable to look at your lover above you. Your bilss taken away from you as her flesh hand removes itself from your clit with a firm ‘smack!’ a whine released itself from your throat as a plea.

“Watch yourself, baby.” Sevika halts all movement making you whimper and rustle in your restraint.

“Please.” You whimper softly, feeling too lightheaded to do more than that.

“What was that?” Sevika teased, slowly teasing herself back onto you, watching you fall apart.

“Vika, please! I need you!” You whine loudly, thrashing harshly in her hold. You can tell that she thrived off teasing you as her chin rose in pride and her smirk grew.

And in an instant, she’s back to fucking you open.

Sevika pushes to your climax with fast, sloppy thrusts . You can tell she is close by the guttural grunts and increased filthy words.

“Come on baby let me feel you cum on my cock. This pussy fucking loves taking me. Fucking take it!” And with that, you’re climaxing. Stars erupt behind your eyes as bliss comes running to you at full force.

“Gonna fuckin’ cum, gonna full you so good, baby! This pussy so fucking good.” Sevika is not too far behind you as she’s collapsing above you.

Moments pass before you feel your lover slip out of you with a wince. You giggle at her, she forgot to turn off the device allowing her to feel you. An annoyed pout adorns her face before she playfully smacks your thigh.

“Happy Birthday, Vika.” You kiss her lips slowly and passionately, showing your appreciation.

[thegnomelord]

Devotion in Steel

How They Worship You After The Hunt: Dottore, Childe, Zhongli.

So this is based off This idea I had about a cyberpunk reader in a cult!Sagau genshin, so this is just me testing the waters. I spent wayyy too much time on this one lol but this brainrot is still going strong.

CW: Suggestive themes, cult/yandere characters, reader is GN, mentioned gore for Zhongli part. First time writing Yandere's so tell me how it goes lol.

Dottore: Silent Curiosity

He does not worship you openly; he doesn't sing hymns about your mercy or your cruelty, nor does he press his face into the ground whenever you pass, like certain archons wishing for redemption. His worship is quiet. To the unworthy, the way he touches you — with clinically cold hands, examining every gear, and bolt, and piston with the same calculating gaze reserved for one of his machines — may as well be the highest form of sacrilege. Who is he to act as if you are just another of his toys? Who is he to not even say a single word to you? Who is he to touch and pull on your mechanical components like some urchin child toying with an object they do not realize is precious? But they can't do anything, because You do not see it their way. You do not stop or punish him, you encourage him; it isn't rare to find you two alone, him on his knees with your arm held in his hands, silently watching the moving mechanisms beneath your plating as you explain the intricacies of your mechanical form to him in that synthetic voice of yours that makes his bones tremble. His touch is clinical, precise, but it is by no means cold; His worship is conveyed through his actions. With reverence he cleans the dirt and grime from the seams in your armor, happy to stay on his knees for hours, days even, so long as not a single speck of dirt is left to mar your perfect body. With piety he polishes every gear, with admiration he oils every piston, worshiping even the smallest piece in your body like it is a holy relic. To Dottore, being able to see technology millennia ahead of his own and learn of knowledge yet undiscovered would have been bliss. But to feel it beneath his fingers? To feel it in his bones as that artificial voice of yours reveals the world's secrets? Heaven.

Tartaglia: Eager Veneration

Once, Tartaglia had only known of you from the stories his parents had told him; of a loving creator, a place of safety and solace in this harsh world. Later, when he fell into the Abyss, Skirk told him new stories of you, passed down to her by the denizens of the Abyss — ones his parents wouldn't have dared to utter lest they tempt Celestia to punish them for heresy. So when you descended, full of harsh edges and your body geared for battle, he embraced you as you were. He would have loved you regardless of your appearance, but something about the mechanical version of you made sense to him; Children resemble their parents after all, why should you have appeared like the demure little thing the tapestries depicted you as when Teyvat could be harsh, and cruel, and cold? He remembered his parents teachings, tried to be respectful like the other acolytes, on their knees, with their heads pressed to the ground. He would have done so happily, would have kneeled before you until he was nothing but bones, would have slaughtered countries in your name... yet the abyss gnawed on his bones, needing your attention like a babe needed a parent. So when you showed him favor? When you offered him to touch the divine metal of your cybernetic body? He couldn't stop himself. Anxiety tempered his eagerness, he did not seek more than what you offered him, yet his hands still glided over your skin and metal with the same energy as the little gears beneath your outer shell. Trembling fingers traced old dents and scratches that ripperdocs had neglected to fix, words of absolute devotion leaving his lips as he put his head to your chest, listening to the tik tik tik of mechanical organs beneath your chassis. But your weapons enchanted him the most. It reminded him so much of the Foul Legacy hiding under his skin; the promise of danger and death lurking beneath the surface, ready to be used as soon as a threat appeared — a similarity between you two that no one else could claim. He could spend days simply kissing and lavishing the seams in the armor, feeling where fake skin transitioned into metal which hid your weaponry from the world. Though you never allowed him more than a look, he yearned to touch them, to kiss the sharp blades, to feel his bones bend under your mechanical strength, to feel the monowire burn through his skin... Please, won't you let him? He survived the Abyss, he promises that he's tough, he can handle the pain... just this once, let him worship you, all of you, please?

Zhongli: Desperate Absolution

Zhongli is afraid; to touch, to breathe, to even exist near you. How can he not be, when he is the reason for your missing parts? Your aching joints? When he was the one who harmed you, who tainted your holy body with his hate and prejudice? When he was so prideful as to forsake his creator because they did not fit his own imagination? When the truth was revealed, the real impostor laying dead and your mechanical frame speckled with drops of your golden blood, he understood he was in no place to anything but bow and pray your fury would be swift and merciful, though he did not deserve it. Yet even as he knelt before you, head bowed so low it was flush with the ground and eyes shut tight, not daring to even glance at your metallic feet, a part of him still yearned for a chance at redemption; to earn back the chance to worship you, to earn your forgiveness through devotion. He would do anything for it; Kiss and lick the dirt off your mechanical feet, be at your beck and call till the end of time... If you wished to regain your lost parts — he would scour the far reaches of Teyvat until he found all the metal pieces you had lost, and those that were permanently damaged? He would carve his bones into shape, until they fit... If you told him to forfeit his flesh like you had done — he would claw at his skin until not a single scrap of meat hangs off his bones. He would happily wander the earth as a skeleton, grafting pieces of old Khaenri'ahn technology to himself until he resembled you, just so you could inflict the same wounds he had done to you... Yet you did no such thing. Even as his thoughts gained a voice, escaping his mouth through muffled whimpers, all you did was watch him, your mechanical gaze racking over his shivering form as he tried to stop his hiccupping cries. Truly pathetic. Then your fingers found his chin, gripping him in a bruising as you raised his head to look at you. Your mechanical eyes reflected in the tears running down his cheeks, the metal joints in your fingers nipping at his skin. His eyes met your cold gaze, and he wondered what you will ask of him — His eyes? His tongue? His arms? The impostor would have demanded all that and more... He would give it in a heartbeat. But please, find it in your cold heart to forgive him.

[zalia]

Destiny Architecture

I went on a whole ramble about the architecture of the various factions in Destiny and thought I'd share it here. I'm not an architect, so my knowledge is basic when it comes to technical things, but hopefully it is interesting!

They did a fantastic job with the architecture of the different factions and what it says about them.

The Red Legion and Caiatl's Ascendency are all pragmatic, organised military designs - fortifications, the round buildings with windows on each side linked by trenches. Watchtowers. In the Arms Dealer strike, you have areas where there are loads of vehicles meticulously organised. They are prepared for the long haul, dug into the planets they land on, and they are proud of their machinery, both literal and metaphorica - it's all on display, the pistons and furnaces and engines. There are service shafts and hangars! It's all very practical (and makes the Glykon even more unnerving because the passages and service shafts don't make any practical sense in the way that they connect!).

Calus on the other hand... the Leviathan has the same base in terms of doors and the like, you can recognise some of the same basics - like the shapes of the doors etc. but the pragmatic things are hidden away - they're reminiscent of the servant quarters in old British stately homes - you need them for the place to function! But the people in charge don't want to see them. Calus wants to be surrounded by gold and riches and luxury and not think about the things and people that make it possible. It's always been something that I've thought of when it comes to his empire – he acts like all of it was a place of luxury and hedonism and art, but like the Roman Empire that inspired the culture, that luxury is truly only available to a few people, and is only possible because a much greater number of people are working to provide the materials and labour. We don't really hear or see much about the people the Empire conquered beyond the Psions, but were they living in such luxury? Probably not.

The Eliskni architecture all feels very cobbled together and makeshift - there are visible seams and bolts, spots where colours don't match. It's makeshift, which suits their history as a people who have been forced to flee and exist on scavenging for a long time. And there's always a lot of nautical theming going on too - rigging and nets and hoisted awnings like sails. They feel like places made by people who are expecting to need to pack up and leave at any minute. Everything tends to be rounded, which is particularly obvious when you see the Devils in Rise of Iron - everything is more angular because of SIVA and the Rasputin influence, even the shanks. I'd love it if we could get a look at the original Riis architecture.

The Hive are very gothic architecture with a dash of Gaudi (take a look at the Sagrada Família for what I'm thinking). High chambered ceilings, flying buttresses, all the carved figures and motifs - except when you get closer you realise that it's also uncomfortably organic. And it's also decaying – once you get inside the dreadnaught especially you find it full of piles of festering debris, wormspore growing from the corpses of thralls. There are spaces where anything could jump out at you. It's like a civilisation mocking the grand architecture of other species by warping it into something rotten (and also very gothic literature as well - the grand imposing gothic mansion with the dark secret and unpleasant history). The names of the locations in the Dreadnaught often tie-in with the architecture since a lot of them are religious: the portico, basillica, the crypts, the Cathedral of Dusk. They are a species worshipping Oryx, the very real and tangible god.

The Moon under Crota has a similar style, but where the Dradnaught is organic, the areas under the surface of the moon (outside the Red Keep) are more technological - there are still the flying buttresses and supports, the spikes and and pillars around the Hellmouth, but they're blockier, less rounded, stone and metal rather than chitin.

Savathun's Throne World has similar architecture, and returns to the organic feel of the Dradnaught, but in blinding white and red rather than browns. It's similar to the Leviathan in a way – the public areas are much cleaner feeling, regal and filled with Light, but when you dig down you can find the same rot and debris as the Dreadnaught (thinking especially of the 2nd mission of the Witch Queen campaign). Where the Dreadnaught was a mockery of other species, the Throne World feels like it's trying to copy them – this is what Savathun thinks the Light is, look she's changed, really! But in the end, it's more like a coat of paint slapped over a wall with a bad mold problem. The names also switch from kind of Catholic, to more magical and alchemical - Apothacary, altars, temples etc.

The Awoken are really doing the whole fantasy elf thing in a lot of ways, but more with stone than woodland than in Tolkien when we see the Dreaming City. Everything fits in seamlessly with the landscape (which makes sense since it was essentially created with wish magic to be exactly what Mara wanted!). The buildings follow the lines of mountains, pathways carved into crystal caves, the bridge which has supports like the branches of trees like they've grown up from the ground. And there's nature everywhere! But it's not a natural environment. Even when it seems like you're in nature, it's very cultivated - like the garden of a stately home which wants 'wilderness' so has landscaped it. It's also deceptive in the way you go from the 'wilderness' to these very high fantasy buildings, and then as you walk you see these technological marvels like the Oracle Engine, just integrated into it. The Dreaming City is very much portraying an image and is a very finely tuned machine in itself. I kind of wonder what the other Awoken settlements beyond the Dreaming City and the Vestian outpost look like.

Clovis Bray facilities are very minimalist and very obviously designed to make you think 'lab' and 'high technology'. He really wants you to see his stuff and have you think 'this is the future' in a way that draws 70s sci-fi ideas of the future - the way all the sharp edges are rounded off, the bright blocks of colour, the way all of the technology is very conspicuously on display, the massive windows that make all the conveyors and machinery visible. He wants to show off his stuff, and also make everyone who works there know that they're being watched. There's also the huge open spaces and massive drops like Eternity and Creation, which are utterly impractical but also feel infinite and are designed to make you go wow.

You see similar architecture on Neomuna (since Clovis was involved with the colonisation efforts) but on a much more human scale. They have a lot of the same components – the pillars and display screens, the curved bases of the walls – but they're softened with plants and murals, places to sit and socialise. It's not a lab, it's a city where people live. And also it's Neptune, they are a long way from the sun, so everything is bright and vibrant to make up for that. I think you can also see a lot of influence from the Ishtar Collective locations on Venus in Neomuna - they also tend to have a lot of display screens and neon and lots of spots for plants to grow. And then you get outside of the City and see the Veil Containment bunker and see the concrete and metal pragmatism that underpins the city.

The Iron Temple/Vostok is a place that is trying very hard to be a medieval castle with all of the statues and bonfires and the whole aesthetic of the Iron Lords. The statues of the Iron Lords all bear axes and swords. But when you look at it, you can see the very Soviet brutalist foundation of the place. So much of it is blocky concrete - the walls are squared off and unornamented, the observatory is concrete and metal. Every time I go in to where Tyra stands, I'm surprised that the pillar she's standing by is not round, because it's very easy to buy into the illusion they're projecting. There's also the concrete pillar that serves as vault and lights up when you approach - it has the technology, but like the Dreaming City, it's integrated into the landscape. Unlike the dreaming City, they really don't want to show you it.

Raputin's bunkers are just fantastic design in so many ways. They have a very clear shape (you can see the shape of a door and know immediately that this is something Warmind related), everything tends to be at right-angles. It's all very pragmatic and logically laid out. There is definitely technology there, and it's not really trying to hide, but it isn't showing off like Clovis does. Where Clovis is 70's aspirational sci-fi design, Rasputin architecture has a very Cold War vibe to it - none of the technology is flashy - it's chunky terminals running the most basic looking command line UI. It's thick cables and pipes and probably a million redundancies. The kind of tech which is designed to be found in a few centuries and still be reasonably functional. Also unhackable unless you are physically present. Rasputin is an AI so advanced that he can out-think the Vex, but his facilities are built to have the resilience of a Nokia 3310 phone, and are inspired by bunkers designed to survive nuclear war.

(I also think it's not accidental that the Warsats are made up of many angular shapes, especially triangles, trying to be a sphere, considering the whole motif of the pyramids vs the Traveller)

Pyramid Architecture is really really trying to pull off the sword logic 'pared down to remove anything extraneous' and present the idea of a universe united as one in its final shape... and is failing miserably at that. At first glance it's all straight clean lines, black stone, leaning towards brutalist, but they just can't keep it up – they're full of pillars serving no purpose, statues, coloured stone insets. Rhulk's pyramid is full of artwork painted onto the walls. There's so much symbolism built into them. They're incredibly ornate! Because as much as the Witness wants everyone to believe that it is one united force with one specific goal, it kind of isn't. It's made up of many many individuals. Even if those individuals that made it up all agreed on the final shape, it's nearly impossible to get one person to have a 100% consistent view of the universe, let alone hundreds! And especially in the Witness' pyramid ship in Root of Nightmares, you get the impression it's something of a mausoleum for its species and the other species its destroyed. There's lots of coffin-shaped and sized objects in there, and relics hidden away. It isn't as clean and focused as it would like the universe to think.

[cannibalcaprine]

im fascinated by how much tumblr clings to the idea of the "eroticism of the machine"

like, this is an entirely Tumblr thing here. nowhere else on the internet does this particular mix of fascination with old technology and sex positivity* happen

also, it's not entirely wrong??

what with the old tangles of circuits and cables, whirring fans like breath, the familiar warmth of electricity running beneath metal skin. the heft and clunkiness and unrefinement much like our own flesh. pneumatic steam growing heavy in the air. the beating thrum of pistons, cogs and belts. copper and rubber rather than nerves and skin, yet all the same

i

need to stop writing after 11 pm

*didn't wanna say horniness, but also not kinkiness? good middle ground

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕱𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕾𝖆𝖑𝖛𝖆𝖌𝖊

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Proceeds to do anything, but work on the WIPs*

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗:

Маленький целитель - Little Healer(Russian)

TW // SMUT/NSFW, Noncon and Dubcon, Anal, Overstimulation, Mating Press, Massaging? Yandere Themes, Death, Body Horror.

“Svi” is what she called him, nicknamed him. His original name being far too difficult for her to pronounce. Always managing to mispronounce “slav” at the end of his name “Sviatoslav.” He couldn’t tell if he should be angry at her or not for it, and at first he was.

He was grumpy that he had a human helping him on his recovery. Helping him wrap his flesh wounds. Helping him reconstruct and rewire the bionic parts of himself. Not that she had good enough technology to repair it, but he wasn’t one to whine if it improved his helpless position at the moment. He can always upgrade the work done on him when he was back steadily on his feet.

Though, he would grumble and hiss lowly every time she would try and help him. Turning his body away from her as much as he could from her approaching organic hands. The metal pistons replacing his stomach groaning in protest.

He was already injured enough, he was in no shape or form to move after he got jumped by a warband of feral marines. Their goal to leave him spewing his own lifeline on the forest floor as they were successful of smashing their gauntlets in between his armor and ripping them off like some scavengers. It pained him, it felt like his own limbs were being torn apart and they might as well have been if he hadn’t learned about their group and his heavy warfare tactics. He was barely alive when he found himself in the humans… shed, taking a rest there or his death bed if it wasn’t for the human to find him in their shed.

He questions nightly why the human would save him, an Iron hand. He knows they were not the most pleasing to be around considering their passive-aggressive behavior. Throne, even he was being aggressive towards her, he knows he is, but he doesn’t do anything to correct it. Not when she growls back at him to stay put.

It silence him the first time she got fed up with him moving away from her. Hissing and puffing up at her when she suddenly snarled at him, telling him to stop moving or else she would switch a wire in him. Not that would do much to him and mildly irritate him, but it was the bravery of her saying such demands, such threats to him. He actually stayed still the first time since she started his recovery process. His eyes carefully watching her work delicately across his organic skin and between his bionic parts. How come he didn’t notice her grace before?

He watches her intently everyday then. Ever so silent with a few growls and hisses here and there when she touches a sensitive nerve between flesh and metal, but he doesn’t move away from her. He awaits for her to return to him three times a day, giving him meals to savor on his organic tongue. Sometimes, it’s a little untimely for her arrival that he gets agitated, but she always manages to show up when he was just about to make a move himself to find her.

Within these times of his recovery by her hand. He learns to like, even love her appearance. His hearts in his chest beating just a bit more when he sees her, then deeply ache when she leaves him. It confused him at first until he remembered that “bonds” were a thing in this world.

Was this his bonded? Or was this some sort of psyker trickery playing on him? No, he had way too much self-discipline to have tricks played on him. This was a calling, for him. This bond was his, wholly his. He knows it.

He made her stay with him a night after she delivered his last meal of the day. His half-worked metal arm shooting out and wrapping around her waist and pulling her in his lap. Bringing her back flush against his torso as his metal fingers lightly left tiny circles on her clothed skin above her stomach. Feeling how she slowly relaxed in his embrace. A bit unsure at first, but she leaned back to rest on him rather than leaning away from him.

He sits there, dozing there for a while. His nose nuzzling the top of her head, thinking, enjoying her scent that brought him sudden comfort to his senses. His fingers still circling on top of her clothing until they stop, simply resting on top of his bonded.

His eyes suddenly snap open in a glare and he snarls when he feels her trying to escape his grasp, his willing embrace. Her smaller figure freezing up in her movements to leave him as he shifts in his spot. His form curling over hers while his arms wrap around her torso and pull her back to him, feeling her plush breasts under her layers of clothing. His head leaning down and nuzzle into the side of her neck, his want to just nip at her skin rising as she side eyes him.

“I have someone else to attend to you know.” She mentions and he honestly doesn’t care. He has smelt that other human on her. Not exactly a partner nor a friend, but he can smell the faint whiff of the… attraction this human had for his bonded. His Маленький целитель(little healer.)

He growls in her ear when she makes another attempt to move anyway for him. His hands lightly gripping the sides of her body, pressing into her clothing in a warning. Her scent changing there for a second before she huffs at him, wiggling and settling back into his lap.

“Fine.” She grumbles back at him, shifting in his lap again. Agitating him as he almost growls again, but it turns into a quiet purr as she nuzzles up against his exposed neck. Her arms wrapping up and around his shoulders as much as she could. Settling his their little disagreement.

His hearts ache once again as she leaves him in the cold morning. A reassuring coo falling from her lips. Promising him of her return while a whine of his own nearly left his throat as he swallows it down. His tongue ruffly pressing up against the back of his teeth.

He… he needed more.

He doesn’t know what got into him when he finds himself rising off the dusty ground. His head nearly having a wooden beam above him take him back down, but he proceeds, leaning through the old doorway of the shed. The pistons in his body feeling remarkably better and moveable than the first time he’s tried to move before.

His Маленький целитель(little healer) has gotten better in repairing his bionic attachments. His flesh wounds were no match for her, having healed up quickly with his healing factor. Throne, he should reward her for taking him under her delicate hands just as she was rewarding him with another life. He knows she could have killed him right there, on the spot, but she never held anything towards him. She was… patient with him.

His tongue twists when he picks up the fresh scent of the male through the air, his eyes narrowing at the sudden smell of him. He has never smelt the male so close before. Was he hunting? But it didn’t seem like this one was the type to hunt, he was more like a lazy human, incompetent. Was this male perhaps following his Маленький целитель?(little healer?)

Oh, that thought made him flex his iron hand. A soft shink coming off each finger.

His pistons work hard for him to move at a quick, but stalking pace. Still needing the appropriate parts to work efficiently that only he can get, but he’s silently grateful for the his Маленький целитель(little healer) work or else he wouldn’t be able to protect her.

That word, “protect” screams at him mentally. Urging him to overwork himself to find himself at the edge of his Маленький целитель(little healer) nest. He was sure he would be a thing of steaming metal if he didn’t stop to scope out her nest in front of him. Looking for all the possible exits and opportunities someone might “sneak” in.

He lowly growls into the cold, morning air. A cloud of his exhale and steaming joints surrounding him, his body too hot for the air to cool him off. His eyes searching over the nest for an obvious opening, and he finds an open back door.

He shoots forward when a surprised shout comes from inside of the house. His figure quickly crossing the yard and leaning through an open back door of the nest. Chuffs and clicks coming from him as he stands still for a moment inside of the nest to hear where the commotion is coming from. His head snapping into the pinpointed direction before his body makes a move himself.

“Y-you are not supposed to be here.” He hears his Маленький целитель(little healer) swallow as he comes around an archway, leaning down through it.

“I was worried for you! I keep seeing you go out back of your house, and you usually return before 12, but you didn’t last night!” The male in front of his Маленький целитель(little healer) speaks, twirling an object in his hands.

“You’ve been stalking me?” His Маленький целитель(little healer) questions, keeping her eyes on the male as she slowly backs away from the ever approaching male. The object in his hand becoming a type of knife.

“Now that makes me sound bad!” The male whines, stepping closer. “I was just making sure you and your house was protected!”

“I think, me and you are thinking two different things.” She states.

“No, we are thinking the same things.” The males tone suddenly changed. Sviatoslav fingers slowly moving in anticipation.

“No, we are not.” She rejects boldly.

“Yes, we are.” The male argues, flipping the knife once more in his hand. Stalking forward, oh so stupidly towards his Маленький целитель(little healer.)

He shoots out of the dark then. His iron hand dragging the smaller male up to his much higher level. His silver eyes glaring dangerously down into the males fear stricken eyes. A hiss rumbling through Sviatoslav teeth as the male struggles in his firm hold, his knife stabbing at his iron arm, creating sparks.

Sviatoslav wants to throw the corrupt male across the room. Smash his head through a wall, but he also wants to make sure this… boy stays dead and what’s better than to do that with his own bear hands?

Forcefully putting the male back down on his feet. His hands wrapped around his jaw before pushing through the males mouth, breaking some of the males teeth out to do so as he cry’s out in pain. The males tears running down his cheeks as his fingers positioning on the roof of his mouth and the bottom of his mouth and then he pulls.

The sickening snap of his jaw being ripped from his head cracks out. His once white teeth intact to the jaw, now bloody and flying throughout the room, little tinks sounding across the wooden floorboards. His head, now with no jaw bleeds down the front of the body, pooling below where the body still stands before the knees give up, kneeling below him before flopping to the side. A pool of blood surrounding the twitching body.

Sviatoslav simply rumbles at the sight, throwing the bottom jaw in his hand back to the dying body. The jaw bone cracking underneath the force of his throw.

When he turns back around to see his Маленький целитель(little healer) he purrs quietly at her shocked form, attempting to soothe her as her eyes looked between him and the body that occasionally twitches in its own pool of blood, on her floor, just behind her countertop. He coos at her again, curling his towering form around her and nuzzles into her neck. His breath fanning against her skin as flakes of cold blood touch her skin, sending a shiver through her body. His hands settling on her hips, tracing tiny circles on them.

“S-Svi.” She whispers to him, finally choosing to look at him instead. Her heart pounding in her chest as he gently pushes her towards the island in the room and she hesitantly obeys. Whether it was by shock or not, he still gives her a pleased grumble before he turns her around and softly pushes against her back with his iron hand. His hands pressing down into the curve of her spine as she leans down onto the countertop.

He can smell her uncertainty at his actions, previous and now. How she tenses up when he drags his hands down the more softer parts of her body. How her breath is more quieter than usual.

He leans his body down on top of her. His chest pressing against her back as he softly nuzzles and chuffs quietly at the back of her neck. Attempting to soothe his Маленький целитель(little healer) again.

He knows he has killed someone right in front of her and it’s reasonable for her to be… concerned with him, but he wants her to know he won’t do such a thing to his savior that gave him another chance of his life. He wants to protect and heal her just as she did to him. He wants to show her that she can trust him just as he trusted her to not kill him when she could have.

His hands tug at the loop holes on her pants. His chest rumbling against her back as he starts to kiss at her neck and shoulders. His hips pressing up against her *ss as he eyes how her hands tighten and loosen, still unsure with him.

He stops and coos questionably when she slowly sighs underneath him. His form leaning up to watch as she shimmy’s out of her pants and underwear, letting them lay at her ankles. Her cheeks highlighting from the light above them.

“Just… not through my folds, alright?” She tells him, her face turning red at his staring, unable to make eye contact with him.

He purrs loudly this time, unlike his usual quiet purrs. He body leaning forward again to capture her lips in his, a surprised gasp coming from her as his hands presses and grips her butt cheeks together.

His tongue slips pass her teeth and overwhelms her mouth with his, claiming anything hers as his. His hand fiddling with his cod piece as he works on making his Маленький целитель(little healer) breathless, dizzy on him by just his mouth. Her hand resting on his lower jaw encouraging him.

Leaning back from his Маленький целитель(little healer) to let her breathe. A string of their saliva connected their mouths together until Sviatoslav pressed his chest back into her back, his teeth lightly nipping at her neck and shoulder as she leans back down on the countertop.

Finally freeing his c*ck, he uses her and his arousal to coat his c*ck as lube. Teasing her wet folds with his length as his hands grip and massage her cheeks, opening up her pulsing *ss for him. His c*ck slowly dragging back and forth between her folds before pressing onto her unyielding hole. He had to push a little harder before he popped into her hole with a ‘plop.’

He groans as she whines breathlessly underneath him, her hands immediately gripping the other side of the countertop. Her breaths coming in short the more he slowly edges himself into her tight hole. Her walls pulsing around him, trying to push him back out.

“Svi…” She whines quietly at him. His hands massaging her skin and muscles in order to relax her smaller body, his hands nearly wrapped around her waist fully.

Such a small little thing, he rumbles to himself. Waiting on her to relax before he can start to thrust into her. He doesn’t what to ruin her just yet despite her body tightening around him as he groans again.

She huffs against the counter top when he starts to move, her body rocking with him. Still a bit tight, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. He loves how she tightens around him, how she claws at the countertop to support herself. Not like he was gripping at her hips himself, like she was going to leave him, move away from him. His nose nuzzling into the back of her neck as well.

“S-Svi…” She moans when he goes a little deeper, a little faster that he has her on her tippy toes. Groaning up at him, begging him to rail her again and again and he can’t help but oblige. Growling into her ear as he leans over her some more, putting her into a type of mating press against the cold countertop.

His hands drag along her thigh with his lips suckling on her neck before he picks up her leg and puts it on the countertop for more access into her hole. His hands coming back up on her hips to keep her in place.

She gasps and chokes on thin air as he “slips” out of her and through her wet folds. A squelch-like sound coming out as he buries himself to the hilt before dragging back out. Her body jerking forward in surprise as he pulls her back down on his c*ck with a growl. Her body shaking around him as her toes curl.

“Svi! Svi!” She cries at him. Her hands patting back at him, wanting him off of her and he snarls next to her ear at her. His iron hand coming up to thread through her hair and pin her head to the countertop as tears run down her cheeks. Slobs wreaking through her body.

See what happens when one will try and court you? Try and take you away from me Маленький целитель?(little healer?)

He continues to snarl and growl at his Маленький целитель(little healer) when she try’s to push him off of her. His iron grip never letting her move away from him as he listens to how she cry’s and mewls at him at the same time. Indecisive of she wants to do.

“Svi, p-please!” She begs at him, almost unable to form words to him. Yet he just snaps at her neck in return.

Let him reward you just as you rewarded him, Маленький целитель.(little healer). Let him take care of you and heal you now.

His Маленький целитель(little healer) cry’s out as he burys himself to the hilt. One hand coming up to stop her hand from gripping onto a near by butter knife as he purrs almost darkly in her ear. His other hand keeping her still as she tries to wiggle away from him. His c*ck pumping his seed into her womb as she tenses up beneath him. Her head throwing back as she bites her lip to quiet her moans.

He lowly moans himself as he could feel his seed leak from her hole and around his c*ck, only to puddle down the inside of her thighs and down into her clothing at her ankles. His lips continuing to lap at her sweating neck, tasting her salty sweat on his tongue.

“…Siv.” She heaves breathlessly at him. Her head trying to nuzzle him back as he chirrs lowly, but happily. Then he chuckles as she gasps out again when he snap his hips forward, back into her throbbing core.

Throne, he’s going to have her anywhere he pleased. The kitchen counter top, the wall, the flooring, the dinner table, the top of the couch, the bathroom wall, outside, the nest, in front of the dead man. He was not stopping until he is done. Until his Маленький целитель(little healer) passes out in his arms. He had to reward his Маленький целитель(little healer) after all. For taking such good care of him when he was at his lowest.

Let him take care of you now, Маленький целитель.(little healer).

[aquaquadrant]

from eden, part VII

Word count: 15,641

Warnings: Strong language, mild body horror, violence, blood/injury, mild gore, death, manipulation/deception, fictional bigotry, discussion of fictional eugenics (I guess??)

Summary: As Bravo continues working with Hels Tek to create a portal, the frequent complications and delays start to wear on his patience- not to mention the aggressive behavior of the Hels players he’s forced to associate with. But over the years, he finds himself treading deeper and deeper water to get what he wants. And after a shocking revelation is made about Tango, Bravo will have to confront exactly what kind of player he is.

A/N: I can’t believe I once thot I’d cover all of Bravo’s time in Hels in just one chapter. Holy shit. This is now the longest chapter by far, over 15k words. But I can safely say that we’re done w this mini-arc, and next time we’ll get back to the Ranchers in the Double Life times.

Disclaimer: I don’t understand a lot of redstone, and what they’re trying to do with redstone here isn’t even a thing in Minecraft irl, so just go with it. Also, mind the gore warning. There’s a death in here that isn’t super descriptive, not any more than Bravo’s various deaths in part 2, but the way it occurs is kinda disturbing. Hope y’all enjoy, please reblog if you do! - Aqua

~*~

from eden, part VII - babe, there’s something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, one player follows another through a gate.

Pistons lurch as the door closes behind them. But Bravo can hardly hear it above the sudden cacophony of noise beyond the walls of New Helington.

There’s far more life and activity here than he’d been expecting, a virtual sea of movement as players rush past each other. Mismatched buildings crowd the busy streets on either side, accented by flashing lamps and the occasional puff of steam. The air is filled with shouting and the sound of machinery; loud, chaotic, violent.

Over the years, Bravo’s grown accustomed to the various scents within Hels, from the ash-choked basalt detlas to the deep caves of sulfur. Every biome with trees in it smells like smoke, because inevitably, some part of it is always burning. Here, though, there’s a new smell added to the mix; the thick smog of coal and the metallic tang of iron. It reeks of industrialization- which might’ve been comforting, except he can see that New Helington is still very clearly uncivilized.

Much of the things being shouted between players are threats and insults. Players shove and scowl at each other as they pass. Several fist fights are currently taking place right before Bravo’s eyes, and that’s just what he can see out on the streets; the muffled sounds coming from within the ramshackle buildings are just as discouraging.

Bravo reminds himself to be careful. They may be more technologically advanced, but they’re still just as savage as the rest of Hels.

Atlas takes in the sights without comment, expression unchanging. He’s been here before, Bravo recalls. “Now,” he says lowly, “I do believe someone has been sent to collect us-”

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

Bravo jumps at the new voice, whirling around. A player is looking down at them from his perch on one of the wall’s watch towers. But it’s not his precarious position that makes Bravo’s heart jolt; he actually recognizes the player.

A well-built man, with a neatly trimmed beard and bright, teal eyes. The trident strapped to his back is further evidence- this is bXMiner, the player who killed Bravo the last time he tried to come to this city, years ago.

“Ah, Mr. bX,” Atlas says with a smile, seeming not at all surprised as bX drops to the ground in front of them. “Always a pleasure. This is my associate, Mr. Bravo.”

bX nods at him. “What’s up?”

Bravo blinks. “What’s up?” he repeats, struggling to keep his voice even as his temper flares. “That’s- that’s all I get? What, you don’t have anything else to say to the guy you murdered in cold blood?”

Rather than look taken aback, bX chuckles. “Oh man, you’re gonna have to be more specific,” he says with a rueful grin. “I kill a lot of people. Nothing personal.”

“Right,” Bravo says tersely, folding his arms. He’s not sure what stings more; that bX killed him, or that bX doesn’t even have the decency to remember killing him.

Atlas shoots him a warning look. “Of course, that’s not why we’re here.”

“Yeah, I gotta say, I was surprised to hear you were coming by.” bX’s tone is light, conversational- but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes as he studies Atlas. “Bit early for our next visit, isn’t it?”

Atlas’s grin tightens. “I assure you, Mr. bX, this is no ordinary house call. But I’d much prefer to discuss the details once we’re inside.”

“Sure, yeah.” Nodding, bX turns and starts walking towards the main street. “Follow me.”

Atlas steps in close, grabbing Bravo by the arm. “Mind yourself,” he says, still smiling.

Bravo jerks his arm away with a huff. “Fine! I’ll play nice.” As if he has a choice.

They follow bX into the street. Fortunately, it’s easy to keep track of him because the other players hasten to get out of his way. Clearly, bX holds some sort of status here. His presence must be fairly common, however, because Bravo and Atlas seem to be garnering most of the attention. Bravo tries not to bristle when he feels the weight of curious eyes on him.

He’s fully aware of how dangerous this is. Nearly every Hels player he’s met has been unpleasant at best, and outright hostile at worst. He’d once thought that a structured civilization like this could only exist due to cooperation and common decency. It’s obvious now that he was wrong. The players here must be kept in line by nothing short of brute force. The tension in the air is like a misplaced block of TNT, just waiting to explode.

Atlas, of course, doesn’t seem at all bothered by this. He keeps his chin up and his eyes forward as he walks, shoulder set and grin firmly in place. Like he has absolutely nothing to be nervous about.

Bravo desperately tries to channel that energy as they delve deeper into the city.

~*~

“Wait here,” bX says, slipping through the door.

Bravo opens his mouth to protest, but is quickly silenced by the warning look Atlas gives him. They’re in Papa Al’s house, now, he reminds himself. They must tread carefully.

bX has taken them to a lavish quartz mansion, much bigger than any other structure in the city, complete with a fenced-in, fully landscaped garden. Everything on the premises is impeccably maintained; a sharp contrast to the rest of the city. It was clearly designed with aesthetics in mind, and seems well-staffed. If Bravo had any doubts about just how powerful and wealthy Papa Al is, they’ve been thoroughly refuted.

After leading them through the mansion, bX took them up a rather impressive piston elevator, stopping at a floor that consisted of a single hallway with a single door at the end. It’s this door that they’re now waiting in front of, as bX presumably speaks with Papa Al inside.

Bravo definitely isn’t nervous. He definitely doesn’t try to listen to the conversation through the door- to no avail. And he definitely doesn’t jump out of his skin when the door suddenly swings open, almost smacking him in the face. Quickly straightening up, he takes a breath to compose himself, hoping bX didn’t notice.

bX definitely noticed. “Come on in, guys,” he says, amused.

“Thank you,” Atlas says graciously, pulling Bravo into the room behind him. “Ah, Papa Al, it’s good to see you!”

Bravo has to make a conscious effort not to let his mouth fall open. The floor and ceiling of Papa Al’s office are completely paved with solid diamond blocks. Oh, that’s so… tacky. So, so tacky. But it’s the most expensive kind of tacky Bravo’s ever seen. The fact that this guy has so many excess diamonds, he can build with them...

“Spank you, queenie,” the man sitting behind the desk tells bX. He turns to beam at them. “Doctor Sinny! Come in, come in, take a seat!”

Papa Al. He’s dressed to match the room, in an obnoxious teal suit and multiple diamond rings. His own features are rather plain, aside from the countless thin lines hatched across his face. And his voice is… not what Bravo was expecting. Strange accent aside, there’s a playful nature to it. It’s extremely unsettling, coming from a man with this kind of reputation.

bX moves to stand beside Papa Al, who reaches a hand up to caress the side of bX’s face. It’d be a possessive gesture if it weren’t so affectionate, if bX didn’t smile softly back at him. Bravo’s taken aback- seems like this crime boss is full of surprises.

“Of course,” Atlas says, “thank you for seeing us.” He takes one of the two chairs sitting in front of the desk, gesturing for Bravo to follow suit. As Bravo sits down, Papa Al gasps.

“And oh wow, look at dis beautiful face!” he coos. “Now, look into my eyes, and nufin’ but my eyes…”

Then the rest of his eyes open up.

Atlas warned him not to stare, but Bravo can’t help it. Being told that the man has a bunch of extra eyeballs on his face is one thing, but it’s another thing to see it. To see them all mismatched and misshapen, moving and blinking completely out of sync. It’s horrifying.

Rather than take offense, Papa Al almost seems pleased by Bravo’s reaction. His grin widens, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Wassa matter, sweetface?” he asks innocently, cocking his head to the side. The motion makes his various eyes roll around in a dizzying manner.

A cold sweat trickles down Bravo’s neck. “Nothing,” he grits out, averting his gaze. “Uh, sorry. Sir.”

Luckily, Atlas swoops in. “Now, Papa Al, I know you’re a busy man,” he starts smoothly, “so in the interest of saving time, allow me to be brief. I believe I’ve found the solution to our Tango problem. Mr. Bravo here-”

“Ain’t from dese parts, humm?” Papa Al says thoughtfully, his eyes dragging over Bravo’s form. “Or even from dis world.”

Bravo suppresses a shudder. He’s never been scrutinized so intently before; it feels like layers of his skin are being peeled back. And how Papa Al can tell he’s from another world just by looking at him, he has no idea.

Atlas recovers quickly. “Yes, that’s correct. Mr. Bravo came to Hels by accident through a portal, the same time Tango disappeared. I know you never meet Tango, but their similarity is quite striking, too much to chalk up to mere coincidence. I believe they share a connection that we could utilize to open a portal and track Tango down, to retrieve the information he stole, and get our project back on track.”

“Is dat so?” Papa Al hums. His eyes are split between looking at Atlas and Bravo; an expression that’d almost be goofy if it weren’t so off-putting. “Den what’chu waitin’ for?”

Atlas pauses, his face twitching the way it does when he’s trying very hard not to let his annoyance show. “We’ve run into some difficulties with actually isolating this connection,” he explains carefully. “See, we still have Tango’s communicator, which we’ve been comparing to Mr. Bravo’s, but my team is sorely lacking a specialist in data analysis.”

“Ooh, I see…” Papa Al nods earnestly. “You need a real smart guy, huh?”

Atlas’s grin is so tight, it’s a miracle his teeth haven’t cracked. “This degree of analysis is a bit beyond our scope, yes,” he admits, begrudging.

Papa Al taps his chin- the eye located there quickly squeezes shut. “Hmmm… I fink I know a guy,” he says after a moment. “But he’s a vewy hard guy to track down, so it could take some time. Could be a bit scary, a bit hairy.”

Satisfaction flickers across Atlas’s expression. “Who do you have in mind?” he asks, leaning forward.

“Uh uh uh!” Papa Al tuts, wagging his finger. A few of his eyes close for a second- is he trying to wink? “All you need ta know is that he’s da best of da best in dis kinda fing. An’ he reaaaally likes his privacy.”

Atlas purses his lips. Clearly, he’s displeased, but isn’t willing to argue. “Well, if you think he’s the man for the job, I trust your judgement. I’d be happy to speak to him myself to explain the-”

“No, no, no, no, nooo,” Papa Al interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t you worry your purdy little head about it. If I can get him ta take da job, he’ll find you, mkay?”

“Of course. As you wish.” Atlas inclines his head. “Though I must stress that this is rather sensitive information, and the utmost care should be taken to ensure-”

“Oh, Sinny,” Papa Al sighs. He rests his head in his hands. “You really fink I got to where I am today wifout knowin’ how ta keep my mouth shut? I know what’s at stake, same as you do.”

Atlas exhales slowly. “Of course.”

“Now,” Papa Al continues, “step outside wif bX for a second, mkay? I wanna talk ta Mistah Bravo.”

Bravo jolts in his seat. What? This wasn’t part of the plan!

Atlas stiffens. “If you require any more information about the project, I’m sure I can-”

“Dat wasn’t a request, sweetface,” Papa Al says, his tone deceptively light.

Atlas falls silent. With a terse nod, he rises from his seat and follows bX out the door. As he does, he gives Bravo a look that isn’t so much reassuring as it is saying ‘don’t mess this up.’ Normally, Bravo would roll his eyes, but he’s just as worried about messing this up as Atlas is. Atlas was supposed to do all the talking, Bravo doesn’t know how to navigate Hels business like this-

“Soooo,” Papa Al drawls, “Mistah Bravo… you come from other worlds outside a’ Hels, is dat right?”

Now that they’re alone, Bravo bears the full weight of Papa Al’s gaze. He straightens his back unconsciously. “Yeah. Uh, yes sir, Papa Al.”

Papa Al hums noncommittally. “Tell me… what are da other worlds like?”

Bravo blinks. “Um- you mean like, just in general? I guess… they’re usually a lot nicer than Hels.” He scratches the back of his head. “See, other worlds have a separate nether from the overworld, and- and we travel between them using portals.”

Papa Al nods, motioning for him to go on. Evidently, he’s familiar with the concept.

Bravo swallows. “Okay so, all the biomes with ash and lava and fiery stuff, that’s- that’s nether stuff.” He counts on his fingers. “Basalt deltas, warped and crimson forests, soul sand valleys, nether wastes- that’s all pretty much the same. I mean, it’s fine if that’s what you like, but uh, I prefer the overworld.”

Papa Al’s expression is utterly unreadable, those many eyes watching him with rapt attention.

“So, the overworlds,” Bravo continues haltingly. “There are… okay, so- so overworlds have tons of different biomes, right? The biomes here are sorta like uh, hybrid biomes, so you’ve got like, netherrack veins in a stone mountain or a jungle filled with crimson fungus. But in a normal overworld, the biomes don’t have any features of the nether. And other than a few specific kinds, they all usually have some kinda grass and trees, and they’re green. Not brownish-green like the ones here.”

His tone turns wistful, despite himself. “And the sky- there’s no bedrock ceiling in the overworld, just an endless blue sky… there are clouds sometimes. The air’s clear. And the sun… it’s this giant, yellow ball of fire way up in the sky, too far to reach, and when it shines down on your skin, it’s just the most amazing feeling. Warm, but not painful. And- and at night, the sky turns black, and you can see a bunch of tiny bright lights called stars, and one big, white moon. Like a smaller sun. The moonlight isn’t warm, but it’s beautiful in its own way. I…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, I uh- I didn’t realize I missed it so much…”

A gentle smile spreads across Papa Al’s face, forcing several eyes into a squint. “Oh, das alright,” he murmurs. “It must be hard, ta be away from home for sooooo long. And I bet you’d do whatever it takes ta go back, hmm?”

Bravo is immediately on edge again. “I suppose,” he says warily.

“Now tell me dis…” Papa Al leans in, his voice low. “Do you trust Atlas?”

Well. That’s not what Bravo was expecting. He knits his brows together, trying to figure out how he should answer. Is this some kind of test? “I… trust that he wants a portal opened as much as I do,” he says eventually.

Papa Al tilts his head. “Is dat so?”

It’s impossible to tell whether he approves of the answer or not. Bravo makes a frustrated noise. “I- I don’t- look, compared to how other players here have treated me- I mean, Atlas is one of the few who didn’t just kill me on sight.”

“Oh, sweetface…” Papa Al clicks his tongue. “Dere are so many fings a player can do ta you dat are worse dan killing.”

Irritation flares through Bravo. He hates being treated like he’s naive; he didn’t make it on his own here for several years through the power of friendship. “Okay, so- so what, are you sayin’ I shouldn’t trust the guy who’s working for you?” he asks, folding his arms. “I mean, what- what do you want here?”

“I want ta know dat you’re committed,” Papa Al says, holding his gaze evenly. His earlier playfulness has fallen away into the cool demeanor of a hardened businessman. “Dat you’ll uphold your end of da deal. Cuz- cuz if you don’t, den I’m wastin’ a lotta time and energy for nufin’, mhmm. You get me?”

“I- yeah, I get you,” Bravo says shortly. In his opinion, it’s a stupid question. There is so much more on the line for him than there is for them. They want to get back important research. He wants to get back his entire way of life and an infinite universe. It’s almost insulting, for Papa Al to question Bravo’s commitment.

“Good, good.” Papa Al nods. “Cuz ah, little word to da wise; I am not someone you wanna cross.”

Bravo grits his teeth. He generally considers himself a nice guy, but god, he’s so tired of all the posturing. “Yeah? Well, well maybe I am, too,” he says lowly.

For a moment, Papa Al just stares at him, as if he hasn’t fully processed the threat. Then he throws his head back and laughs, all his eyes squeezing shut. “Oh, I knew I liked ya,” he says cheerfully. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Tell Doctor Sinny dat I’ll work on sending da specialist over pronto, mkay? And in da meantime, he should tell me if dere are any updates or probbylems. Got dat?”

“I- yeah, sure,” Bravo says, taken aback. “Uh-”

“Great! You can go, now.” Papa Al sits back in his chair, waving his fingers. “Buh bye! Spank you! See ya next time!”

Well, that’s that.

Bravo steps out of the room almost in a daze, into the hallway where Atlas and bX are waiting. bX nods at him in greeting and leads them back out of the mansion, through the city, and to the gate before bidding them farewell.

Atlas waits until they’re on the flying machine back to Hels Tek to start pestering Bravo about his meeting with Papa Al. Bravo tries to relay the odd conversation the best he can, still trying to make sense of it himself. But he leaves out the part where Papa Al asked if he trusts Atlas.

Somehow, he doesn’t think Atlas would take that well.

~*~

“What? That’s it?”

Bravo jumps a little as Tyrannicide slams his hands on the conference table. Atlas sighs, looking almost bored as he waits for the other scientist to stop shouting.

“Are you fucking kidding me? All we get is some flimsy promise that he’ll send for a specialist, without even knowing who?”

“Dr. Tyrannicide, indoor voice, if you please,” Atlas says dryly. “I understand it’s not ideal, but-”

“It’s a rip off, is what it is,” Phantonym cuts in, her arms folded as she leans back in her chair. Her shoulders are hunched, jaw set. “I thought this guy was supposed to be our top sponsor!”

The tension in the room is palpable. Bravo knew that the rest of the portal team wouldn’t be thrilled by the news of their visit with Alisker, but he’s unsettled by all the hostility. It’s like they’re going to leap over the table at Atlas any second now. Surely they wouldn’t actually attack each other here- Hels Tek is better than that, right?

“Alisker is our top sponsor,” Atlas replies, giving Phantonym a stern look. “I’m sure he has his reasons for all the secrecy. All we have to do is be patient.”

“And what if this so-called specialist never even shows up?” L8R_H8R demands. He’s tense, hands gripping the armrests of his chair so hard his knuckles are white.

Atlas smiles, shrugging a shoulder. “Well, in that case, I suppose we carry on as we have been.”

H8R frowns. “At the rate we’ve been going, it’ll take years just to figure this data thing out, much less build a working portal from it,” he points out. “Isn’t Alisker’s patience with us already running thin?”

Atlas’s smile widens. “Yes, yes it is. So if I were you, I’d stop wasting time throwing fits over things beyond our control and get back to work. Do I make myself clear?”

The scientists mutter their agreement, a reluctant, “Yes, sir.” The tension dissipates, and Bravo remembers to breathe again.

It’s fine. This is fine. The specialist will come, they’ll figure out how Bravo is connected to Tango, they’ll finally be able to make a portal, and this nightmare will be over. He’ll go home and forget about this horrible place. He just has to be patient for a little bit longer.

It can’t take more than a few days, right?

~*~

Several days come and go, with no news.

Atlas is starting to get annoyed by how often Bravo asks if he’s heard from Alisker. But he can’t help it; he hates feeling out of the loop like this, feeling completely and utterly powerless. He tries to keep himself busy, but progress on the portal has screeched to a halt. The rest of his team is once again trying to teach themselves how to read and analyze data, the lab covered with pages and pages of code, and all his attempts to help are met with stiff rejection. Even just being in the room with them is getting increasingly uncomfortable; tempers are short, and there’s a lot of bickering.

The other scientists seem to tolerate his presence better. His assistance on the various projects at Hels Tek isn’t always necessary, but they don’t mind him hanging around to observe and ask questions. They seem to be in higher spirits than the portal team- probably because their projects aren’t stuck on the backburner, waiting for some mysterious specialist to show up out of the blue. So long as they’re being productive, they’ve got nothing to fight about.

At least, that’s what Bravo thinks until he walks in on a scientist throwing one of the interns against the wall.

“How many times do I have to fucking tell you?” the scientist snarls, a piece of paper clenched in his first. “Double check your calculations before showing them to me. If you can’t even do basic math, you’re-” He pauses when he notices Bravo, all his fury suddenly vanishing. “Oh, hey. Didn’t know you were dropping by today.”

The intern has quickly recovered himself, standing with a carefully composed expression.

“Right,” Bravo says uncertainly, a pit forming in his stomach. “Uh, sorry- I’ll come back later.”

He leaves before the scientist can protest, his heart pounding. He’s never seen violence used so casually around Hels Tek, the way it is elsewhere in Hels. The closest time was when Atlas had to snap Clear out of a breakdown, and even that hadn’t been done so lightly.

Atlas told him that Hels Tek was different. That it was better than the rest of Hels, that he’d be safe here. 

It’s… probably not that big of a deal. Everyone loses their temper from time to time. And Bravo can’t hold them to the same standards he would normally, because they’re still from Hels. Things just… work differently here. It doesn’t matter anyways; as soon as that portal is working, he’ll be out of here for good.

He just has to be patient.

~*~

Days turn into weeks.

~*~

“-informed me that they should have the entire lexicon fully transcribed by now,” Atlas says, his quick footsteps bouncing off the empty hall.

Bravo keeps pace with him as they make their way to the portal lab. “Yeah, well, that’s what H8R said last week-”

He breaks off when he hears a sudden crash. Behind one of the doors to another lab, he can make out the sound of furious shouting- two scientists he’s vaguely familiar with- and more heavy thunks and crashes.

Bravo turns to ask Atlas about it, but he’s already slipping inside the door. The sounds immediately stop. After a minute, Atlas comes back out, smoothing down the front of his lab coat.

“Just a little work dispute,” he tells Bravo with a smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Right,” Bravo says flatly. He almost lets it drop there, but something prompts him to keep going. “Y’know, I- I’m not stupid. I know you guys are trying not to be so… so Hels around me. What, do you think a- a few harsh words and fist fights are gonna scare me off?”

“Of course not,” Atlas says, raising his eyebrows. “It’s true that my staff are attempting to be more conscientious than what’s standard for the rest of Hels, but I instilled those rules even before you got here.” He looks at Bravo from over the brim of his shades. “Contrary to what you might believe, we Hels players don’t all thrive on chaos and violence. Some of us would prefer a little more civility and order.”

“Oh, okay.” Bravo glances away, almost sheepish. “Sure, yeah. Sorry.”

Atlas hums noncommittally, continuing down the hall. “Now, where were we…?”

~*~

Weeks turn into months.

~*~

“I’ve told you, I’m working on it!” Tyrannicide snaps. “Who died and made you queen?”

“Well, someone has to keep us on schedule,” Phantonym shoots back, her eyes narrowed, “and it’s clearly not you!”

Bravo pinches the bridge of his nose. The two scientists have been arguing all morning about things he can barely follow. Something something, responsibilities, something something, timelines. It’s really getting hard to bear. If this is the best redstone lab that Hels has to offer, he shudders to think about how the others must function…

“I’m sick of your shit!” Tyrannicide pushes away from the lab bench, his chair toppling over with a loud thud as he jumps to his feet. “If you don’t like the way I do things then you can just-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence; a sword suddenly appears in his chest, splattering blood across the lab bench. Instantly, he vanishes in a puff of respawn smoke, the sword dropping to the ground with a clank.

Phantonym calmly leans over to pick it up. Shock crashes over Bravo as he processes what just happened, only two feet away from him.

H8R sighs loudly. “For godsakes…” he groans, rising from his chair. He shuffles over to grab the mop leaning against the wall. “Couldn’t you have taken this outside? Papers, ruined…”

Bravo finally finds his voice. “You killed him,” he says, stunned.

Phantonym rolls her eyes. “Sorry, yeah, I know that was rude,” she huffs, putting the sword back in her inventory. “But whatever, maybe he’ll come back with a better fucking attitude.”

Bravo isn’t sure how to respond to that. Fortunately, Atlas is quick to arrive, having noticed the death message in chat. He lectures Phantonym about ‘appropriate workplace conduct’ and then pulls Bravo to the side.

“I apologize for that,” Atlas says lowly. “With respawn anchors set up, death has little consequence, and as such, players can sometimes get careless- even those who should know better. But I can assure you, no one here would even think about harming you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bravo demands. He finds that hard to believe. “Why’s that? Has- has my sparkling personality endeared me to them?”

Atlas sighs; he has little patience for Bravo’s sarcasm. “No. I’ve simply impressed upon them that, if such an unsightly event were to occur, there would be dire consequences.”

“Oh.” Bravo swallows. “Uh. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Atlas says, stepping away. “Now, all of you, get back to work.”

Bravo runs a hand through his hair, pausing as he feels a few strands stuck together with still-warm blood. A lump forms in his throat, but he forces it down.

Business as usual at Hels Tek.

~*~

“I don’t know why this couldn’t wait,” Atlas grumbles, rubbing his eyes behind his shades. “I’m all for starting work early, but this is a bit excessive.”

“Because,” Bravo says impatiently, ushering him down the hallway, “every time I try to get a straightforward explanation with the rest of the team there, it always turns into an argument. And I’m sick of being out of the loop. I- I need to know exactly where we’re at with this project, okay?”

There’s only a few more months to go before Bravo will have been at Hels Tek for two years. Not that they’ll throw him an anniversary party or anything. Most players don’t pay much attention to the yearly passage of time; the only reason he even knows how long it’s been is because he’s made a point to keep track on his communicator.

(It’s hard to tell for certain, but Bravo thinks he might’ve stopped aging at this point. He wonders if Tango’s stopped aging too, or if he’ll look younger or older than Bravo when they finally meet.

He supposes it doesn’t really matter. Since all players are immortal, they usually only keep track of age until they reach adulthood. After that, players continue to age up to a certain point that’s completely random; a player who looks twenty might actually be decades older than a player who looks forty. Socially, there’s no difference- an adult is an adult.

But privately, Bravo had been hoping to physically age at least a little bit more, to look more mature than he does currently. Maybe it’d help others take him more seriously.)

Atlas hums noncommittally. “Do you not trust your team?”

Bravo snorts. “I trust my team to get distracted by bickering, that’s what. So- so that’s why I just need you to catch me up to speed on everything, before the rest of ‘em get in this morning.”

“Very well,” Atlas sighs, fishing his keycard out of his inventory as they stop in front of the lab door. He swipes them in. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’d be happy to-” He breaks off as soon as they step through the door, blinking in confusion.

The lights in the lab are already on.

Bravo’s immediately on edge, quickly glancing around. He deliberately dragged Atlas down here at the crack of dawn so they could get here before anyone else on the team-

“Hey, everybody.”

That’s a new voice.

Bravo cranes his head up in the direction the voice came from, and his heart jolts. A player is sitting up in the metal rafters of the lab, balancing on the thin beam in a crouch. Before either of them can respond, the player drops off the side- and catches himself in a rapidly-placed block of water, which disappears back into its bucket and into his inventory just as quickly. He straightens up, standing only a few feet away from them with his hands in his pockets.

The first thought Bravo has is, ‘What a show off.’ Seriously, what kind of guy places water in a redstone lab just to pull off a silly MLG trick?

The player in question is a man with a tall, lanky frame- made even more apparent by the baggy bomber jacket he’s wearing. The gray jacket is old but well-maintained, with patches on the elbows and the collar lined with matted white fur. Complimenting it is a pair of dark cargo pants tucked into trim combat boots. A clock hangs at his hip, suspended on a delicate chain.

His white hair is in the style of an undercut; shaved around the sides and back, with only the top left long and tied into a small bun. His whole left eye is glowing bright red- artificially red, like redstone- with a white iris. The skin surrounding it is thick and mottled, like some kind of burn or chemical scar, standing out in sharp contrast against his pale complexion. It’s impossible to tell the extent of it, though, because the entire lower half of his face is covered by a black mask.

Bravo’s never seen him before. But Atlas inhales sharply, eyes widening from behind his shades.

“Well, well, well.” Atlas spreads his hands, breaking into a broad grin. “If it isn’t Mr. Patho, of Patho’s Lair!”

“Oh, you know who I am?” the player, Patho, asks. It’s difficult to read his expression with so much of his face hidden, but he almost sounds amused.

“But of course.” Atlas is practically vibrating with excitement as he approaches Patho, coming to a stop in front of him. Bravo follows him cautiously. “Any competent redstoner knows who you are, Mr. Patho. It’s an honor to have you here, I don’t know why my staff didn’t inform me of your arrival-”

“I let myself in,” Patho says casually.

It takes a second for the meaning to register; he snuck into Hels Tek completely undetected.

“Ah.” If Atlas is disturbed by this information, he doesn’t show it. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise! It’s an honor to meet you,” he says emphatically, holding out his hand. “I’m Dr. Atlas, the head scientist here.”

Patho just stares at him, hands still in his pockets, making no move to shake Atlas’s hand. It seems to Bravo as if the temperature in the room has dropped by ten degrees.

Atlas, to his credit, recovers quickly. “Thank you so much for coming,” he says, tucking his arms behind his back. “I wasn’t aware that Alisker knew you.”

Patho nods. “Oh yeah, me and Papa Al go way back.” 

Now that Bravo’s getting a closer look, he realizes that Patho’s red eye is mechanical; he can see the little metal plates that make up the iris, moving to change the diameter of the pupil. That, combined with the scar around Patho’s orbit, mean it’s probably a cybernetic replacement.

Injuries that kill a player are healed upon respawn, but they occasionally leave a mark, depending on the nature and severity of the wound. The likelihood of retaining some sort of damage increases the longer a player has an injury without actually dying. Bravo’s seen players with all sorts of scars in Hels, but never one that’s missing an actual body part. He wonders what sort of circumstances could lead to an entire eye being permanently lost, and shudders.

“Well, we’re happy to have you,” Atlas says. Man, he’s really laying it on thick. “I’m certain with your help we’ll be able to-”

“So, this is the overworlder?” Patho interrupts, turning his keen, mismatched gaze onto Bravo. There’s something calculating in his expression, and the intensity of his robotic eye is a little disconcerting- like it’s evaluating Bravo on some level he can’t understand.

“My name’s Bravo,” Bravo says, feeling a spike of irritation. He folds his arms. “So Alisker sent you? You know uh, we talked to him about sending a specialist months ago. Like, almost a year ago.”

Atlas shoots him a warning look. Clearly, he holds this player in very high regard- for whatever reason.

But Patho shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m a busy guy,” he says, completely unapologetic.

Bravo’s jaw tightens. He’s trying really hard not to let his annoyance show, but this guy is quickly getting on his nerves. “I just don’t- what, he- he couldn’t just send a quick whisper, asking you to drop by?”

“No, actually.” Patho finally takes his hands out of his pockets, pushing up the sleeve of his left arm. The entire limb is mechanical- a prosthetic, Bravo realizes, just like his eye- and there’s a familiar screen embedded in his forearm. “I don’t get whispers anymore. I permanently disabled chat.”

He’s built his communicator into his own arm. And disabled the chat. In a world without an admin who can just replace his communicator if something were to go wrong.

Bravo stares at him. “Wh- why would you do that?!”

Patho gives him a curious look, huffing a laugh. Like Bravo’s some kind of dumb animal that’s doing something mildly amusing. “Sorry, that’s actually none of your goddamn business,” he says, tone deceptively light. “Now let’s get to work, yeah?”

Bravo’s too stunned to respond. But Atlas swiftly intervenes, sweeping an arm out towards the lab benches. “Of course! Our set up is right over there, Mr. Patho. Feel free to take a look at our progress thus far while I call the rest of our portal development team over.”

Patho simply nods and turns away, sidling over to the lab benches. Atlas seizes Bravo by the arm and leads him aside.

“Do you remember,” Atlas asks lowly, speaking through the clenched teeth of his grin, “how I told you that a long time ago, a very smart player used data analysis to figure out that Hels is made of two distinct realms fused into one?”

Bravo quirks a brow. “Yeah?”

“Patho is that player.”

“What?” Bravo jolts in surprise. “But that’d make him-”

“One of the oldest players in Hels, yes,” Atlas says, nodding. “I know he doesn’t look it; he stopped aging a long time ago. But trust me when I tell you that this player is ancient, and someone you do not want to cross.”

Bravo frowns. “Seems to be a running theme here, with the sorta people you work with.”

Atlas tilts his head. “Let me put it this way. If I had to choose between having Alisker or Patho as my enemy, I’d choose Alisker any day.” His grip on Bravo’s arm tightens. “You must be on your best behavior.”

“Okay, okay, jeeze!” Bravo huffs, shaking Atlas’s hand off. Despite his annoyance, he can’t deny the concern that Atlas’s words have instilled in him. This must be serious. “Relax, I’m- I’m not gonna do anything stupid.”

“I should hope not,” Atlas responds cooly, pulling up his communicator. “We can’t afford to waste this opportunity.”

Bravo manages not to roll his eyes. “Don’t have to tell me that,” he mutters under his breath as he turns away.

~*~

It only takes a few minutes for the other three to arrive. Introductions are a rushed affair, with far too much fangirling for Bravo’s taste. Apparently, Patho is some kind of celebrity in the redstone community here. Go figure.

Once everything’s settled down again, Atlas explains the situation to Patho in excruciating detail, with frequent interjections from the other scientists. They’re all so eager to prove how much they know about the subject. The hostility between them from the last few months has been all but forgotten; clearly, they wouldn’t dream of devolving into petty bickering in front of Patho.

If nothing else, at least this visit has given them a serious attitude adjustment.

Patho listens to them with rapt attention, speaking only to ask an occasional clarifying question. There’s absolutely nothing in his expression to give away what he’s feeling about the information. Certainly not the excitement Bravo might’ve expected, from someone learning that there’s a way out of Hels.

Maybe Patho’s always suspected. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

Patho also spends some time looking over Bravo’s and Tango’s communicators- which makes Bravo more than a little nervous. Patho’s inspection goes beyond a cursory glance; he actually starts digging through data logs and memory banks, reading the embedded codes.

“Lotta early deaths, huh, Bravo?” he comments at one point, making Bravo flush.

To top it all off, Patho pops open a panel on his robotic arm and tugs out a little cord. He uses this to plug into each of the communicators for a few minutes, his expression blank as his cybernetic eye rapidly scans back and forth. It’s… a little disturbing to watch. By the time he finishes up and gives Bravo his communicator back, Bravo’s practically ready to snatch it out of Patho’s hands. He quickly stows it in his inventory while simultaneously trying to look as though he isn’t at all bothered.

Jury’s still out on whether he was successful or not.

“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking,” Patho announces finally, after all these minutes of information-gathering.

They’ve all settled at the chairs by the lab benches now. Tyrannicide, Phantonym, and L8R_H8R each have notepads out. Atlas doesn’t, but he can’t disguise the interest in his eyes as he leans forward slightly in his seat.

“In the worlds outside Hels,” Patho starts, “you can make portals two ways; a nether portal to travel between overworld and nether, or a portal from your communicator to travel between worlds. In Hels, we can’t do either. But um, there’s actually a difference in how these mechanisms have been blocked here. Aha.”

“You see, buried deep inside every communicator’s memory is a command for creating a new world, and a command for traveling to an existing world- like, a derivative of the ‘summon portal’ command. These commands are locked on a Hels player’s communicator, just like, completely nonfunctional. No amount of tampering can activate them again, so one of these communicator portals has never physically existed in Hels.”

“Now, a nether portal, on the other hand, can still be created in Hels. The uh, the frames just don’t ignite. This is because they were designed to travel between two distinct realms that are now fused in Hels, so the portal gets confused. It’s like, you’re asking it to teleport you somewhere, but you’re already there. So it just crashes. But, theoretically, if you gave a nether portal in Hels a new destination, outside of Hels, you could trick it into teleporting you there.” He finally pauses, gaze drifting around the table. “With me so far?”

Eager nods from the scientists as they scribble down notes.

Bravo frowns. “So why hasn’t anyone successfully done that yet?” he asks.

Patho blinks at him. “It’s a paradox,” he says slowly. “In order to make a portal out of Hels, you need to anchor it to something outside of Hels. But in order to find something outside of Hels to act as an anchor, you need to make a portal out of Hels. So um, historically, there’s been no way for anyone in Hels to access anything from other worlds.” He shrugs. “Until you showed up.”

Atlas looks pleased. “So, you’re saying Mr. Bravo is the key to interworld travel?” His tone makes it clear he already knew that, but is now having it confirmed by a top authority on the subject. It must be extremely validating.

Patho nods. “Yeah, so player data is actually influenced by the world you spawn in. Sort of like, an origin ID tag. I could tell just from reading him that he’s not from Hels. All we have to do is use his data to create an anchor point to another world and link it to a nether portal.”

There are surprised and agreeable little murmurs from the scientists.

“Oh, genius-”

“Of course!”

“-yes, I see.”

“Uh…” Bravo clears his throat. “Hey, so- so as the aforementioned ‘he’, would this uh, hypothetical scenario be in any way painful or damaging? Or permanent? I mean, it’s not gonna- it won’t turn me into a portal, right?”

Patho waves him off. “No, no, it shouldn’t be. It’d be like um, a fingerprint or retina scanner. You’d just need a setup that can read your data and feed it to the portal, and it’ll ignite inside the frame.”

That’s something, Bravo supposes. “Okay… but we aren’t trying to go to just any other world, or my homeworld, we’re trying to find Tango,” he points out. “And- and we have no idea where he is.”

“Ah, you didn’t let me finish,” Patho says good-naturedly. “Based on what I can tell from this Tango guy’s communicator compared to Bravo’s, you can use Bravo’s data to create an anchor point to Tango, too.”

Oh, that’s all kinds of strange. “But why?” Bravo asks, throwing his hands up. “How exactly are Tango and I connected? Is it like that- that thing when one chicken egg spawns in multiples? Like, twins?”

Patho shakes his head. “No, you’d be completely identical if that were the case, and I can tell from your communicators that you aren’t.” He gives Bravo a considering look. “The real answer is, um... more complicated than that. You sure you can handle it?”

Well, that’s not concerning.

Despite his sudden unease, Bravo huffs a laugh. “Uh, yeah? I mean, that’s- that’s what we’re here to find out, right?”

“Alright, then,” Patho hums. He pulls a potion out of his inventory- night vision, Bravo thinks. “So like, imagine that this bottle is Bravo. And all his data- all his code, like everything that makes Bravo who he is- is represented by the potion in the bottle. And that potion is made up of different ingredients, right?”

Bravo knits his brows together. “Where are you going with this?”

“Just stay with me.” Patho pulls another bottle out, but this one is empty. “So when Bravo was spawned, he had all these different ingredients in him. But for whatever reason, the uh, the universe took certain things out and dumped them into a second bottle, making a new potion.” To demonstrate, he tips the potion into the empty bottle, letting some of the shimmering liquid pour into it. “That’s Tango.”

Bravo balks. “Wh- so Tango’s my clone?!”

Patho gives a rueful sigh, like he’s patiently trying to teach an actual child some very simple concept. “No, not a clone. Again, you’d be identical.” He scoops up some stray redstone from the lab bench and pours it into the second potion, swirling it around until the liquid turns reddish. “He’s a derivative of you, like some part of you that has been given its own sentience and form before getting spawned here. I don’t know why. But uh, I predict this is the case for every player spawned in Hels.”

There’s a moment of silence. The redstone particles in the potion eventually settle on the surface, like blood on water.

“Mr. Patho,” Atlas ventures finally, his tone careful, “surely you don’t mean... you’re suggesting we all have doppelgängers outside of Hels?”

“That’s right,” Patho says, putting the potions away. “It’s simple inductive logic based on the construction of the data of every player I’ve ever seen.”

The scientists don’t look quite so eager anymore, pens hovering motionless over notepads.

Bravo exhales slowly, running his hands through his hair. This is… so much more than he could’ve guessed. He’d thought there was a chance the universe purposefully spawned the worst players here in Hels, as some kind of preemptive punishment. But what Patho’s suggesting… it’s different.

“But... but why would the universe do that?” Bravo asks quietly.

“Like I said, I don’t know.” Patho scratches at his jaw over his mask. “Um, I’d need Tango here to do a direct comparison in order to figure out what ‘ingredients’ he’s made of. But we can estimate. So like, what similarities does Tango share with you?”

Bravo shrugs helplessly. “I- I mean- I’ve never met him, but-”

“Their tempers,” Atlas interrupts, his eyes widening with realization. “Mr. Bravo does a fine job keeping it under control, but when Tango got truly angry, he’d fly into an uncontrollable, destructive rage.” He gives Bravo a thoughtful look. “I was never certain how much of that was solely attributed to his blaze hybrid status, but now it seems to me that he got it from you.”

Something about that sentence rankles Bravo. He shoves it to the back of his mind.

“There you go.” Patho waves a hand. “Hels players are made of the worst parts of overworld players. Aha.” He winks. “Explains a lot, right?”

Bravo can only shake his head. “I just- I don’t understand how you can know all that just by looking at me and our communicators-”

“This is what you hired me for, right?” Patho asks, inclining his head. “It’d take way too long to explain. Look, trust my expertise or don’t. I get paid either way.”

“Apologies, Mr. Patho,” Atlas says quickly, “of course we trust your expertise. It’s just… quite a lot to take in.”

“Really?” Patho sounds genuinely surprised. “Seems pretty simple to me.”

Atlas’s smile is strained. “You mean to say you aren’t at all bothered by the concept of your existence being owed to some player in another world? That you’re nothing more than the most undesirable parts of them trimmed away and given shape, locked into an inescapable prison for the simple crime of existing?”

“Nope,” Patho says easily. “So I uh, I just foot the bill to Papa Al, right?”

The sudden change in topic throws Bravo for a moment. “Uh- what do you mean?”

“My payment,” Patho says, stretching his arms above his head before standing up. “Job’s done, so…”

“What?” Bravo demands, rising from his seat. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “That’s it? You- you’re leaving, just like that?”

“Yeah?” Patho chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Like, what else do you want, a kiss on the cheek? That’ll cost extra.”

Bravo feels himself flush. He’s not sure how much of it is from embarrassment and how much is from anger. “I thought you were supposed to be helping us open a portal,” he says, stalking up to Patho.

Atlas frowns at him. “Now, Mr. Bravo-”

“Well,” Patho says, tilting his head, “I already told you everything you need to know to open a portal to Tango.”

“Yeah, well,” Bravo snarks, glaring up at Patho, “knowing and doing are two very different things. We’ve waited months for you to show up, only for you to leave after ten minutes, are you serious? I- I mean, aren’t you gonna help us actually build the portal?”

Patho scoffs at him. “I’m a consultant, not a contractor,” he says, turning away.

Rage flares inside Bravo, like his blood’s turned to lava. “Hey! Don’t you have any idea how important this is?” He grabs Patho by the arm. “You can’t-”

Pain cuts across Bravo’s stomach, before he’s even processed that Patho’s moving. He sees the briefest glint of metal in Patho’s hand- some kind of blade- and something warm presses against his legs. He looks down and- oh. Those are his intestines. He’s looking down at his intestines, spilling from a neat slice that Patho has made through his abdomen.

All the air leaves Bravo’s lungs in a strangled gasp. He has a second to look up at Patho, who stares back impassively, those mismatched eyes cold and hard as stone, before Patho reaches forward with his other arm- the robot arm, easily pulled from Bravo’s grasp- and he plunges it into Bravo’s open body, grabs a fistful of viscera, and pulls-

Bravo sees a spray of red, then everything goes black.

He wakes up on the floor of his bedroom.

Oh. So that happened. Residual adrenaline crashes over Bravo like a bucket of cold water. Quickly he glances down, finding no sign of injury. This does little to calm him. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, and his hands are shaking as he scrambles for his communicator.

Bravo was slain by Patho.

What the hell.

Putting his communicator away, Bravo forces himself to take a few slow, deep breaths. Okay. He respawned in his room. He’s fine. The respawn anchor is now missing one little wedge of light. It almost seems to mock him, like a solitary eye. That’s less fine. It’s been so long since his last death, damn it, he thought he was done with the random murder stuff!

As he gathers his composure, rising to his feet, he finds that his shock is quickly giving way to anger. He doesn’t care how smart or famous Patho is, he’s not going to take this laying down. Hels players might be fine with casually killing someone every time they get on each other’s nerves, but Bravo isn’t.

All he’s asking for is some basic fucking humanity.

Grabbing his spare sword out of his ender chest, Bravo smacks the button on the wall and darts out the door. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears. His feet swiftly take him back to the lab, the route subconsciously memorized after all the time he’s spent in this damn place, and he’s so angry he almost rips his keycard up as he swipes in.

“Hey!” Bravo shouts, rushing into the lab. “What’re you…”

He trails off. Patho is standing not far from where Bravo left him, casually talking to Atlas. His hands are in his pockets, his body language totally relaxed. There’s a splatter of blood across the front of his jacket. Atlas is smiling pleasantly and nodding.

Tyrannicide and Phantonym are hunched over the lab benches, comparing notes. H8R is mopping up the blood on the floor. Bravo’s blood. They all look up at his entrance, expressions disinterested, before turning back to what they were doing.

It’d be terribly unnerving, if it weren’t so infuriating.

Bravo storms right up to Atlas and Patho. “What’s going on here?” he demands furiously.

“Ah, there you are.” Atlas turns to him with a beseeching look. “Mr. Patho has agreed to stay and help work on the portal for a bit longer,” he informs Bravo, as if this is gracious news.

“Oh, has he?” Bravo rounds on Patho with a snarl. His grip tightens around his sword.

Patho shrugs, not at all concerned by Bravo’s very clear threat. “Your friend’s very persuasive.”

“Um, excuse me?” Bravo gives an incredulous laugh, made harsh with anger. “So- so are we just not gonna address what happened?!”

Patho chuckles. “Okay, okay. Here, I’ll use my words this time.” He stares directly into Bravo’s eyes, his cybernetic pupil constricting to match his natural one. “Don’t touch me again, or I’ll fucking kill you. Got that?”

The hair on the back of Bravo’s neck stands up. He can’t even respond, his voice dying in his throat.

Atlas takes the opportunity to grab Bravo by the arm. “Mr. Bravo, a word, please,” he says, steering Bravo away.

Bravo’s too stunned to argue. But once they’re at the other side of the lab, he finally finds his voice again. “Wh- are you kidding me with this?!” he snaps, not bothering to whisper. “This guy shows up out of nowhere after months and months of waiting, sneaks in unannounced, and then decides to fucking shank me just for grabbing his arm? And- and you’re okay with this? You actually want to keep working with him?”

“I do regret that such an unfortunate incident occurred,” Atlas says somberly, as if Patho killing Bravo in cold blood was some kind of freak accident. “I meant it when I said Hels Tek strives to be better than the rest of Hels in that regard. But you must understand that this is simply the way things are here. And with certain recent… revelations… realize that it goes beyond culture or tradition or just simple crassness. It’s in our nature, our very data itself.” He gives Bravo a knowing look. “Some are better at fighting that instinctual coding than others, but none of us will ever operate at the same level as an overworlder.”

Bravo pauses, his anger starting to fade. He hadn’t thought about it like that. He’d assumed most Hels players acted the way they did just because they could get away with it. Hels is a world with no rules and no admin to keep order, so common decency falls by the wayside. But he’d thought, he’d thought, that surely they were capable of being better? That there’d be some innate sense of humanity, deep down inside them, that would guide them if only they cared enough to listen.

But now. Now, it seems as if they aren’t capable of it. Not just because they don’t know any better, but because something inside of them is actively rebelling against it, spurring them on to ever more horrible, violent deeds. Bravo’s always felt he was different from Hels players, but now he has actual scientific evidence supporting the fact.

It’s… almost comforting.

“I… I guess that’s true,” Bravo says uncertainly. He puts his sword away, folding his arms. “But I mean- come on, do we really have to keep him around?”

Atlas smiles. “Patho is one of the most brilliant minds in all of Hels. He practically invented the field of data analysis. He is likely the only player who will be able to help us open a portal in a matter of years rather than decades. With your assistance, I’m certain we can figure it out.” He puts a hand on Bravo’s shoulder, and his grin sharpens. “I’m still willing to uphold my end of our deal. Are you?”

The reality of the situation sinks in slowly, a cold dread.

Bravo’s spawn is set here via respawn anchor. He’s outnumbered and outmatched. This is a secure facility that would be near impossible to escape from. With what Patho’s learned, they don’t need Bravo’s cooperation to create a functioning portal. They just need him, his physical data. And he knows they’d be willing to hold him here against his will to get what they want, to keep him trapped like some kind of experiment, like an animal.

Atlas is offering him a chance to not do that. To work with them willingly. And to maybe, just maybe, still go home at the end of all this. He doesn’t know if the portal will require his continuous presence to work. He doesn’t know if Atlas will let him leave, if he’s their only way out of Hels. But it’s a chance.

The only chance he’s got.

“Yeah,” Bravo says, forcing a smile. “Yeah, of course. I mean, we’ve come this far, right?”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Atlas says, releasing his grip on Bravo’s shoulder. “Now, play nice with Mr. Patho. Without his help, you just might be stuck here forever. Understand?”

Bravo’s throat tightens. “Loud and clear.”

~*~

“So I’ve got the blueprints done,” Patho announces nonchalantly, dropping a roll of paper on the table. “Have a look.”

Atlas quickly scoops up the blueprint, moving aside cups and bowls to make space. Bravo fights back a scowl and keeps eating his lunch.

The other scientists in the cafeteria have taken notice, whispering to each other excitedly and casting not-so-subtle looks at the portal team’s table. Patho’s arrival yesterday caused quite the stir, but this is the first time many of the other scientists are actually seeing him- though Bravo’s definitely noticed a few players snooping by the door to the portal lab.

After studying the blueprint for a moment, Atlas raises his eyebrows. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting such a compact design,” he says. His tone is a bit mixed; he’s clearly impressed with Patho’s work, but is irritated that the solution has turned out to be so simple. “Is this really all it will take?”

Patho nods. He seems content just to stand by their table with his hands in his pockets, making no move to sit down with them. “For the most part, yeah. I mean, you know, I’m not sure what kind of power source this thing will need yet but the data processing itself isn’t bad.”

“Power source?” Tyrannicide chimes in, looking over the blueprint with knitted brows. “What do you mean? Isn’t opening a portal like punching open a doorway? Once it’s open, it should stay open.”

“Well, normally, yeah,” Patho says, “but this portal isn’t supposed to exist. We can force the portal to open a door for us by feeding it coordinates, but it’ll be updating every tick. And every time it updates, it’ll check its input and output coordinates, and once it tries to process the uh, the coordinates from Hels, it’ll crash. Because, you know, portals aren’t supposed to exist in Hels. But, if we keep sending our own updates to it, like in a constant stream of power, it’ll keep resetting the checker. Sort of like an update suppressor. And um, that way, it’ll remain open and stable.” He taps the side of his head. “Aha.”

Small murmurs and exclamations of realization and agreement around the table. Bravo sets his bowl of mushroom stew down with a little more force than necessary.

“You said that all we needed to open a portal was my player data,” he accuses.

“To ignite it, yeah, but not stabilize it.” Patho makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s like…imagine you’ve got this door, right? And you want the door to stay open. But there’s, like, a big windstorm on the other side, constantly trying to slam the door shut. So you have to provide your own opposing force to hold the door open. Too little, and you won’t be able to stop the door from closing. Too much, and you’ll blow the door off its hinges, and the uh, the doorway will collapse. It’s gotta be just the right strength. And uh, it’s gotta be 100% reliable, too. No stalling or malfunctions.”

Bravo exhales through his nose. “Wonderful.” 

Atlas puts a hand on Bravo’s arm. “I’m sure we’ll find a solution when we get to that point,” he says mildly. “There are plenty of options for powering redstone, should be fairly simple.”

Grumbling, Bravo shifts over on the bench so he can see the blueprints a little better. He scans the diagrams with careful attention, from the portal frame to the rows of data processors all the way down to the input chamber, where he sees what’s clearly supposed to be a player standing on-

“Is that a redstone ore block?” Bravo asks, taken aback.

“Yeah?” Patho quirks an eyebrow. “What, don’t you guys have any redstone ore in this place?”

Bravo snorts. “Uh, no. There’s like, a whole system of double chests filled with redstone blocks if you-”

“No, no good, you need the ore,” Patho says, shaking his head.

Bravo frowns. “Why?”

“There’s a neat little trick you can do with redstone ore,” Patho explains. “It like, lights up when you step on it, right? Turns out it’s actually reading your presence. Like a player detector.”

“Wait, really?” Phantonym asks, leaning forward in her seat. “I thought the particles were simply reacting to kinetic energy.”

“That’s a pretty common assumption, but there’s more to it than that.” Patho idly scratches at the side of his mask. “To keep it short, something about redstone in its raw, unmodified form allows it to, like, take in and process information at a higher level. Of course, we ruin that when we mine it into dust. So you can either use a super complex player detector that’ll take weeks to build and cover up the entire floorspace of this lab… or we can use a block of redstone ore. It’ll be able to read Bravo’s data and transform it into a signal that we can feed to the portal- after it goes through a data processor, of course.”

Bravo is begrudgingly impressed. However, he can’t help but jab, “If redstone ore is that useful, why don’t you have any?”

“Oh, I do,” Patho replies matter-of-factly. “I keep plenty in my ender chest. But like, I don’t really use my own materials on consults like this, so…”

“Right,” Bravo says flatly, less impressed. This guy won’t even give up a single block of redstone ore for a job? What a jerk.

Atlas rolls the blueprint back up into a neat scroll. “Well, this is just splendid work, Mr. Patho,” he gushes. Then he grins at the rest of them. “Anyone up for some mining?”

~*~

After a few days of work, the lab looks like a completely different place.

Several chests have been stacked up and stocked with all the materials Patho’s design requires. In the meantime, he’s laid out where everything is going to go using outlines made of redstone dust. The lab benches are littered with blueprints- Atlas had the good sense to make plenty of copies- and pages of notes.

(There’s also a new wooden platform up in the rafters, only the bottom of it visible from below. Bravo thinks that might be where Patho is actually sleeping, strangely enough. It’s not like they don’t have any spare rooms.)

Once all the preparations have been made, Patho runs the team through the details of his design. The portal is straightforward enough; just an obsidian frame with a redstone line feeding into it. But after that, the outlines quickly become more complicated.

“So, there’s a lot of information in a player’s data, right?” Patho starts. “If we tried to feed it all into the uh, the portal, it would completely overload it. Like, it might try and do some crazy things. So we’ll keep it simple by giving it only the coordinates we want it to open up at. But in order to get those coordinates, we’ve gotta take all that raw data and filter it to get what we want. Aha.” He gestures vaguely at the redstone outlines. “That’s what this is for.”

Bravo squints at the outlines. “And- and what’s this repeater circuit for?”

Patho shrugs. “Well, right now, the coordinates we get from your ID tag lead directly to Tango. Like, the coordinates would open a portal up directly on top of him. Since you guys are trying to get something back from him, I imagine you’ll wanna be able to sneak up on him, right?” A knowing look glints in his eye. “So this circuit is gonna add about fifty blocks of distance in the X axis. Just so you’re not right in front of him when you come through the portal. That way, you keep the uh, the element of surprise.”

“Oh, I see,” Atlas murmurs approvingly. “Very clever.” 

Bravo folds his arms. “Unless Tango happens to be standing fifty blocks away from a cliff,” he points out.

Patho’s eyes slant upward in what might be a grin. “Guess you’re just gonna have to take that chance,” he says simply, before moving on. “So uh, after the signal passes through this circuit, it’ll-”

The lab door flings open with a metallic clunk.

Dr. Clear sweeps into the lab, hastily shoving his ID card back in his coat pocket. He doesn’t even look over or acknowledge them at all as he beelines towards the stack of chests. Mumbling under his breath, he pops open the nearest chest and starts rummaging around in it.

Patho blinks at the unexpected interruption. Atlas looks like he might have an aneurysm.

“Excuse me, Dr. Clear?” Atlas calls, his voice and smile incredibly strained.

“Huh?” Clear pauses, glancing over his shoulder. He seems mildly surprised to see them, like he didn’t realize anyone else was there. Typical.

Atlas folds his arms behind his back. “Is there any particular reason you’re interrupting us while we work with Mr. Patho?”

Clear stares dimly at them. “Who?”

If Bravo’s not mistaken, Patho’s face twitches a little at that.

“Mr. Patho,” Atlas stresses. “You know, Patho’s Lair?”

“Patho Slair?” Clear cocks his head to the side. “Huh. Slair. Kinda sounds like stair. Anyone ever call ya that? Patho Stair?”

Bravo manages not to laugh, but it’s a near thing. Atlas looks like he could strangle Clear.

“Anyways.” Clear goes back to digging through the chest. “Don’t you worry none, just ‘ave ta grab somethin’...”

“Is your own lab not sufficiently stocked?” Atlas asks pointedly.

That gets Clear’s full attention. He steps back from the chest, letting it slam shut, and looks around. “Oh. This ain’t me lab. Right, then.” Without another word, he turns on his heel and exists just as quickly as he’d come, leaving the lab in baffled silence.

Atlas turns to Patho with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry for the interruption, Mr. Patho. Dr. Clear isn’t exactly-”

“It’s fine,” Patho chuckles, waving him off. “Let’s uh, let’s get back to work.”

‘Yes sir, Mr. Stair,’ Bravo thinks to himself.

~*~

“Okay, everybody,” Patho calls. “This is gonna be a simple test.” 

Bravo sighs impatiently. Putting together the actual redstone for the portal generator took much longer than it ought to have. For someone with such an impressive reputation, Patho barely contributed to the building process, the real laying-down-blocks part. Instead, he mostly supervised and criticized. Apparently, he’s very particular about how his redstone works.

It wasn’t made any easier by the number of times random scientists would stop by the lab with flimsy excuses just to talk to Patho. They’d always end up asking him to explain the project, which he was always happy to do (because he’s a massive show off, too big for his combat boots) so everything would grind to a halt.

They haven’t even properly hooked up the portal itself yet, as Patho insisted on testing their data processing unit beforehand. And of course, Bravo would voice his complaints if it weren’t for the little issue of Atlas not-so-subtly reminding him that the only way to get what he wants is by cooperating with Patho.

So. Here they are.

“All we’re gonna do is have Bravo stand on the ore block,” Patho continues, “and see how the data reads out. Just to make sure everything’s accounted for, so like, nothing extra accidentally travels to the portal. If we’ve done everything correctly, we’ll find the coordinates properly counted in these hopper clocks.”

Tyrannicide, Phantonym, and H8r are standing by with notepads at the ready. Atlas is watching from the side with a smile that might’ve been meant to be encouraging, if Bravo didn’t know him better.

Patho glances over at Bravo. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Bravo pushes down a sudden surge of irritation (as if he’s the one they’re waiting on) and steps onto the redstone ore block. Particles gather at his feet as the veins of ore light up. He watches the signal travel along the redstone line, like a lit fuse, and enter the data processing series.

Dispenser clocks tick and observers flash. The signal makes it way through the circuit before reaching the end of the line and fizzling out. The other scientists wait with bated breath as Patho checks the input coordinate hoppers. His expression betrays nothing.

“Alright,” he says finally, “so uh, the hoppers all filled to exactly two and a half stacks before locking. Can anyone tell me where the problem is?”

All three scientists’ hands go up. Bravo groans and puts his face in his hands.

~*~

“Okay, that’s ready to go.” Patho straightens up, dusting the redstone off his hands. “Bravo, stand on the redstone ore.”

“Alright, I’m standin’,” Bravo huffs.

Patho turns to the others. “I wanna stress again, if this works, the portal that generates is not gonna be stable. No one is going in or out of it, okay? I mean, like, we might see it only for a couple seconds, if we’re lucky. Everyone ready?”

Enthusiastic nods from the sidelines.

“Alright, here goes.” Patho stoops over and hits the button.

A piston extends, pushing a redstone block out to complete the circuit. The signal from Bravo darts across the newly created path, into the data processor. They all wait with bated breath as the signal inches closer to the portal frame-

The temperature drops, a static charge filling the air. Light flashes in the portal frame for just a second, just long enough for Bravo to process the color of it (or colors, rather; an ever-changing rainbow) before there’s a loud crack, and it’s gone, leaving behind an empty frame.

For a moment, the room is filled with stunned silence.

“Amazing!”

“I can’t believe-”

“Did you see that?”

Bravo finally finds his voice. “Oh, finally.” He jumps off the redstone ore block, pumping a fist in the air. Excitement courses through him like electricity, and the relief is overwhelming. “Yes! We’ve got a portal, we’ve got a portal- oh my gosh, this is fantastic!”

Atlas shakes his head. “We’ve got the means to create a portal,” he corrects, though he can’t hide how pleased he is.

“Yup.” Patho nods, his satisfied gaze sweeping over the redstone. “Now all that’s left is to set up a sufficient power source to maintain the portal once it’s open. Can’t overdo it, though, or the whole thing will blow up.”

Bravo exhales slowly. “Right, can’t forget about that tiny little detail.”

“I have some ideas,” Atlas says with a grin. “Rest assured, we’re in the home stretch now.”

~*~

One day, they wake up to find Patho gone.

Just disappeared in the middle of night, without so much of a word to anyone. Atlas speaks with Alisker over whispers for a while, but the crime boss has no further information and insists there’s nothing he can do. Evidently, Patho’s decided that they’re far enough along as to no longer require his assistance, and whatever business he has elsewhere in Hels is more important to him than witnessing the creation of a portal.

Bravo really doesn’t get it. But he can’t say he’s not happy about it.

Good riddance.

~*~

“How’s it looking?” Bravo asks, straining to see without leaving his redstone ore block.

Phantonym makes a noncommittal noise. “Still not strong enough.”

In their search for the perfect power source, they’ve decided to start simple. Redstone torches and levers weren’t enough, so now they’ve moved on to a full redstone block, hooked up to the frame with a bit of dust. After that wasn’t sufficient, they hooked up multiple redstone blocks around the portal before finally just building a complete frame around it. But it seems even that isn’t providing the power they need to keep the portal open for more than a couple seconds.

“Alright,” Atlas says, “tear it out. Cross redstone blocks off the list.”

Bravo steps off the ore block with a sigh. “Well, what now?”

“Hey,” Tyrannicide says thoughtfully, scanning his notepad, “Patho said that redstone ore is more powerful than the mined stuff, right? What if we…?”

~*~

“Hit the deck!”

The light inside the portal frame is swirling madly now, almost violently as the air fills with an electric humming. Bravo dives behind a lab bench just as an ear-splitting boom shakes the entire lab.

Once everything is still and quiet, Bravo carefully peeks his head back out. His stomach drops.

There’s now a large crater where their entire portal machine used to be. Everything’s gone; the circuits, the data processor, the hoppers. All that’s left is the obsidian frame, floating above the newly-formed hole as concrete blocks and miscellaneous redstone items litter the ground- including the redstone ore block they used to try and power it.

“Damn it,” H8R swears. “Overloaded the circuit.”

Phantonym rounds on Tyrannicide with a furious snarl. “You idiot!”

“I was just-”

“Stop it,” Atlas interrupts sharply, glowering at them from behind his shades. “We knew this was a possibility. Go get another copy of the blueprints, we need to rebuild.”

‘I’m in hell,’ Bravo thinks. ‘I’m literally in hell.’

~*~

“And now, we- we’ve gotta do all this work to find the perfect power source to keep the portal open. Not too much, not too little, but just right. Can’t use any kinda mob power because that can fluctuate, and if we’re off by even one tick the whole thing will collapse. After all the years of research that went into this project, the last step is just to power the dang thing and it’s taking forever!”

Clear hums, attention completely focused on the flying machine he’s working on. “Mmm, yeah, sounds tricky.”

“And- and the worst part,” Bravo continues, angrily pacing back and forth, “is that I’d only need it open for a couple of seconds to get back home! But because of this stupid deal with Atlas, I have to hang around until it’s stable enough for them to track down Tango.”

“Track down Tango?” Clear repeats, quirking a brow. He snorts. “Well, that’s really quite simple. Tango Tek’s in the south wing, innit?”

Bravo stops pacing. “What?”

“The blaze farm,” Clear says, squinting at one of the observers. “S’what Atlas said, anyhow. Now uh, d’ya mind handing me that-”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold up. A blaze farm?” Bravo whirls around, kneeling beside Clear and grabbing his shoulders. “You guys don’t have a blaze farm here, Atlas said the spawning conditions weren’t right for them.”

“For who?” Clear asks absently.

“For blaze!”

“What blaze?” 

“Wh- I dunno!” Bravo pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. This is why he doesn’t often hang around Clear. “You said something about blaze, and- and Tango, and the south wing-”

“The south wing?” Clear makes a dismissive noise. “Oh, that’s under renovation.”

Bravo pauses. “... still? I… huh.”

He remembers being told the south wing was under renovation when he first got to Hels Tek, years ago. He didn’t think much of it at the time. But he can’t imagine what sort of renovations would take so long to complete, for a facility as well-supplied and well-staffed as Hels Tek.

That’s… suspicious.

Clear coughs into his sleeve. “Right. Now uh, would ya mind handin’ me that piston?”

~*~

Bravo stands in front of the door to the south wing, hesitating.

Squinting through the slats in the door, he can see the hallway beyond it entirely unchanged from the last time he stood here, years ago. The uneasy feeling in his stomach grows stronger with every passing minute. But really, he’s not the one in the wrong here; if Atlas is keeping something hidden from him, after the years they’ve spent working together, it can’t be for any innocent reason. He tightens his grip on his ID keycard, taking a steadying breath, before swiping it into the dispenser.

The keycard is quickly spat back out from under the floor, but the iron door doesn’t open.

Oh, that’s a bad sign. He doesn’t have access to this doorway. Swallowing, Bravo puts the keycard away and pulls out his pickaxe. He knows there’s redstone in the walls that’ll notify the security system if any door is broken, but he doesn’t have a choice. He’ll have to be quick.

Bravo breaks down the door, hastily placing it back up behind him before darting down the hallway. There are more iron doors lining the hall on either side; he quickly peers through these only to find them empty. Moving on, he finally stops at the final door at the end of the hallway.

There’s a sign next to this one that reads, ‘Tango Tek.’

Bravo’s heart is hammering against his ribcage. This is his last chance to back out, to claim that he was just curious but didn’t see anything besides empty rooms. To go back to their tenuous partnership, rife with tension and unspoken words, fighting to keep his head above the choppy water.

He lifts his pickaxe.

The room beyond the door is dimly lit by a couple carelessly placed torches, flickering against the checkered floor. Three of the walls are completely bare. The last one, facing Bravo, is acting as a facade for some sort of redstone contraption.

It’s a small glass enclosure, just big enough for a single player to stand in. The floor is made of soul sand, from which vines of wither roses sprout and curl haphazardly within the glass chamber. Among them are two short chains, as if broken, that hang limply at either side. The glass itself is stained with a dry splatter of something dark. There’s a dispenser embedded at one side, and a drained respawn anchor on the other. Three hoppers are arranged above the chamber, presumably connected to long hopper lines hidden behind the wall.

It hits Bravo suddenly. He’s looking at a farm; a kind of farm the likes of which he’s never seen before. But Clear had said there was a blaze farm-

“Well, well, well.”

Bravo whirls around, swapping his pickaxe for his sword.

Atlas is standing in the doorway with his arms folded neatly behind him, a wide smile fixed on his face. The light from the hallway behind him reflects in his shades, obscuring his eyes from view, his shadow looming long across the floor.

“I figured it was only a matter of time before Dr. Clear let something slip. I do wish you had come to me first.” His tone is deathly calm. “Though I suppose it’s my fault for leaving the farm in this state.”

Bravo raises his sword. “What is this?” he demands, though his voice comes out more fearful than angry. “Explain, now!”

Atlas seems unbothered as he steps fully into the room. “This was the best blaze farm Hels had ever seen, powered by a single blaze hybrid.”

“What are you- oh.” Bravo inhales sharply. “You mean Tango. He- he was in the farm? You put him in a farm?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been fully honest with you, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas says with a rueful grin. “You see, Tango did work here for a couple years, but he wasn’t exactly gainfully employed. It took much trial and error, but eventually we were able to construct a fully automatic and extremely efficient blaze farm, just in the space you see here. It was a work of art, really. My crowning achievement.”

Bravo’s mind is reeling. “Tango never stole anything from Hels Tek, did he?” he realizes. “He just escaped. This whole time, you’ve been trying to track him down to catch him again, to put him back in-”

“Finally putting it all together now, are we?” Atlas hums. “Yes, the plan has always been to recapture Tango. He’s a clever devil; he waited until his respawn anchor was drained, and then drowned himself in his own blood.”

Horror seizes Bravo. He glances back at the enclosure, at that dark smear on the glass-

“What we never figured out, though,” Atlas muses, “was how he created that portal. That much of the story is true. It was solely his actions, his creation of the portal to… trade places, in a sense. I haven’t the foggiest idea how he knew about you and your connection, but clearly, he was able to utilize it. And once he had the chance, he took it.”

Bravo’s breath rings shallowly in his ears. It’s so much to take in- he never really knew how to feel about his missing counterpart. Second-hand accounts from the scientists didn’t paint the kindest picture, and he always knew Tango was responsible for getting him stranded here, but… 

“You should be happy, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas tells him earnestly. “This is good news for you. I know you’ve been worried about whether or not I’ll uphold my end of the bargain, once the portal is made. You’re worried that I’ll try to keep you here, against your will. But now I can tell you for certain that you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh, really?” Bravo spits. “And- and why is that?”

Atlas holds his hands up. “All I want is to get Tango back, so I can continue my work. And my work is here. My entire life’s aspirations, my purpose, is here.” His eyes flash from behind his shades. “The rest of the universe can rot for all I care. Once I have what I want, you can go home and leave this whole mess behind you, forever. You have my word.”

Bravo narrows his eyes. “Wha- why should I believe anything you say?”

“Because once we have a stable portal, you are of no further use to me,” Atlas answers cooly. “I have no reason to keep you here.”

That throws Bravo for a moment. He frowns, doubtful. “Not even as insurance? I mean, in case something happens to the portal?”

Atlas tilts his head. “To keep you here against your will is to risk you breaking out and causing further damage in retaliation. We’d also have to put in the time and effort to sustain you with virtually no benefit. No, better to let you go on your way. And in any case, I only need it open long enough to recapture Tango.”

Bravo swallows. “But if I help you catch him, he… he’ll be in that farm because of me.”

Atlas shrugs. “What does it matter? Tango is a mob hybrid- not a true player like us. Before we captured him, all he ever did was cause chaos and suffering wherever he went. At least at Hels Tek he was good for something.”

Bravo hesitates. “I don’t-”

“Besides,” Atlas continues smoothly, “it’s evident he didn’t give the same consideration to you. He took the first chance he had to switch places. For all he knew, you might’ve been a blaze hybrid as well. He had no issue sentencing you to his fate.”

It’s like a knife twisting in Bravo’s side. “You… you don’t know that,” he says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.

Atlas gives a bitter laugh. “Oh, come now,” he says harshly. “Do you really think he’d feel any sort of loyalty to you? Why, because you happen to have some data in common? From everything you’ve seen and experienced at the hands of Hels players, do you really think we’re capable of feeling anything besides greed and spite and hatred? Oh, you are lost. You’re letting your overworld sensibilities get the better of your sound judgement.”

Atlas spreads his arms wide, black lab coat swishing around him, his grin manic. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world out here, Mr. Bravo,” he declares. “This is the nature of Hels. It always has been, and always will be. We were always going to hurt each other, to use each other- it’s how we were fucking made. There is nothing you can do to change that. Tango belongs here, and you don’t. Whatever else happens is none of your fault or concern.”

Bravo’s grip on his sword wavers. He knows he shouldn’t help Atlas. Deep down, he knows. Living in a farm must be a miserable existence for a player, one that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

Except…

Is it really the same if the player isn’t really human? If the player is hardly more than a monster? Hels players are different, and mob hybrids even more so. Tango didn’t care about what would happen to Bravo when he swapped their places, didn’t care that he’d be stranding Bravo in this terrible prison forever. If he cared, he would’ve come for Bravo by now. But he wouldn’t risk his own safety, his own freedom, in order to save Bravo.

So why should Bravo? Why should he risk his one chance to go home just to protect an evil doppelgänger who couldn’t care less about him? Why should he have to keep suffering in this world as punishment for crimes he didn’t commit?

Tango’s had nearly ten years outside of Hels- ten years that he stole from Bravo. There’s no getting those back. But Bravo can make sure it ends here; he can finally right this wrong and get back to his life.

“Now,” Atlas says lowly, having once again regained his composure. He looks at Bravo over the brim of his shades. “Are you going to help me open a portal, or not?”

Bravo takes a final look at the empty farm. Then he puts his sword away.

“I’m in.”

~*~

Bravo stares at the portal in shocked silence.

It’d only taken a few more days of testing for them to find the right power source. Blaze powder, of all things. Now that they aren’t hiding the existence of their nearly-infinite blaze rod stockpile from Bravo, Atlas suggested they try it. And lo and behold, it turned out to give off the perfect amount of power.

They’ve set up a circuit of glass tubing around the portal frame, inside of which the blaze powder flows along in a steady stream. The constant movement provides endless updates to the portal, preventing it from ever catching up to the fact that it shouldn’t exist.

The portal ignited right away, lighting up with a mixture of red, yellow, and green. The colors are holding constant rather than shifting and changing like they did in prior attempts, and Bravo can feel with certainty that Tango lies somewhere beyond it.

“Okay, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas murmurs, watching the portal intently. “Go ahead.”

Holding his breath, Bravo steps off the redstone ore block. The portal doesn’t change, colors still lazily swirling about in its frame. He lets out a sigh of relief.

Atlas nods. “Alright, shut it off.”

Tyrannicide gawks at him. “But it’s stable-”

“Now.”

He quickly shuts the portal off, hitting the button that pulls the redstone block back out of the circuit. The signal dies, and the portal extinguishes.

Atlas rounds on Tyrannicide with a tight grin. “Need I remind you that we don’t know who else is in the world that Tango’s currently inhabiting? The last thing we need is one of them to discover the portal sitting idly. We’d completely lose our advantage.”

“Right. Sorry, sir,” Tyrannicide mutters.

Bravo stares longingly at the unlit portal frame. It was right there. He could’ve reached out and touched it…

“Chin up, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas says mildly, putting a hand on Bravo’s shoulder. “Now the final preparations can begin. Everyone, take the rest of the night off. Meet me in the conference room first thing tomorrow morning to discuss our plan of attack.”

“Yes, sir.”

Atlas looks at Bravo out of the corner of his eye, smiling. “You’ll be home soon.”

Bravo nods. “Yeah, I know.”

~*~

“Are you ready?” Atlas asks, his quiet voice almost lost in the anxious chatter of the lab.

Bravo exhales slowly. “Yeah.”

“Have everything?”

“Yup.” Bravo’s checked his inventory no less than five times in the last three minutes.

“Remember the plan?”

“In my sleep.” Like they haven’t run through it enough times over the last few days.

“Good. Said your goodbyes?”

Bravo snorts. “Oh, yeah, sure. It was super heartfelt. Tears were shed.”

“Mmm.” Atlas is unamused. “You know, I recall a certain blaze hybrid liked to use sarcasm, too…”

“Not helping.”

“Just stick to the plan, and everything will be fine. Once you step through this portal, you never have to return to this place ever again. Help us with this one thing, and we’ll be out of your hair forever.”

“I know. Let’s- let’s get a move on, huh?” 

“Very well.” Atlas lifts his voice to address the rest of the room. “Attention, everyone. We’re activating the portal now. Everyone in formation. Yes, yes, you too- no, you’re following Dr. Tyrannicide in, remember? No, not you- you’re all with Dr. Phantonym. There you go.”

Bravo makes a noncommittal noise. “Not instilling a lotta confidence…”

Atlas gives him a dry look. “Alisker didn’t select them for their intelligence, but they’ll serve us well when it comes to dealing with Tango.”

“Right.”

Atlas turns away. “Dr. H8R, start the countdown, if you please.”

“Yes, sir. Portal launch in ten… nine… eight-”

“Oh shit. Oh fuck.” It’s starting to sink in. Bravo’s leaving- he’s really, really leaving Hels.

“-seven… six-”

“Having second thoughts?” Atlas asks, his tone almost teasing.

“- five…”

Bravo scoffs. “What, you kidding? I can’t-”

“... four… three-”

“-wait to get out of here.”

“- two…” 

Atlas hums. “About time, isn’t it?”

“... one.”

“You’re telling me,” Bravo breathes.

“Initiate.”

H8R presses the button. The piston extends, pushing the redstone block into the circuit. Bravo’s signal courses along the redstone line like it has every other time they tested this, filtering through the data processor and sending coordinates to the portal.

The frame ignites. A familiar tricolor light floods the room; swirls of red, yellow, and green. A hushed silence falls over the room as Bravo slowly, carefully, steps off the redstone ore block. The portal holds- of course it does, they’ve tested it enough. He faces the portal, heart pounding, tears inexplicably gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Good luck, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas says with a smile.

Bravo takes a deep breath and steps into the portal.

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player steps out of a portal.

The sunlight is nearly blinding. For a second all he can do is stand there, blinking, one arm braced on the obsidian frame behind him as his eyes slowly adjust. The portal’s still stable, he notes absently; on this side, the light inside the frame is blood red.

He takes in his surroundings. He’s standing in some kind of field- wheat, he realizes belatedly. It’s been so long since he’s seen this much wheat. It’s growing along rolling hills that are otherwise covered in lush green grass, occasionally dotted with great big oak trees. The blue sky above him is peppered with fluffy white clouds. A gentle breeze plays with his hair, and the sun is shining high above him.

It’s beautiful.

He can hear animals nearby; he turns his head and sees a pasture filled with cows, another with sheep and goats. There’s one with pigs, and a little coop with clucking coming from inside. Somewhere nearby, a horse neighs loudly. He scans the horizon and sees a winding path that cuts through the wheat field, leading up to a house- some kind of modest, rustic farmhouse. A ranch, maybe.

Taking a shaky breath, he pulls out his communicator to check which world he’s on. As he does, he catches the last message just as it fades from chat.

Bravo has joined the game.

~*~

[askvectorprime]

Dearest Vector Prime,

What do you know of Cybertronian martial arts? How do they differ from one another? You must have encountered more than a few unique styles and practitioners in your travels.

Dear Jet Judoka,

Ever since the first construction crane robot used its crane boom to deliberately knock over another robot eons ago, martial arts have been an integral part of our history.

You might assume that the warmongering Decepticons were the first to codify these disciplines of pugilism—and indeed, the brutality of their attacks and strategies gave them the edge at the outbreak of war. But the Autobots, who had lived as engineers and laborers, were able to disguise their training: every step, every turn of a wheel, every act of physical labor could be a secret technique, practiced thousands of times per cycle, until they had mastered the perfect move with which to surprise their adversaries.

Under Autobot schools of thought, there are two basic elements of physical combat: “Piston” and “Gear” motion. “Piston” is a direct, linear force: delivered by punches, rocket-powered fists, or other inbuilt ballistics. By contrast, “Gear” is a deflecting, rotational force: swiveling at the waist, or rolling, to create a “transmission” of the opponent’s energy into advantageous movement. In time, this framing came to influence Decepticon disciplines, until both groups were using the same terminology.

As the conflict between Autobot and Decepticon continued, fuelled by an escalating arms race to develop esoteric weaponry and enhancements, some chose to eschew ranged combat and instead specialize in martial arts based around stealth and melee. After sneaking into the enemy’s midst, a single warrior trained in this way could quickly dismantle those unprepared soldiers who relied more on their armament and abilities. Being a direct reaction to the highly technological mindset of both factions, it’s perhaps unsurprising that martial arts came to be spoken of using increasingly spiritual terms. Those trained in Circuit-Su turned inwards towards the personal energy of the spark, which practitioners of Metallikato would learned to channel through their weapons, striving to embody the “Ultimate Warrior” of legend. Meanwhile, followers of Yoketron’s Eightfold Path formed an understanding of self based on eight specifications: SPR-INT-SPD-END-RNK-CRG-FRB-SKL, each a separate aspect of Primus.

Other disciplines were influenced by offworld cultures. Crystalocution was developed by medics and structural engineers, after they observed the way Rock Lords would target their opponent’s fracture lines in hand-to-hand combat, and adapted the technique to focus on joints or brittle crystalline components in Cybertronians. The loose assortment of non-lethal forms commonly termed Diffusion, popular amongst the Autobots, are descended from a pacifist fighting style practiced amongst the Circle of Light.

Although these styles have been broadly recognised and adopted by countless fighters, it mustn’t be understated how deeply individualistic the martial arts can be: even within a single style, no two fighters are alike. An exceptional master may try to pass down their techniques, but the unique talent, ability, and perseverance of each student will inevitably transform these teachings into something new. Take, for example, the Turtler School.

Turtler lived as a hermit on an island, on Earth. Having felt undervalued by the Decepticons, he enjoyed the solitude this lifestyle afforded, living in peace from his Seacons. At some point in the distant future, a young simian Maximal arrived on a flying surfboard, wanting to learn martial arts in order to fight in the “Be(a)st Under The Heavens Tournament”. Turtler reluctantly took him on as a pupil, and over the course of several years, put him through a highly unorthodox training regimen. Some examples of the feats he had the Maximal perform included:

Climbing a mountain to catch a bird

Climbing a mountain again to catch a bird, but this time with Turtler strapped to his back in alt mode

Outrunning and outswimming Cybershark in a race

Painting Turtler's home (this one in particular was very unpopular with his student)

Eventually, the young Maximal proved his purity of heart—which wasn’t actually something Turtler had cared about in the least, as he really had just needed a few chores doing—and asked to learn the secret of Turtler’s ultimate technique, the King Poseidon Wave. Turtler, not quite understanding, assumed that the Maximal was talking about his laser cannon. He fired a shot to demonstrate—and to his surprise, the Maximal copied him, pressing two open palms together, and somehow firing a large energy blast! Before Turtler could even process what had happened, the Maximal hopped onto his surfboard and sailed away on a cloud, forever grateful for the good times he’d had with the old hermit over the years.