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theoperativeif · 10 months

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Containment Breach

The boy's lifeless blue eyes stared off into the equally blue sky above. He was young, maybe twenty at the oldest, far too young to die. 001 lifted the body slightly with their boot, surveying the damage the Imperial rifles had done to warm flesh, it resembled minced meat the mess hall would cook.

"Blue like Ari's," 001 commented idly before pushing the body over completely, a fit of strange anger flickering inside them, "I wonder if they were in my place, they would have done anything differently."

001 ran a hand through their thick hair. They enjoyed moments like these without their helmet. Looking up towards the town hall, they watched as a warm wind beat at the tattered flag that flew above the structure. It had been handmade by some of the old maids of the city, and it had not saved them when the bombs fell, and the rifles sounded their sweet music.

Soldiers slowly swept through the rubble around them, their armor a dull gray with a single white skull with the number zero painted next to it.

Platoon Zero was a small force, numbering no more than twenty. But they were not like other units, every member was a convicted murderer. They had been real people once, now mere puppets, drugged and modified into living robots.

One by one they dragged the survivors from the ruins, skin scrapping against rock in long trails of blood and fluid before being deposited in the center of the square. The few that could beg were quickly silenced with the butt of a rifle. 001 slowly walked over, eyes slowly moving over each of the eighty survivors huddled together like cattle.

"Where is your leader? The one now calling themselves Governor?" 001 asked, "you have one chance to save your lives."

They were silent, hard faces of pioneers stared back in contempt. 001 would of been impressed if they didn't already know the answer.

"Captain, do me a favor and bring our quarry to me."

The platoon Captain took two steps before shooting one of the oldest survivors, blood and brains raining onto the now screaming group.

"Monster!" A new voice cried out from behind 001.

There you are. 001 thought, turning and watching as a young woman limped out into the clearing, her brown coat stained with blood, an old Imperial boarding sword held in her hand. Five wounded rebel soldiers stood behind her, rifles raised.

"They're just a kid," one of her soldiers muttered, confusion evident on his face.

"Pleasure to meet you, Governor," 001 bowed mockingly, taking precise steps to put the crowd of survivors directly behind him.

"I can't say the same for you, monster," the woman sneered, "these are civilians, let them go!"

001 began walking forward, the woman tightening the grip on her sword with both hands as 001 closed to ten meters before stopping. Let them go. That nearly made 001 laugh. They had supported the eviction of the appointed Governor and the local garrison. 001 carefully brushed their fingers against the coil metal sword on their hip. There was a tingling of familiarity from the AI installed in the weapon as it moved a little from its tight coil.

"Why would I do that?" 001 finally asked, surveying the small group, "you have no bargaining power now."

"You promised us fair negotiations!" she glared in contempt at 001, gripping the hilt of her sword.

"They might have, but I haven't."

001 was getting restless. They could feel the prickle along the back of their skull. A call for blood began to sound. Quiet as a whisper at first, before beating at their very thoughts like a large war drum.

Kill.

001 flicked a single finger, the coiled blade on their hip springing to life like a snake. It lashed out past the woman, the shark tooth-shaped metal links decapitating two of the rebels before lashing back the other way.

The woman dove, the blades passed barely a hair's breadth away from her cheek.

Her companions were less lucky.

One's cry of pain was cut short as they collapsed in two, a cut from the shoulder down through their abdomen.

The other turned to run, the blades catching his legs and reducing them to bloody stubs.

001 let out a long whistle, slowly approaching the woman who was scrambling for her weapon. She grabbed the hilt, drawing the sword as she rose to her feet defiantly.

The clash of metal sounded off the ruins as the sword fell to the ground, cut in two.

There was a blank expression on her once defiant face before it rolled off her shoulders, bouncing along the ground like a ball 001 once had played with.

It settled next to their feet as 001 stared down at it briefly before lifting up a foot and settling it on the side of the head.

"Commander, what should we do with the survivors?" The Captain asked in a monotone voice.

001 frowned, they had all been given the same instructions but still the Captain asks.

"There are no survivors," 001 muttered before pressing weight on their foot. There was a loud crunch as rifle fire sprang up, coupled with screams in a symphony stretching out across the ruins of a once proud city.

Mission accomplished.

The following hours were followed by lab personnel taking detailed records of the various weapons, munitions and armor used in the battle. Scanners slowly moved through the rubble, blue rays of light passing over the entire city and mapping it. Mother always demanded every detail down to the tiniest cut.

001 waited behind one of the main scientists, carefully watching as he logged the data being downloaded from his whip sword.

"Done," the scientist chimed, carefully handing the weapon back to 001, "it will need some maintenance when we get back. The sword is displaying some odd behaviors. It should be less reactionary."

001 hooked the hilt onto their hip. Eyes narrowing at the man, "no."

"No?"

"The weapon is fine," 001 said defensively, "and you will report that."

The weapon 001 was gifted by Mother was a prototype whip sword with a long reinforced metal cord with shark tooth-shaped metal running down the length of it. It was run by an ai of Mother's own creation giving it a protective temperament, and 001 preferred it just the way it was.

"Okay," the scientist said nervously, quickly deleting the report he had already begun typing up, "all is running smoothly then."

Good. 001 thought, turning and walking through the groups of photographers who were carefully documenting every body and wound. There was a scratching sensation along the back of 001's neck, followed by the familiar pain from a headache.

The call for blood began again in its familiar drumming. There is no one left to kill. 001 thought, gently grabbing their head and trying to crush down the feeling.

A single shuttle sat quietly nearby in a clearing amongst the ruins. 001 hurried over to it, walking up the ramp, the compartment was dark and silent. They sat down on one of the seats along the side, clutching their head and desperately trying to get their haggard breathing under control.

Breath.

001 slowly practiced the breathing that their instructors had taught them. They didn't know how much time had passed when a soft touch against their shoulder startled them. Lunging upwards, their hands wrapped around the unknown assailant's throat, preparing to crush their neck.

001's eyes widened at the sight of the young woman struggling at the end of their arm. Her brown eyes are wide in fear. She was one of the observers.

An ally.

Kill her.

The thoughts roared together in their head like waves crashing against the sides of their skull.

No. 001 thought, prying each thought away with painful winces as if they had been clamped around their own throat before releasing her.

She hit the floor hard, coughing and gasping. 001 quickly retreated back to their seat.

"Im sorry," 001 mumbled, wincing again, "just stay away."

They could hear the young woman cough and get to her feet again. 001 eventually looked up, frowning in surprise as the lady stared at him with a fearful look.

"Infusion, Mother had us pack extra's," she said carefully, "do you want the headache and thoughts to go? Then let me help."

001 growled before offering their arm, staring at her.

She reached down, retrieving a syringe and wipes. Gold and black liquid swirled around each other.

"Thats not the regular infusion," 001 stated, looking at the woman with a suspicious glare, "another test?"

She nodded, wiping down the injection site before gently sticking the needle in. As it was injected, the headache began to fade, the thoughts settling into low whispers at the back of their mind.

001 let out a breath they didn't know they had been holding before straightening up. They could already hear the sound of a new shuttle descending, and it was time to go home.

Home.

001 frowned at the word, mulling it over in their mind. Then why did it never feel like home? It felt wrong every time they stepped inside those bleached hallways. But now over half a year away from it, maybe they could for once call it such a thing.

The Gloster shuttle set down in a cleared landing zone, small bits of debris flying upwards in clouds of smoke. 001 waited for Platoon Zero to walk up the ramp before entering last, taking a seat closer to the ramp as it slowly raised, shutting them in darkness.

The Lab

Something was very wrong.

001 frowned, leaning out of the ramp and staring down at the facility below them. It was nighttime, but the landing pads and long lines of lights that should of shone a beacon up at them were suspiciously off, leaving the facility looking like a piece of some unknown void. Any attempts to hail the staff had been ignored.

"Take us down slowly, weapons hot," 001 said, gesturing to the captain who nodded with a robotic rigidness, "all non-military personnel stay on the shuttle."

001 received no objections as the shuttle descended, its two small searchlights slowly going over the facility. Taking a step before they even touched down 001 rolled along the slick metal. A large wave of water crashed into the supports below, sending a small mist upwards slicking the surfaces even more.

The shuttle touched down, the platoon exiting and securing the platform, their armors personal lights creating an illuminating bloom over the shadowy building. A long walkway led to an door that they tried to open but failed.

Power is on. 001 thought, noting the small glow of the control panel. Perhaps a lockdown?

"Set charges," 001 instructed, calmly stepping aside as the soldiers got to work, placing two charges barely the size of matchboxes against specific places around the door. Once they had finished 001 nodded to them, looking away as the charges erupted, destroying the locking mechanisms that held the sliding metal sheets in place.

Moving the door aside the soldiers stepped inside, the emergency lights emitted a dark red glow that washed over them.

"Don't shoot!" A voice called out as a dozen staff members stepped out with hands raised, behind them several lab guards stood silently, barely reacting to their arrival.

They were watching for something. 001 noted, cautiously looking around as they could feel their whip coil tighter in anticipation.

"I need specifics, fast." 001 said, watching with boredom as a man stepped out and quickly approached. His eyes were not of fear but of suspicion.

"Mr. Morris," 001 growled, briefly entertaining the idea of skinning him, "what is happening?"

"New asset broke containment, restricted level, triggered a lockdown as it crashed through several other sections," Morris said efficiently, "no less than four assets loose."

"Operatives?"

Morris shook his head, "no, they are all assets from our Nyos project," he said, stroking his beard, "it's not a project I worked on, but you know how she likes to make them."

Mother. 001 suddenly thought, looking around.

"She was down there when it broke loose, Ember was with her."

The soldiers opened up one of the lift doors, shining their lights down into a black abyss. Grabbing their helmet from the shuttle, 001 put it on, welcoming the flood of information pouring in through the HUD. Floor plans, infrared, and scanners provide every single detail of data it can. Watching the marines, 001 admired the very calm vitals, and it didn't seem like their hearts were even really beating. Dragging a claw against one of their shoulders as they passed 001 took a single step before plunging into the calming abyss.

It took longer than expected, but eventually, 001 caught sight of the metal lift below. Reaching out the suit's talons dug into the shaft's walls, slowing them just enough so they landed with a firm thud on the lifts roof.

001's mask didn't detect anything in the lift as they slowly lifted the small access hatch.

Bodies littered the lift, nearly unrecognizable lumps of red and flesh-colored mush. Jumping down 001 scanned the bodies. Most corresponded to staff assigned to this floor, though a few ID tags indicated the presence of others. 001 was thrown from their thoughts by the sound of snapping and crunching.

Dropping into a crouch, 001 slowly made their way out from the lift and down the hallway. One of the observation rooms on this floor was torn open, and the reinforced door was peeled open like a can of food.

Outside in the hallway stood a figure in a stark white lab coat. It was a woman with dark hair tightly pulled back into a ponytail and a data pad firmly held in her hands.

Mother.

There was a prickling sensation at the back of 001's neck as the whip coiled and uncoiled at their side, sensing 001's unease.

001 slowly approached, realizing the sounds were coming from inside the observation room. Opening their mouth to speak they stopped as Mother raised a finger without even a glance at them.

She was now much shorter then 001, standing a foot below them now, and 001 had plenty of more time to grow. 001 walked to stand beside her, stopping a few feet away. Just like they had been taught.

She had that look in her eyes as she stared inside the observation room, eyes wide like a child. The barest thin smile on her tightly pressed lips. 001 followed her gaze inside the room before freezing.

There was a pile of bodies in the center of the room with a single large creature standing over them.

It had the body shape of a wolf, long extended back legs with a straight front pair of legs ending in long metal claws that peeled thin strips of metal off the floor as it shifted. Its chest was large with dim blue and green lights trickling down its body with several defensive spikes pointing outwards. Its head was covered by two angled armored plates facing inwards, inside it resembled a shaved wolf's head with a deformed jaw. Below its chin were two metal arms with two hooked fingers. Finally a tail tipped with two blades balanced behind it.

It leaned downwards, hooks gripping into the bodies and peeling off strips of dripping flesh before feeding it into the deformed mouth.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Mother said softly, glancing over at 001 with a small smile that made them feel cold, "It has no need for that kind of sustenance anymore yet some of that nature hidden under the surface always bubbles up," she gave 001 a long look, dark eyes mocking them as she raised an eyebrow as she fiddled with a familiar dark stone that swung from her necklace, "now, dispose of it please."

"Wait, what do you-" 001 began, Mother stepped to the side of the door before clapping, the creatures head swung lazily towards the noise before its wide golden eyes widened.

001 silently cursed their Mother as the creature lunged silently, clearing the distance between them in less then a second, defying its size.

Bracing, 001 grabbed its front claws, twisting and throwing it against the corridor wall before willing the whip to lash out at it.

Metal tore into metal as sickly purple and red blood splattered the walls.

It kicked off the wall, slamming into 001 and sending them both to the ground, large fangs sank into 001's shoulder as a shooting pain went down their spine.

Curling their claws into a metal fist, 001 let loose a punch across the creature's platted face with a loud crack.

It released them, shaking its head and stepping back, blood dripping down its jaws. Twitching a finger, the whip responded, lashing out and wrapping around one of the beast's legs before pulling it towards 001.

It stumbled, creating a brief moment. Lunging forward, 001 wracked down its neck with outstretched claws.

Crimson and sickly purple splattered onto the ground in growing pools.

Kicking it to the ground, 001 willed the whip around the neck of the creature as their boot held it in place as they slowly pulled the whip taunt, the blades eating into the creature's neck.

It shuttered as it went limp, allowing 001 to step back. 001 looked over at Mother who held a proud smile, filling them with unease.

"Excellent work, I had told Doctor Gregio that his pet project wouldn't compare," she walked over, bending down to briefly examine the wound, "unfortunately, it is not dead."

001 looked down at the body of the creature incredulously. Not dead?

"The blood is very similar to yours," she drifted off, frowning, "I wonder if he copied the mixtures off yours," she looked coldly at the creature, "dispose of this poor creature."

An explosion shook the entire floor as the building groaned and the glass rattled. Further down the hallway, orange and yellow light flared.

"Come on," 001 said, driving their claws deep into the creature's neck, severing arteries and muscle before quickly running towards the now apparent fiery explosions, not waiting to see if Mother followed.

They passed by another one of the creatures, smoke rising off its burnt body. Ember was nearby.

"Where is Ember?" 001 asked quietly as they approached the distant light.

"He insisted on evacuating the staff down here, he wastes his talents on those that don't deserve it," Mother said, shrugging as she typed away on a data pad, "since when were you concerned about Ember?"

"He left you alone," 001 said, wincing as the words left their mouth, adding quickly, "it's against protocol."

"I see," Mother said, the barest smile on her face for just a moment before it vanished. Her eyes were softened as she observed them, "well, lead on."

A group of figures burst out from where the light was coming 001 lashed out with their whip, stopping it mere inches from a guard's throat. There was a group of seven, five scientists with various injuries and two guards barely standing.

Pathetic. A voice silently spoke in the back of 001's mind.

They flinched as fire erupted from behind them. The heat sensors on 001's suit sang a small caution to the sudden rise in temperature. Out from the hallway stepped Ember, he was supporting a guard against his shoulder while spraying flames from his free hand behind them.

One of the guards quickly stepped in and took the wounded off of his hands. Ember turned, his mask imitating the flames dancing behind him in a silent ballet. Behind the mask 001 could see the eyes widen as his brother turned to face him fully.

"Hello, brother," 001 said, a broad smile hidden behind their mask as they allowed a chuckle, "who am I killing today?"

"You," Ember said, glaring through his mask at 001, "what are you doing here?"

"Mission was finished, so I came home."

"You never have called it that," Ember spat, glancing carefully over his shoulder towards the hallway still filled with flames, "but, in the meantime, there are only two assets left."

001 looked over their younger brother, frowning as Ember knelt beside the wounded, looking over their wounds. Weak. 001 thought, growling and glancing towards Mother, who wore a dour expression.

"Thinking of changing careers, Ember?" 001 laughed, slowly walking over and giving him a light push as they passed before turning back to see his reaction.

Ember didn't react at first, shaking his head as he stood, glaring at 001, "I am taking care of our allies."

"Oh their just allies now?" 001 grinned, taking a step forward, "finally gave up on calling people friends just to kill them?"

"Now isn't the time to-" Mother began, stopping as Ember stalked up to 001, pointing at their mask.

"Shut up, monster."

Those words had barely left Embers mouth before 001 seized them by the neck, hauling him off the ground like a helpless pup and pinning him to the nearby wall. Ember struggled to get out of 001's grasp, his bright eyes glaring defiantly at 001, "I know what you are," Ember spat, flinching as 001 leaned close.

"Of course you do," 001 cooed mockingly, their grin widening as they watched Ember falter, "because I am you, I am what you will all eventually become. You'll see; when you do, she will cast you aside just like me."

"Liar," Ember said through gritted teeth, he still struggled, but his eyes betrayed him, "I will never be like you."

"I saw what you did to all those people," 001 said, watching in satisfaction as the fight left Ember's eyes, replaced by sweet fear, "every one of them burnt to a crisp for trying to help you, it serves them right."

"They were my friends," Ember sniffled looking away, "I didn't mean to…" he trailed off, tears beginning to roll down his cheek.

001 released their grip, watching with fascination as Ember collapsed onto the ground. They began to walk away, looking at Mother, "in the end, that won't matter to her."

A roar made them all turn as another one of those creatures burst into the room, lunging at 001 with its mouth opened wide for a bite.

Grabbing the nearest guard, 001 calmly shoved the helpless man inside the mouth of the creature. It faltered, trying to backpedal as 001's whip weaved around the man's body, stabbing throughout its neck.

The rain of polluted blood was satisfactory as 001 released the mangled corpse.

Dodging around the next bite, 001 slammed a fist into the section just behind the plates, staggering the creature. Its tail suddenly spun, catching 001 and throwing them back into the group.

Ember dodged while 001 accidentally barreled through the group.

001 flipped back onto their feet in time to grab the creature's head. Thrusting claws into its eyes with two loud pops, 001 held onto the beast as its life drained onto the floor.

Letting the body drop 001 surveyed the group. Ember had put himself between the survivors and the creature, his hands outstretched with small bursts of fire. Mother had been closer to 001, she must of been knocked to the ground when it attacked, she was fifteen yards away on the ground.

Her necklace had broken, and the dark inscribed stone lay between her and 001. She looked at the necklace and back up at them, a small sad smile showing as she looked down.

001 winced as a loud whine began to grow in their ears. Pain quickly followed as red clouded their vision. Many voices rose up, screaming at them and screaming a single directive over and over. 001 tried to cover their ears as the voices seemed to crawl through their head.

Kill her.

Ember

The group froze with fear and surprise as 001 began to scream, metal claws digging into the sides of their helmet as they seemed to stumble back and forth.

Ember stepped toward his sibling, reaching out a hand before wincing. He could feel it too. A pressure building in his ears, making him feel an unease in his stomach. Something was very wrong.

Ember took several steps back toward the survivors. He has seen 001 have an episode before and knew what would come next.

"Hide yourselves in storage B, a team will eventually reach you and you will have supplies there," Ember said, quickly helping one of the injured to her feet, "go!"

The group obeyed, quickly rushing off. Ember turned, noticing Mother towards his right. There was a strange look on her face that Ember had never seen, a sadness.

Then 001 lunged, closing the distance instantly, but Ember was just as fast, throwing out his right hand as a wall of flames erupted between 001 and Mother.

001 rolled away from it, the glowing green eyes from their helmet staring at Ember like one of those beasts now dead on the floor.

Ember shifted, observing the readings from his HUD. Fuel in one of the pods was low.

His suit ran off two large fuel pods that powered the flame attributes of the armor, and they sat on his middle back and could eject if damaged or depleted.

Flicking a control on his arm the pod shifted, trading itself out for a spare one. But he did not eject it, instead leaving it in the spare slot.

001 would demolish him in any extended fight. Which means this would need to be over in seconds.

Lunging towards Mother, Ember rolled to her just as 001 launched forward, screaming like a tortured animal.

Extending both arms, Ember engulfed the area between them in flame. It wouldn't stop 001 but it would blind them.

Quickly flicking several switches, Ember ejected all but one fuel pod before shielding Mother with his armor.

The room seemed to go silent before the explosion tore the room apart.

Temperature warnings only jumped to yellow for Ember but he could see the Mothers singed hair and mild burns. As the smoke cleared Ember spotted 001 lying a distance away from them. Armor charred black but still glowing a ghastly green.

Mother shakily rose to her feet, brushing off soot and dust before slowly walking beside Ember.

"Can you fix them?" Ember asked as they stared at the downed Operative, blinking in surprise at his own concern, "or will you be forced to-"

"I will fix them," Mother snapped, causing Ember to look away, "I just, need more time."

"I hope you can. The more time that goes by even I can feel it," Ember admitted, running a hand along the back of his helmet.

"Higher dosages should fix it," Mother said confidently, though her eyes betrayed a fear hidden behind their darkness, "now go retrieve the other survivors, I will work to do a head count."

Ember nodded, turning to leave.

"Oh and son."

Son. The word bore into Ember, feelings crashing into one another as he turned to look at the woman he called Mother.

"Make sure to burn anything down here involving project Nyos," Mother said as she gently picked up the broke necklace on the ground, "we are the future of the Empire, not these failures."

Ember hesitated a moment before nodding and turning to the corpses on the ground. Reaching out one hand, Ember engulfed the bodies in flame before closing his eyes as somewhere in his mind a voice called out.

Kill.

#if: the operative #the operative short story #the operative #writing

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benjaminthewolf · 1 year

Text

Why Seven Ate Nine: Integrating Tragedy

“Why was Six afraid of Seven?”

“Because Seven ATE Nine!”

Such an iconic joke, now isn’t it? I’m sure we’ve all heard it at least once. The opportunity was staring me straight in the face, and I just HAD to take it.

CW: CRUEL PRED, HEAVILY IMPLIED DIGESTION, OUTBURSTS OF ANGER, NINE IS ATTACKED, TIED UP, AND GAGGED, TRAUMA, MATH

****

Six’s breath strenuously heaved out from his lungs at a continuous, differentiable rate of approximately (e)^x cubic meters of air per second, as the scorching, sticky beads of sweat clinging tightly to, and sliding down his glossy skin flooded outwards from his pores at a rate of the same conditions, coming out to approximately 4(x)^2 fluid ounces of sweat per second. The accumulating, salty tears welling up within, and subsequently flooding over, the straining, pained, and sore corners of his eyes equated to a rate of about 8(x)^3 fluid ounces of tears per second, all before he resolved at last to curb the very first, and finally speak up as such.

“...It was Number Seven…” he shakily stammered out, in a quivering, yet firm, hardened voice. “Number Seven killed my brother.”

****

Being, quite literally, living representations of the conceptual, and highly exalted mathematical system utilized by humanity each day in order to further the advancement of their society, Number Seven, just like all the rest of the living one-digit numbers, carried a significant burden of expectation upon his numerical shoulders each and every single day of the otherwise utterly impossible life he lived; one which had only been granted to him in their mercy by the elusive mathmagician themself.

To Number Seven, however, “significant” was just simply not strong enough of an adjective to describe what precisely it was.

“Goddammit…” Number Seven huffed out to himself through grinding, gritted teeth. “I’m fucking wrong AGAIN!”

Swiftly glancing up and around the college classroom in order to make sure no one was staring at him, Number Seven proceeded to take a silent minute for personal analysis, steadily curving his spine so he may crookedly loom over his paper, before squinting, direct and downwards, onto the whole of the thing, absolutely nothing discernable in his eyes but a cool, rigid, sharpened, composed glare.

“Hmmmmmm….” he softly murmured whilst maneuvering his cartoonish, white-gloved hand connected to blackened stick arms over to the pencil on his desk. “...it really is just that simple, now isn’t it?” he silently spoke in his head whilst maneuvering his pencil over into the answer box for question one. A calm and collected deep breath was steadily and effortlessly released out of his mouth.

Number Seven’s eyes blazed open with instantaneously collected, vivid color and rigor. With hardly as much as an inhale, Number Seven’s pencil ferociously gouged itself into the surface of the paper, its previously nice and professionally sharpened tip snapping off as the thickened, dark and bolded lines dragged their way across the diameter of the answer box. A curved and downright cruel circular bend curled its way over the volume of the designated region, its force so harsh and demanding on the poor paper that it was seemingly individual molecules away from tearing a hole out into the other side. Finally, however, the barrier was breached, the pencil lodging itself mercilessly into the hole it just created as Number Seven glared intently down upon the result of his vigorous, passionate, hard work. Everything had previously been done correctly, with but the singular exception of the end.

“+ C” Number Seven breathlessly wavered out at long last. “THAT is why I lost the whole point.”

“It seems like you’re having a bit of trouble, Number Seven! Wanna come to my study session after school?”

Number Seven gave a sudden, surprised graggling noise before whipping around his head to address the source of the disturbance. Upon comprehending it was Number Nine, Number Seven merely reverted back to his previous state of icy, searing tranquility.

“...Oh. Hello, Number Nine. …You were asking about something?”

Number Nine gave his fellow number a friendly chuckle before continuing, to which Number Seven could only narrow his eyes.

“Well yeah, buddy! I was asking if you wanted to come to my study session after school! Should last…about two hours or so. I noticed you seemed pretty unhappy with your current score, so…y’know, just wanted to bring it up!”

“...Way to go and rub it in my face, there, ‘buddy’.” Number Seven thought to himself in rising irritation before opening his mouth to speak out loud. “...Thanks, but…I’m pretty sure I can handle myself.” he cooly answered Number Nine, doing his very best to maintain his outward composure and not betray his true thoughts behind his gaze.

“Really?” Number Nine swiftly replied with a hint of disbelief in his voice. “You’ve been studying by yourself all this past month, but you’re still not getting the scores you want! Maybe you could just…try a group session, see if that improves your scores?”

“...Thanks, but no thanks.” Number Seven reiterated in indiscernible frustration. “Now can you please leave me alone? I have work to do.”

“...you sure?” Number Nine responded with a tone that hinted concern.

“Yes.”

“Like, absolutely, positively sure?”

“Yes!”

“...but I-”

Number Seven now knew that the time was right to shout.

“YES!” he therefore boomed out in scalding affirmation, his clear and deep-set distaste for the idea present for all of the classroom to hear.

Number Nine instantly reeled back from the shock as the room fell silent. For a while, everything was still.

“...............Ummmmmm…….” Number Nine eventually broke the moment’s silent terror. “...Okay then. I��guess it's your choice. I’ll always be here if you change your mind though.” the number eventually conceded. “Good luck on your next test though, Number Seven!”

Number Seven refused to give Number Nine the satisfaction of respectfully closing the conversation. Number Nine was thus forced to turn away from him, in order to move on with his work.

“...Now, Number Four, you were saying you couldn't remember how to do implicit differentiation?”

As Number Nine went on to aid Number Four in his studies, Number Seven gave a borderline inaudible huff of vexation, as his jaws clenched together in secrecy within the living digit’s chamber that was his mouth. The constant, compounding tension present against the strained muscles around the area caused the slick region within to grow even hotter than it normally would be naturally.

****

Number Seven unenthusiastically allowed a soft sigh to gather its volume in his lungs before indifferently trickling it out through his mouth. With his backpack zipped shut, the living digit coolly heaved its weight up from the floor, before nonchalantly slipping his arms through its loops, and finally, taking a silent step forth.

At the present moment, Number Seven held near-literally every intention of simply going home. Solitarily clopping his way across the college’s now-voiceless, smooth, tile halls, the classroom door he’d just exited eventually echoed its closure behind him. Number Seven inaudibly, yet undeniably thoroughly, basked his mind and being deep within his current solitude. These were the moments he found himself enjoying the most. Just himself. No one else. No one around to disturb him. No one around to annoy him. And best of all, absolutely no one around to ask him if he wanted to-

“HEY, NUMBER SEVEN! YOU STILL SURE YOU DON’T WANNA STAY AND STUDY?”

Something somewhere shattered as Number Seven turned to face the sudden, but recognized voice. He was quite lucky that Number Nine cared little in terms of paying attention to social or interpersonal details, or else he might have been able to decipher the tone, inflection, and cadence with which Number Seven proceeded to speak.

“Didn’t I already tell you back in the classroom? Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go-”

“Oh come on, Number Seven!” a different voice suddenly piped up, forcing Number Seven to once again swivel his gaze over towards the source, eventually identifying the speaker as Number Six, standing to the left of Number Nine. “We all wanna get good grades, here, don’t we?”

Number Seven took his sweet time rolling his eyes. “Yes…and?”

“...and so we’re here to help ya!” Number Four suddenly popped into view within the door frame, taking to Number Nine’s right.

“Somehow…” Number Seven sarcastically thought. “I have a hard time believing you.”

“Don’t worry, Number Seven, it won’t be that bad!” Number Nine added on. “It’ll just be the four of us, working alongside each other!”

Number Seven’s jaw internally wavered as he attempted to take a step away. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he discovered himself unable to do so.

“We all saw you were frustrated back in class, seems like you might need a little help!” Number Four spoke up again.

“Yeah, since that scream was…y’know…” Number Six added in.

Number Seven ceased his body from exhaling, and seemingly at the same moment that Number Nine opened his mouth.

“No pressure of course though, I just-”

“ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT! FINE!” Number Seven clamorously boomed out as he viciously stormed his way through the door, shoving all three fellow numbers aside in doing so, before overdramatically plopping himself down onto a nearby desk, one which was currently surrounded by the other threes’ notebooks and calculators upon their own respective desks, and forcefully thrusting his backpack to the floor. Rattled into paralysis by the outburst, the room fell utterly silent.

“WELL? WHAT ARE YOU GUYS WAITING FOR? ISN’T THIS WHAT YOU WANTED FROM ME?”

None of the three numbers, standing positively dumbfounded, across from Number Seven’s seemingly irrationally agitated form dared say a word for a minute.

“OH, QUIT LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT AND JUST GET IT ALL OVER WITH!” he thus opted to shatter the silence.

Eventually, Number Nine stepped forth.

“Umm…just make sure your calculator is in radian mode, okay?”

****

“...No, Number Seven, it's ‘b’ on top, ‘a’ on bottom, you got them switched around again.” Number Nine calmly explained to his fellow number.

“...but you said that the placement doesn’t matter as long as I put an absolute value around the whole thing.” Number Seven swifty retorted.

“...most of the time, that’s true, but if you want the distance between specifically intervals 80 to 20, the problem is essentially asking you to go backwards, so the answer will always be negative. If it said from 20 to 80, you’d be correct, since the answer will always be positive and an absolute value ensures this happens even if you mix up the ‘b’ and ‘a’ placement, but again, that’s not applicable to this case since the problem is asking you to go backwards.”

“.....I see.”

It had now been approximately thirty minutes since the start of the after-school study session, and already, Number Seven felt as though he was going to implode; something which, though it had been exceedingly obvious upon the very start of the session, all but appeared to be lost on his three fellow numbers now that they were deep within the questions and their nuance.

“Hey, Number Nine, would the integral of 1/(x^2) be 2ln|x^2|?” Number Six asked soon after.

“...don’t forget +C.” Number Seven suddenly added.

“No, +C only applies on indefinite integrals, but in this problem, the integral is definite.” Number Nine rushed to correct Number Seven.

“Now, as for your question, Number Six, for 1/(x^2), you’d just use the power rule. The natural log trick only works when there’s no exponent in the denominator. You know, for problems like 1/(x+2), there, it works, and you get ln|x+2|.”

“Ok, so you do the thing where you rewrite it as (x^(-2)) then, right”

“Yes.”

“So then the integral would be…-(x^(-1)), or -(1/x).”

“Correct!”

“Yes! Awesome! Thanks, bro!”

“No problem!”

“So like…are you two actually brothers or do you just call each other that?” Number Four promptly inquired after the moment of elation for Number Six had passed.

“Heh, yeah it's pretty confusing, isn’t it?” Number Nine nonchalantly chuckled out. “‘Cause nobody actually really knows how the mathmagician created us, so how can we really say we’re genetically related if we don’t know if we’ve got genes in the first place? And it's not like we, as college students really have the money, or even time, really, to get it tested out, but we just call each other brothers…’cause that’s how we’ve always seen our relationship!”

“Oh. I thought…maybe you did get it checked out or something…”

“Nah, why bother? We don’t even need to know if we’re the closest two numbers genetically speaking to see each other as brothers, so there isn’t really even an incentive.”

“Nah, nah, I see you, I see you, it’s cool. Just wanted to know, y’know.”

“Yeah. …alright now let’s see…what question are you on, Number Seven? Question five. Okay, that’s the Riemann sum problem! Should be pretty easy…but yeah let’s see. Alright so it's a left sum…so which interval do you leave out then?”

“...the one farthest to the right.”

“Yes, that’s right! Err…correct. Okay so then how do you get the interval multipliers?”

Number Seven blinked in concentration. “...you…it's the number of whole number values between the x-values of each data point on the graph. So here we’ve got…1 to 3, so 2, 3 to 4, 1…then 4 to 7, 3. Then we ignore the fourth interval because it's the far right one.”

“...well no, you do still need to consider the fourth interval.” Number Nine hastily corrected.

“...what? But this is a left Reimen sum, you ignore the final interval!”

“You ignore the ordered pair, yes, but you still consider the interval between the…like here…in this table it's 7 to 9. The number you multiply seven by is 2 because that’s the distance between the two x-values.”

“...........”

“Here, see? You take the y-values, and multiply them by the distance between the intervals, and then you add them all up at the end! Like this! So the y-values in order are 5, 8, 7, -4, 11. Then you’d go (2(5) + 1(8) + 3(7) + 2(-4))! See its a left sum because the 11 wasn’t used! But you still use the 2 which is the distance between 7 and 9!”

“...........”

“Number Seven?”

“...I thought you said this was going to be easy.”

“Well it is! …once you get the hang of it I mean!”

“...easy for you to say, genius.”

“Well okay, maybe I should’ve said it's easy for me when I got the hang of it, but still, most people, in my experience, don’t really seem to have that much of a problem with table questions once they understand how they work! I mean…you’re not one of them, but…but hey, it's good that we’re working on areas you struggle in, that’s how you breed improvement, after all!”

“...uh-huh.” Number Seven monotonously replied.

“So then uh…why don’t we all move on to the-”

“Number Nine?”

“Yes, Number Seven?”

“Why don’t we walk back to the dorms together tonight, and…have a bit of a math discussion on the way?”

“Sure! Sounds good to me! Alright, then why don’t we move on to question six? What’s the topic for that one? Oh, yes, related rates. That’s right.” Number Nine casually affirmed before almost instantly moving on. “Okay everybody, might wanna put the equations for these ones into Y1 and Y3, since, ya know, Y2 is taken by the whole derivative of Y1 thing, and then get ourselves going?”

****

Simply due to the fact that the walk to the dorms had begun more than two hours after the vast majority of the student body had already clocked out for the day, as well as the fact that, at this time of year, the sun set quite early, it almost appeared that the two living numbers were trodding their way through the muted dead of night, as they concurrently strolled across the college campus.

“So…you wanted to talk to me about something?” Number Nine attempted to ask, in a bit of an awkward, fumbling tone.

“Yes, indeed I did.” Number Seven promptly replied. “I wanted to talk to you about something which I just couldn’t help but notice back during your little study session there.”

“Oh. I’m assuming then, it's something you felt would be best handled in private?”

“Precisely.”

“Alright, well, lay it on me then.”

Number Seven blinked so he could hold out the resulting silence for just about as long as he could.

“Let’s take a shortcut here.” he abruptly switched up the subject, pointing Number Nine towards a back alley squeezed in-between two of the campus’ buildings, located on the left of their path.

“.......oooooookaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy?” Number Nine naturally stretched his word in growing bewilderment. “But like, we are gonna get to your concern here, right?”

“Of course.” Number Seven coolly responded as he led his fellow numerical value deeper into the shadows of the alley. “Allow me to grab something first.”

Immediately allowing the force of gravity to claim the weight of his backpack, Number Seven proceeded to bend down over its form. There was a subsequent unzipping sound, a slight exhale of an utterly indecipherable sigh, and finally, a zipping sound once more.

“Number Nine…” Number Seven spoke firmly, whilst taking a few steps towards the living number.

For reasons which Number Seven cared not about in the slightest, Number Nine remained stiff and silent.

And then, the moment finally came.

****

“MMMMMMMMPH! UUUUUUUUNNNNNNGH! WRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!” Number Nine hysterically screeched out in mortal terror, his frenzied, unwavering cries and pleads for his life only stifled and softened by the gag. His hands had also become tied behind his rectangular back by Number Seven, and his legs, similarly bound.

“Ohhohohohohoh…..Number Nine…” Number Seven’s twisted, inane, grinning, toothy face slowly and sensually moved its lips in order to speak. “...you have absolutely no idea…just how long I have waited for this…”

With his final words successfully conveyed to hs victim, Number Seven, lying on top of, and weighing down his body’s force upon the spasming, writing, flailing being of Number Nine, gave a slimy lick across his chops, allowing some of the drool to drip down onto the gagged number’s face, before, at long last, gradually unveiling his maw.

Number Nine could feel his attacker’s warm breath being heaved directly onto his being, as Number Seven’s tongue gave a casual stroke across the digit’s cheek equivalent area, dragging the sopping muscle across his skin, before absolutely reveling in it with a shuddering sigh of delight. Number Nine could tell Number Seven was moving his arms down the length of his body as his salivating only increased, yet for what purpose, exactly, he was not able to see until the number atop him swiftly tightened his grip on his victim’s skin, taking the subsequent moment of frozen, dire agony to flip his position around, so that finally, the main show could commence.

The moment he had regained control of his senses again, Number Nine could feel Number Seven’s tongue trailing lightly across his stick-like legs, both at the same time, no less, due to their tied-up proximity to each other, before at last, the thin limbs were squeezed mercilessly, with a vengeance, and both of the captured extremities were viciously shoved into the gaping, heated, chamber of the living Number Seven’s slickened maw.

Number Nine vainly attempted to kick his feet in order to get Number Seven away, and yet, his reckless pounding seemed to do nothing but make his attacker scoff, his legs being shoved deeper into the tightened region, sliding down and across the length of the tongue, before striking against the plump, swaying uvula located at the back of Number Seven’s throat. Number Nine could both feel and see his feet lodging inside of Number Seven’s gullet, the psychotic, living number murmuring pleasured jabberings of nonsense all the while, until finally, he swallowed, with an audible, squishy-sounding gulp.

Number Nine, only able to watch and cry out in futility as the slight bulge that was his feet and legs traveled from the top of Number Seven’s throat to its middle, could now also feel his lower bodily region being inserted into the lunatic’s maw, touching down smoothly onto his tongue. Number Nine continued his violent convulsions and searing, fruitless shrieks as Number Seven licked and slathered the slick muscle all across the totality of surface area of the bodily rectangular prism which he currently held in his maw.

Finally, however, Number Seven swallowed once more, squelching Number Nine’s legs and lower body deeper into his constricting esophagus, and sending the next section of his body inside to be examined with his tongue.

Number Nine, at this point, was beginning to tap out of reality, his muscles jittering about by pure necessity, as his strained reserves of energy did their very best to hold out for no other reason but bodily instincts. As Number Seven swallowed once again, Number Nine now recognized implicitly that soon, his very own eyes were to be graced within the same exact walls as the rest of his body, before entering into at last his possible final destination all together.

Number Seven, now that Number Nine was restrained beyond the ability to resist, sensually rubbed and glomped across the great bulge that he was making in his throat. The lengthwise and widthwise expansions seemed utterly anatomically impossible, and yet, Number Seven seemed to have absolutely no problem at all as he gulped down the last section of Number Nine’s main body, finally allowing his circular head to be nicely slidden into his maw.

Now, at long last, the living number clamped his jaws shut, sealing the whole of Number Nine away in his being. Now, there stood absolutely nothing in his way, and now, in order to commemorate the moment properly, Number Seven thus allowed himself to take one last victory lap of slimy mawplay, caressing the thick, salivating muscle of his tongue across the trembling, petrified face of Number Nine, positively soaking up the complexities of flavor which existed upon the doomed number’s glossy skin. It was only natural that he would taste somewhat salty, as due to his current bodily terror, sweating was all but inevitable. But that was not the reason that Number Nine tasted so divine. Not by a long shot, at all. Number Seven wasn’t exactly able to pin a label to it, but the zest was still oddly familiar. It was certainly meaty or gamey, but Number Seven presumed that this was only because he was indeed, made of flesh. What was the adjective exactly? Processed? Comercial? No, that would paint the flavor in a bad light, indeed the exact opposite of what Number Seven was trying to accomplish.

Regardless of what it actually was, however, Number Seven still recognized that he needed to get it into his stomach as soon as possible, lest the passing seconds give way to discovery. Thus, with a slight tilting back of his head, Number Seven made his epiglottis cover up the entrance to his windpipe, as the powerful, squelching motion pushing forwards the diameter of Number Nine’s head at last shoved its circumference into the esophagus.

Number Seven exhaled with shuddering ecstasy as he shoved his two hands onto the ginormous bulge in his throat, one which was only made possible by Number Nine’s equally ginormous head. Collapsing his elated, delirious being onto the alleyway floor before shoving his back up against its walls, Number Seven now awaited for the fruits of his labor to commence as the constant esophageal squeezing quite literally enveloping Number Nine escorted his slimy, overheated body down into the awaiting chamber below. Number Seven on the outside was able to pick up a few of the low-pitched gurgles and rumbles emulating from within the currently empty chamber. It would only be a couple seconds before that statement would no longer be true, however. Soon enough, Number Seven would thus sense his lower esophageal sphincter opening up in order to allow for the entry of Number Nine. The sleek, cushiony walls gave the final needed motions of peristalsis, and then, in but an instant, it happened.

Number Seven made a considerable many vocalizations of joy as he felt his stomach bulging forth considerably, the tight, taught and squishy gut glomping about on his knees as it worked to settle in Number Nine. Number Seven lay his head and arms down upon the shifting bulge quite longingly. With the side of his head now squarely upon the middle of the enlarged stomach, the now relatively higher-pitched echoes of grumbles and groans constantly reverberated inside of his inner ear, all the while the churning, glorping motions of the organ encircled the trapped number within.

Number Nine was barely even conscious at this point. His body had shut down to a point where he was hardly even able to think. Still, the goopy, pillowy, walls shoved in and out and around in order to churn and mash up his very form into chime, and by now, the concentration of the acids within the stomach had pooled to a degree where the process of digestion was inevitable.

Searing up against and into the delicate lining of skin, the tingling sensation of the acids causing the layers of his cells to slowly transform into goop, Number Nine finally lost the color from his eyes.

Eventually, Number Nine stopped thinking.

Number Seven didn’t give a damn if he was caught at this point. All that mattered to him was that finally, he had done it. Number Nine was now trapped within an organ of slimy, squishy demise, utterly incapable of resistance, doomed to melt away into pudge. Despite all his grandstanding of superiority, it was Number Seven who held the victory in the end. That was all that mattered to him, and that was all, he was sure, that would matter to him from then on forth.

“WHY DON’T YOU INTEGRATE THE RATE AT WHICH YOU’VE BEEN SWALLOWED, HUH, NUMBER NINE?” he cackled out in his cruelty and into the deafened, silent, cold night.

****

Number Seven could not have been more right.

After Number Six had identified him from the lineup, Number Seven pleaded guilty to the crime and was put on trial for murder in the first degree soon after. Eventually deciding to take a plea deal, as that way he would still be able to secure many in-prison privileges, Number Seven was ultimately sentenced for life, and locked behind bars for the rest of his numerical existence.

His story became a worldwide sensation, with thousands of people showing up for Number Nine’s funeral, and many, many more attending the ceremony remotely via live news. Number Six was able to found a charity in his digit brother’s memory, a cause which gave him just enough will to get him through the inexpressible cruelty of the tragedy. With the help of friends, family, therapy, and time, Number Six was eventually able to recover to a state of mental stability and healthiness, continuing on his brother’s life through his own, and finding a sense of closure with the perpetrator firmly behind bars.

Number Seven, meanwhile, became a criminal celebrity, a legacy which, he knew without a doubt, would live on throughout the generations, bringing him a level of notoriety and fame which was otherwise inaccomplishable via the pursuit of mathematical knowledge alone. Had Number Nine been left alive, Number Seven would have never been as well known. That was precisely why, despite his imprisoned existence, he never ever felt as though his life had been wasted at all.

In the end, the story would indeed be passed down through generations. Young kids would be taught a kid-appropriate version of the story as a means of teaching the importance of kindness and communication, both by their parents, and teachers. And though the intended effect did indeed accomplish itself quite well, ultimately, what we remember this moment in history for is, indeed, the recess joke which was developed amongst the young children who learned it. I am quite certain you’re familiar with it.

“Why was Six afraid of Seven?” one of the children would say.

And finally, the other child, completely unable to comprehend the true scale of the horrors they were joking about, jovially responded with a chortle.

“Because Seven ATE Nine!”

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lemony-snickers · 1 year

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Roads Not Taken.

It is in the beating of his own heart he finds his rhythm, matching the pace of his feet to the sound of it in his ears. It’s hard to hear, sometimes, over the ragged labor of his own breath, but it’s enough a part of him that he can find it again even when it fades into the frantic symphony of his blurred surroundings.

Kakashi is grateful for the sound, the way it anchors him; without it, he is not sure he’d still be standing.

He sniffs the air, tugging his mask down to his chin and leaving it there as he takes a few quick inhales. Three ANBU from Kirigakure pursue him—not unexpected, though slightly inconvenient.

No matter.

His heart rate picks up with his feet and he races through the treetops. He has no destination in mind—no place he is going except not here and not home. He left Konoha a shinobi, he will not return a murderer. A failure twice over.

A picture-perfect replica of his father, doomed to the same isolated fate. If Kakashi wants to be free of his mistakes, past and present, he needs to find a new home—a place that is only his.

A place where he can no longer hurt those he loves.

Blood still drips from the ends of his fingers and Kakashi knows he must wipe it away to have any chance of losing his pursuers. He slaps his palm against the rough bark of a tree as he whizzes by, smearing it crimson, and scrapes the back of his knuckles against a boulder to dislodge a piece of skin that is not his own.

Rin’s congealing blood mixes into the fresh scrapes in his flesh and Kakashi blinks the sting of tears from Obito’s eye so he can see clearly, swallows the bile burning a merciless trail up his esophagus.

I’m sorry, he thinks, but such words are meaningless when Rin Nohara is no longer a person but a cadaver.

When he is the one responsible.

Kakashi hears the shuriken whizzing in the air behind him, and the sharp spinning blades sheer some of the hair over his right ear, nicking the tender cartilage. His own blood will trail behind him, now, instead of Rin’s.

He curses under his breath and slaps his palm to the injury, annoyed.

The execution of the throw was sloppy if it only sliced his ear, and Kakashi basks in the other shinobi’s lack of skill, warm and safe in the knowledge that he will better his pursuers eventually. That he will win.

That he will be free.

Kakashi Hatake is still hailed a genius, after all, even in the wake of his failures.

The foliage overhead is thick, an advantage. He flits between the branches, light and fluid, toes barely glancing across the bark of the tree limbs before he takes off again, dodging in a complex pattern of zigs and zags designed to confuse those trailing behind him in the canopy.

The sky rumbles overhead, the scent of rain permeates the air, teasing the storm to come.

Kakashi dodges another shuriken, turns briefly midair to loose a hail of his own. He flings a kunai with an explosive tag into the trunk of a great tree to his right. The thunderous boom of its detonation leaves a ringing in his ears, but he can still hear the choked coughing sounds of the ANBU behind him when they clear the smoke.

It gives him enough time to drop to the forest floor, racing off through the blanket of pine needles and undergrowth for nearly a full minute before the confused shinobi above realize what’s happened.

He knows their ears will be ringing too, and though it’s more difficult to track their precise movements now that he can’t hear them as clearly, Kakashi’s nose is sensitive enough to detect their location within a meter. He hasn’t levelled the playing field so much as he’s decimated it in his favor.

His heart rate has evened out—a reassuring, persistent thudding against his sternum. He recalls the way Rin’s heart sputtered out in his grasp, convulsing frantically before the beats slowed and then stopped, no longer necessary.

Obito’s eye weeps anew and Kakashi blames it on the rain as the sky finally claws itself open.

Kakashi can breathe more easily with the mask still loose around his throat, and his lungs scream in delight, fresh, humid air pumping in and out of them as he sprints across the soft forest floor. The moss is soft and springy, propels him forward through the thick brush.

When he leaps back up into the trees, Kakashi can hear the confused shouts of the ANBU even over his tinnitus. They’re having a hard time communicating with one another, it seems. Another advantage.

A second explosive tag goes off behind him a moment later, the deafening crack of a branch as it detaches itself from the trunk of a tree loud enough to rival the booming thunder overhead. He doesn’t bother turning to see if any of the shinobi following him were on the branch when it fell; it’s a distraction anyway.

Kakashi sends a shadow clone off into the trees while he lets himself fall back to the soft ground with a barely perceptible thud—one the Kiri nin will not have detected over the ringing int their heads, the sound of the tree falling, and the rain as it softly pelts the leaves around him.

When his body sinks into its hiding place—a warm, forgiving spot in the dirt—Kakashi smiles and tugs the mask back up over his nose.

He is safe, now. The Mist shinobi will spin themselves in circles looking for his shadow clone, and eventually for him once the clone disperses.

They will not find him. The rain will easily erase any tracks he might have left behind, any blood still staining the leaves—his or Rin’s or anyone else’s—will be diluted until it is all but useless, even to a seasoned tracker like himself.

Kakashi Hatake, son of the disgraced White Fang and killer of his teammates, will not return to Kirigakure in their custody. Nor will be return to Konoha with another body of a friend, head bowed and heart broken.

He is free, now; able to wield his own future as a weapon of his choosing.

He is also a rogue nin—or will be declared one soon—but that fact is not as convenient as the others, and so he pushes it aside, settling into his hiding place to wait out the storm, the scent of soil and rainwater overwhelming. A stark reminder that all things return to the earth in time.

#kakashi hatake #kakashi angst #kakashi fanfiction #tw blood #tw death #rin nohara #team minato #lemony scribbles #roads not taken #this little thought has been bouncing around my brain for half a year #it was supposed to be the start of something but it is probably both the beginning and the end of nothing so here i yeet it upon tumblr #to get it out of my head #okay now back to writing the longfic which is what i was supposed to be doing this whole time ad;lkfjadsf

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theterribletenno · 7 months

Text

Shamir the Wyrm Queen Warframe

Just like Max it was no surprise to me that Shamir was a favorite of the season. Since most of the other frames from this season are rather simple and old-school I am going to try to make Shamir a bit more complex.

Health: 350 (450 at rank 30) Shields: 350 (450 at rank 30) Armor: 250 Energy: 100 (150 at rank 30) Sprint Speed: 0.95

Passive: Every time Living Ground and Nightcrawlers damage an enemy Shamir has a 30% chance to generate one third of a stack of Worm Food and every time Shamir kills an enemy with damage from any ability she is guaranteed to generate one third of a stack of Worm Food. Worm Food stacks fuel or empower Shamir's abilities. Worm Food has a maximum of 100 stacks.

Ability 1: Living Ground, 25 energy. Shamir designates a patch of ground in her sight over unrestricted range with a 12 meter radius to become infested with Golden Maws for 12 seconds, turning the area into a deadly trap as her monstrous pets churn just beneath the surface, waiting to pounce and bite. While an enemy is standing in the area of Living Ground they will be bitten by a golden maw once per second inflicting 150 points each of impact, puncture, and slash damage with 25% status chance and apply one of three effects with each having a 33.3% chance of occurring. If one of the effects cannot be triggered on the target the remaining two will have 50% chance to occur and if two of the effects cannot be triggered on a target then the last one is guaranteed to occur. A. Disarm: The enemy is disarmed, causing them to drop their currently equipped ranged weapon. This effect cannot trigger on enemies without a ranged weapon, enemies that have already been disarmed, or enemies which are otherwise immune to disarming. B. Ragdoll: The enemy is ragdolled for several seconds, rendering them helpless and vulnerable to melee finisher attacks until they are able to upright themselves. This effect cannot trigger on enemies which it has already affected within the last 10 seconds, enemies with overguard, or enemies which are otherwise immune to being ragdolled. C. Bleed: The enemy is guaranteed to recieve a slash status effect from the attack in addition to its normal status chance. Apart from enemies which are immune to slash status procs there are no conditions where this effect is prevented. Holding the ability key for Living Ground will highlight its target area in Shamir's energy color for precise positioning. Up to four instances of Living Ground can be active at once and casting the ability while four instances are already active will replace the oldest one. Living Ground's damage increases by 10 points of each damage type for every stack of Worm Food Shamir currently has.

Ability 2: Leech, costs 1 worm food (or 50 energy). If Shamir does not have at least one stack of Worm Food to spend on Leech it will instead cost 50 energy to activate. Leech summons up a long and slender golden maw to wrap around the enemy closest to Shamir's crosshairs within 30 meters which staggers all enemies within an 8 meter radius and trapping the target in the Leech maw's coils for the next 20 seconds. While coiled, the enemy is completely disabled as it stays held in place by the Golden Maw, becomes invulnerable to incoming damage, and slowly has its vital fluids and energy drained creating an aura with an 8 meter radius; when Shamir or her allies stand within the aura the leech feeds its stolen vitality to them, restoring 25% of their missing health per second, while draining 1% of maximum health per second from the victim. Pressing the ability key while aiming at an enemy coiled by Leech will release the victim early before duration expires. Damage from outside sources inflicted on the victim while it was invulnerable will be dealt in full when it is released, and all status effects it received will resume their effects.

Ability 3: Nightcrawlers, costs 5 worm food. Offering up several pieces of generated Worm Food Shamir summons up one of her three unique elite Golden Maws to join her in battle. If Shamir has none of her special maws currently summoned then each one has a 33.3% chance to be summoned when Nightcrawlers is cast, if she has one summoned the remaining two have a 50% chance to be summoned and if she has two of them active the final maw will be guaranteed to be summoned. Nightcrawlers can only have three maws summoned at once. Each unique elite Golden Maw lasts for 10 seconds or until killed. These maws have health, shields, and armor equal to 2x of Shamir's and their basic attack deals 500 damage of their specified element with a guaranteed status proc. For every stack of Worm Food Shamir currently has the unique elite Golden Maws' attacks deal an additional 20 damage. When one of the maws summoned by Nightcrawlers expires or is killed it bursts, dealing 5x its normal attack damage to all enemies within 8 meters. A. Caustic Maw: Deals pure corrosive damage and prefers to target the enemy with the highest armor value nearby. This maw's acidic saliva dissolves the corpses of enemies it kills, giving them a 60% chance to drop extra loot. B. Noxious Maw: Deals pure gas damage and prefers to target groups of enemies standing close to each other. This maw's normal attacks cleave, dealing partial damage to all enemies within striking distance. C: Virulent Maw: Deals pure viral damage and prefers to target the enemy with the highest max health nearby. This maw is able to perform finisher attacks on enemies that are vulnerable to melee ground finishers, parazon mercy kills, or are currently below 20% of their max health.

Ability 4: The Wyrm Turns, costs 1 worm food per second. Shamir reveals her final form, beautiful shame of the Empire, the corpse eating golden dragon. In her Wyrm form Shamir completely shapeshifts into an orowyrm-like monster that delivers death to all foes in its sight with terrible power and grace. In her Wyrm form Shamir's health, shields, and armor are all multiplied by 3, her movement is altered to resemble that of the orowyrms of Duviri, and she loses access to her normal weaponry in exchange for a pair of exalted weapons: Dragon's Breath and Golden Fangs. -Dragon's Breath is categorized as an exalted primary beam weapon for modding purposes, a flamethrower that fires a wide and long spray of pure heat damage with very high status chance and average crit. Enemies killed by Dragon's Breath will release a fiery explosion, dealing 5% of their max health to all other enemies within 8 meters as pure heat damage with a guaranteed heat status proc. -Golden Fangs is an exalted melee weapon that deals roughly even values of impact, slash, and puncture damage and has extraordinarily high per-hit damage but very slow attack speed and very high critical chance with normal status chance. For every stack of Worm Food Shamir consumes while in her Wyrm form her exalted weapons gain 1% bonus damage up to a maximum of 100%. Kills from Dragon's Breath and Golden Fangs have a 15% chance to generate one third of a stack of Worm Food.

Subsumed ability: Nightcrawlers (Activation cost is changed to 75 energy, synergy with Worm Food is lost.)

Signature Weapon: Blackwater. Shamir's signature weapon, a melee blade-and-whip that appears to be both Orokin in origin and infested in nature, yet another piece of her beautifully ugly and royally shameful existence as undertaker of the empire. Blackwater has high attack speed at the cost of below average per-hit damage, high critical chance and critical multiplier at the cost of low status chance. Blackwater deals mostly slash damage, moderate puncture and viral, and very low impact. As a unique passive effect every time the Blackwater lands a level one yellow critical hit the status chance on the hit is multiplied by 1.5x, 2x for level two orange crits, and 2.5x for all tiers of red crit; levels three and higher. As Shamir's signature weapon when she wields it every time the Blackwater crits it has a 5% chance to increase the critical hit's level by one.

Signature Companion: Conqueror. A special sentinel born through a combination of technocyte and Tenno ingenuity, a lethal companion whose half-infested nature mirrors the Warframes it protects. Conqueror has two unique precepts: Detritivore and Omnivore. Detritivore releases a total of eight viral bolts from the sentinel, each one fired 45 degrees apart and able to seek out and strike an enemy within its own 45 degree 30 meter targeting cone. If no enemy exists within its range the bolt will continue traveling outward from its point of origin searching for an enemy to strike for up to four seconds. Upon striking an enemy each bolt does 150 viral damage with a guaranteed viral status proc and heals Conqueror for 25 points. Healing from this effect can restore health, shields, and overshields. This precept has a 12 second cooldown. Omnivore launches a spherical singularity several meters in diameter which travels slowly in the direction it was fired with infinite punch-through lasting for 8 seconds. All enemies it passes through are dealt 600 magnetic damage with a guaranteed magnetic status proc. As it travels the sphere absorbs enemy attacks that pass through it, adding 10% of the absorbed attack's damage to the sphere's own. This precept has a 30 second cooldown. Conqueror includes the robotic companion weapon the Borer. Borer is a held-beam style weapon that accepts rifle mods and deals pure corrosive damage with very high status chance but very low critical chance. Borer's beam can chain up to 3 nearby enemies within 7 meters from the initial target, with each chain doing 75% of the previous chain's damage. As Shamir's signature companion when she and Conqueror are used in tandem Conqueror's overshield cap is doubled.

Closing Notes: Shamir is named after a legendary worm from the legends of Solomon which could dissolve stone, and in some apocryphal tellings was given to Solomon by Asmodeus. After drafting a few much more simple and old-school warframes I feel that Shamir is a breath of fresh, complicated air. She's no Rube Goldberg warframe but I like the interactions of her kit. Also, yes, Leech is nearly a one-for-one copy of Garuda's Blood Altar and I'm not apologizing. The reason her signature melee weapon is a blade and whip is because of the so-called "unholy trinity" of parasitic worms; roundworms, hookworms, and whipworms; so I gave her a melee weapon with a whip and hook. Her signature sentinel is named after the Conqueror Worm, a poem by Edgar Allen Poe.

#warframe #original character #fan made

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sigmaelxgr · 5 months

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Armour, Bling and Stature please!

Heyyy thank you for the ask!! Armour is such a big deal I'm so glad I can elaborate on it and will be as precise as possible! I'll chose Xangr, bc thats my main, but if you'd prefer somebody else or are curious about any other OC, dont hesitate and I'll be glad to answer again. LONG POST INCOMING!!!

Xangr

armor: What kind of armor does your OC wear? Is it well kept? Bonus: where does it come from? Is there a story behind it?

There is a story behind it. It is extremely well hidden, kept at the very bottom of a Sanctuary located between Alik'r desert and Bankoraï. This place used to be an arch-old Nedic temple before it came to ruin, and the Worm Cult operating in Hammerfell established here their cell. Since the weather used to be so warm, the arts of flesh and meat conservation were not at their best, so the temple was more of a meeting place. Here, years and years of discussions between conjurators and sorcerers filled the air and the soil with Oblivion remains. A statue of Molag Bal watches over the cultists as they work tirelessly on their affairs. When the Planemeld found it's end, most of the Worm Cultists got executed. The Sanctuary was empty but never got found by the Daguerfall Covenants soldiers. Years after this, Xangr came back and hid there all the remainings of his Cult wardrobe. You can find here the typical Worm Cultist atours;

Parting with the armor is his Necromancer staff, that he refused to call from the day Mannimarco betrayed. The staff is nymicked "Binthi geehr mi jakeesh", or "Begemeht Jeb" if told quick. It means "Look At Me In The Eyes" in dunmeri-daedric (or BGMJ which is the short for it).

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

Xangr wears A LOT of jewelry. Im always drawing him with it! Most of them don't mean a lot of things for him; they are gifts of partners that trade offering for his companionship (from discussion to sex) and his wisdom. Its rare that Xangr cares for his jewelry. He does not acknowledge the price of them, and often sells some of the precious stones he earns to buy things like cookies or fruits or even hydromel to his nordic friends, having no idea that the trade is unbalenced. BUT THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS. Exceptions are: he has triangle shaped necklaces - Gahneen, the Great Truth that comes with the number Three, is a huge matter in dunmer culture. Starting from Anticipations to Tribunal for the householder, Xangr uses the triangle Gahneen to express his own triunity. The Triangle fullfilled represents them as Sigma-El, their united ideal that can never become again, and each angle of this golden shape represents one of Sigma-El's aspects, including himself. It means he, Xangr, along with Molkhun Dahkem and with the remainings of the ever-sleeping Sigma-El.

stature: What's your OC's body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it?

Xangr is... ye, Tall. He's around two meters I think, which is not this rare for mers but impressive when you know how small and frail he used to be as a child. It's rare people notice how tall he is bc of how fluid his gesture is. He spends his time being comfortably lied there, on the sofa, and cant/wont sit straight. He's, too, svelt - but he has this magnetic way to motion, like he's dancing when he walks, there's willpower and intent in each step that caresses the soil. He has something deeply subjugating, a gracious demeanor, and his clothes are made to amplify his gestures. He's a dancer after all! And a seducer. He likes to look androgyneous and works with patience on his aspect to reach this, through dresses, make-up, hairdo... He often wears large ponchos bc they're comfortable, but he can be seen with long robes of silk or velvet. He definitly enjoys the water aspect of velvet. The liquid fabric that kisses his skin. The erotism of how the light is both absorbed and reflected...

#ask meme #oc: xangr #tes #the elder scrolls #the questions were so good!#thank you i love you

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transgenderer · 1 year

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Extending her scoopfields more widely, intensifying the thermonuclear fireball that trailed her trailing Bussard engine, the ship shifted over to three gravities. This would have added almost thirty meters per second per second to a low velocity. To her present speed, it added tiny increments which grew constantly tinier. That was in outside measurement. Inboard, she drove ahead at three gee; and that measurement was equally real.

Her human payload could not have taken it and lived long. The stress on heart, lungs, and especially on body fluid balance would have been too great. Drugs might have helped. Fortunately, there was a better way.

The forces that pushed her nearer and nearer to ultimate c were not merely enormous. Of necessity, they were precise. They were, indeed, so precise that their interaction with the outside universe—matter and its own force fields—could be held to a nearly constant resultant in spite of changes in those exterior conditions. Likewise, the driving energies could safely be coupled to similar, much weaker fields when the latter were established within the hull.

This linkage could then operate on the asymmetries of atoms and molecules to produce an acceleration uniform with that of the inside generator itself. In practice, though, the effect was left incomplete. One gravity was uncompensated.

Hence weight inboard remained at a steady Earth-surface value, no matter how high the rate at which the ship gained speed. Such cushioning was only achievable at relativistic velocities. At an ordinary pace, their tau large, atoms were insufficiently massive, too skittish to get a good grip on. As they approached c, they grew heavier—not to themselves, but to everything outside their vessel—until the interplay of fields between cargo and cosmos could establish a stable configuration.

this (from tau zero) is total nonsense right? like, if youre physically accelerating at 3 g, you have to feel 3 g, and theres no way around even with handwavium unless like GR wasnt true or something? i feel like this must be nonsense

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arrowmech · 9 months

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Types Of Flow Measurement Devices

In the dynamic realm of industrial processes, the accurate measurement of fluid flow is crucial for efficiency and performance. In this article, we delve into the different types of flow measurement devices that play a pivotal role in optimizing processes across various sectors.

Electromagnetic Flow Meters: In applications where the fluid is conductive, electromagnetic flow meters shine. These devices utilize Faraday's law of electromagnetic induction to measure the velocity of the fluid. The resulting data, combined with the pipe's cross-sectional area, provides a precise measurement of the flow rate, making them ideal for industries dealing with water or other conductive liquids.

Ultrasonic Flow Meters: Employing ultrasonic waves to determine the velocity of fluid, these non-intrusive devices are gaining popularity. Transit-time and Doppler are two common types within this category. Transit-time ultrasonic meters measure the time it takes for ultrasonic signals to travel with and against the flow, while Doppler meters use the frequency shift of reflected waves to calculate flow velocity.

Coriolis Flow Meters: Renowned for their accuracy, Coriolis flow meters operate on the principle of the Coriolis effect. As fluid flows through a vibrating tube, the Coriolis effect induces a phase shift, which is proportional to the mass flow rate. This technology is particularly effective for measuring both liquids and gases with high precision.

Vortex Shedding Flow Meters: Capitalizing on the phenomenon of vortices forming downstream of a bluff body placed in the fluid stream, vortex Shedding flow meters are apt for measuring the flow of gases and liquids. The frequency of vortices shed is directly proportional to the flow rate, enabling accurate measurements.

In conclusion, the world of flow measurement devices is as diverse as the industries they serve. Each type has its strengths and applications, catering to specific needs and scenarios. As industries continue to evolve, the synergy of these devices with cutting-edge technologies ensures that accurate flow measurement remains a cornerstone for optimizing processes and enhancing overall efficiency.

#flow meter #types of flow meter #flow measuring instruments #electromagnetic flow meter

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purkinje-effect · 11 months

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 96: Lucky You

Table of Contents Third Instar, Chapter 27. Go to previous. Go to next. CWs: fictional pharmacology, misgendering and social dysphoria, continued radiation sickness sequelae, minor hygiene and sanitary squick, awkward gender navigation, underweight mention, minor self-injury mention, drug use.

“Funny, how it’s easier to see / the forest for the trees / when winter steals the leaves.” -- Shayfer James, “Godspeed”

'Choly stirred the glass mug with a swizzle stick. His lips pursed ever so slightly as he lifted the stick in intervals, only to continue stirring. He took a moment to readjust the sash of his robe. Left undisturbed, a visible separation had formed in the liquid. Atop a translucent substance floated a dark thin oil, bitingly coppery and leathery. At the bottom settled pale solids and a wad of delicate cotton scraps. Only once he decanted the inch of solution into a shot glass could he even faintly smell the ammonia which had produced this result.

Into a second shot glass, he poured the separated fluid over a coffee filter loaded with a mound of crushed coffee grounds and loose cigarette tobacco. The back of a spoon liberated lingering fluid from the filter's contents. He gathered the filter's edges with one hand, and carefully replaced it on the first shot glass. Then, he poured the increasingly fluorescent milky fluid over the filter for a second pass, and macerated the ashen grounds with the spoon to squeeze out every last drop. The pulpiness and coloration gave the impression he'd idly destroyed a highlighter.

"I know you've only just gotten situated, Mister Carey," Angel said.

He jerked in place and shoved the spoon through the filter, but managed to pull it away without spilling the solids into his concoction.

"Sorry, Sir," it continued. "Erm, hopefully you can find a stopping point? I just heard the plumbers. The initial system flush is complete. They should reopen the baths very soon."

"Bless you and your wonderful timing." Animate and wild-eyed, he repeatedly steadied himself to divide the substance into metered twin-barrel hypodermic doses. As he worked, he told the robot, "A few more minutes and I'm done. Words do not describe how badly I want to head over there."

"I've gathered your sundries, for when you're ready! We should hurry if we can. The lines will likely form quickly."

He tapped his nose and adjusted his glasses with that finger.

"I'll be quick. Quick and precise."

He brushed his fingertips across the five injectables, then reached for paper and pen for a note. The things I requested were for a batch of Daddy-O. I noticed you still store Med-X like we did downstairs. I stored these with them. Halfway through, he became more conscious and deliberate with his penmanship. I would prefer if you didn't sample them. Consider them intermediary for my whipping up what you really asked me for. He folded the note and stood to go stash the syringes in a Slocum's Joe tin with other injectable chems.

It's only fitting, he told himself smirking, to store something crafted with coffee in a coffee tin. He returned the MKX inside Angel. He found Bledsoe front-end with a patient, and waved to get his attention. The medic glanced up at him, and both he and the patient went quiet.

"Not to interrupt." He slipped the note onto Bledsoe's clipboard. "It's nothing urgent. Just thought you'd like proof I'm on task. Stepping out now."

"Music to my ears," Bledsoe told the patient with a chuckle.

On his way out the front door, Angel joined him toting a bulky, haphazard satchel it had fastened around and atop itself. It took all his composure to suppress the skip in his step, lest he dislocate or pull something between there and baths. He and Angel both struggled with the stairs, but the Mister Handy still spotted his descent to the lower level as best it could, since it could still walk itself down in whichever direction required with no loss of vision.

A cane would make this so much easier. Of course, regaining his orthotics would improve his mobility even more than a cane. …Any cane. Even a simple one.

They entered Anchor’s lobby and followed the halls back to the inn’s baths. Just as they were trying to identify those on the repair team, a lightly armored See’s guard arrived. She slouched at them.

“How come you’re already ready to go?” The young woman crossed her arms. “Hall ain’t said a word about reopening the showers.”

“Ha, yes.” A terse, toothless smile pricked at his cheeks, and he adjusted his Fashionable Glasses. She didn’t need to know he’d been sitting around the GCC all morning in his robe in anticipation of this very moment, or that Angel had been acting the part of a police scanner for developments. “I do look dressed like I’m expecting spa treatment, don’t I. Don’t think too much of it, officer. I’ve only needed to bathe going on four months now. I’m sure you understand how anxious I am to make use of the amenities once they’re repaired. You, ah. You’re here. That means something, then, doesn’t it?”

The See’s smacked her gum and cocked her jaw.

“Yeah. I was sent down here to check with the plumbers, if you gotta know.” She craned her head around the corner of the women’s side. “Hey, you interested in letting this old lady and her robot try ‘er out? You gotcha first willing test subjects.”

Various answers replied, some which seemed to know his individual by mere mention of a robotic companion. He stiffened, and pressed his palm against the cool curve of Angel’s chassis. His nerves doubled down into a full plaster smile. Something in his shoulder popped. He smiled harder. The See’s leaned against the doorway and grinned back at him.

“They’re sayin’ you can’t give that pile of scrap metal a bath, too.”

“Oh, Sir, I didn't intend to accompany you into the baths regardless. If that's all right.” It hemmed and fussed over the pack it had bundled, and produced towels and some toiletries for him. “Sir, it's exactly as I planned! I have your dirty laundry ready, Sir, and I'm most eager to head downstairs. I’ll keep my sensors attuned for you, Sir. I’ll come flying the moment you need me!”

She smacked her gum some more and wagged her thumb overhead at both doors.

“Pick a door, Methuselah.”

Angel's sensors flicked between the guard and its owner a few times. He twitched a pitiful, appreciative smile at him.

“Good luck, my friend.”

“Enjoy, Mister Carey!”

Angel pivoted and scampered off.

“Yes,” the guard murmured. “Enjoy, Mister Carey.”

“I promise not to use all the hot water,” he muttered offhand in passing. He continued muttering under his breath as he rushed through the other doorway and picked the closest stall to the door. Drawing the curtain, he exhaled hard as he identified the pungent cutting stink of fresh bleach, but he smiled to himself in gratitude that it didn't seem like it masked whether any sourness or rot lingered. Methuselah… If only she knew-- No, inconsequential. Just let it go and relax.

He disrobed and turned on the water. Without his sunglasses to dampen the chroma, he kept his eyes shut as much as possible. The showerhead burbled for a few seconds before the hiss of its spray steadied. Angel had brought him some things from the GCC’s stockroom, and he knew he’d have to reimburse Bledsoe for them. The moment the water showed signs of warming, he stepped in and let it stream over him. After a while, he adjusted the temperature, erring on the side of slightly too warm. He poured out some Sheldon shampoo[96-1] from the trial size bottle and massaged his scalp into a gentle lather. His eyes shut, and his mind melted into soft focus.

Leave it to Sheldon not to petrify or go rancid with age. I wonder if it's shortcut for anything…

‘Choly knew his work order hadn't called for Daddy-O specifically, and he certainly hadn't expected to start with it of all things, but hell if he wouldn't need it. He’d meant every word of his note. He wished he could have started with simple, straightforward products. Med-X, Mentats, Stimpaks… Yes, that did put a time constraint on it, didn’t it? Sticks would insist that they replenish the Melancholia before they headed out. Realistically, they couldn’t reestablish the Blood Drive before they left, but ideally, they could do so once they returned. They both would rest easier if they could secure more donors than Sticks in the future.

He rinsed his hair. Shampooing a second time, he really put his fingernails into it.

A suggestion twinged in the back of his mind: Why not ask the Clark sisters if they can help source blood?

He flinched as his nails grazed too roughly. Soap stung his scalp and the corners of his squinted eyes.

Once he’d rinsed his hair, and then rinsed his eyes, he unwrapped the bar of soap and grabbed for his washcloth. As he worked at scrubbing himself down, he slowed down a bit, and took especial care with his left arm. He bent down and forward out of the water, to peer at the drain, and hemmed at the visible mess of hair in the floor.

My age is catching up to me. RadAway can only undo so much. His mouth skewed as he continued to slowly rub at his chest. Definitely not the worst thing this tile sees today.

Even if they couldn't convince Bledsoe to let him borrow his phlebotomy equipment, they could still carry on like they had at Lockreed for one more batch if they absolutely had to. Not that Sticks would be thrilled, mind you, but at least Sticks had amassed all the other necessary ingredients.

Am I being selfish, for asking to come along? I'm not really contributing anything to the entourage. I'd just be another mouth to feed, and another head to keep track of. Angel won't allow us to get separated, but even if I would consider it, the only souls at the Lane that I would entrust with Angel's well-being will all be crammed into a royal blue Chryslus Coupe. I should stay behind and help the nursing staff watch the GCC in Bledsoe's absence, shouldn't I? I could even get a head start on those chems.

But no, he reminded himself that Sticks, charismatic as ever, had convinced him he had a lot in common with Bledsoe: his breaks are always more of a shuffling of projects, never fully setting everything down. Even if 'Choly didn't help with the caravan directly, he and Bledsoe both needed to get out of the house and decompress. This would be a vacation for 'Choly, too.

Still, he couldn't shake worrying for Angel's safety. The Fog would be thinner, with less risk of weather complications, but pockets of weak magnetic fields floated all throughout the Hinter. He could only hope that, in a worst case scenario, Haidinger might grant him some degree of extended access to the robotics workstation.

He jerked the dial to cold to jolt distressing thoughts. Breathing heavy, he eventually eased the water back up to lukewarm.

"Buddy!" A man rapped on the stall wall. "You drowning in there or what?"

His larynx snagged.

"Yesyes, I'm quite all right." He cleared his throat when his voice broke. "I'll be right out."

Dejected, he eyed the bottle of conditioner on the stepstool.

Next time. Tomorrow even, perhaps.

He let the water run over his scalp for another minute before relenting for the day. He steadied himself on the wall of the stall while he toweled his hair. He patted himself dry, then wrapped up in the towel and tied the thin cotton robe over that. Slipping his glasses back on, he emerged with his toiletries and shuffled over to squeeze in at the nearest available sink.

The baths had filled up more quickly than he'd expected. Or maybe, he had taken that much longer than he thought. Probably both.

He rationed out the barest smidge of toothpaste onto a handcrafted toothbrush with a reed handle, wet it, and, as he brushed, tried to reassure himself that it had to be brand new.

That batch of Daddy-O, though. He still couldn't believe his Luck, that he could yield any new skills or comprehension from a single sitting with the MKEXCEED Papers, let alone produce an elusive and highly desirable prewar chem on the first try. He hoped the efficacy of the drug could be trusted, but it would do in a pinch.

Skimming the Merrick had gotten him nowhere brainstorming what might interest Bledsoe. Just about anything remotely interesting hit the roadblock of scarcity. Patent precursors only presented half the trouble, at that: so many more constituents would either have long since deteriorated if he could even get his hands on them, or synthesizing them would require sophisticated equipment on par with that of a facility like the Deenwood Compound. A pharmacopeia like the Merrick could provide only so much chemistry data, especially one published at a time when the country hadn't yet suffered from rationing or shortages. The reference text catalogued straightforward monographs using industry-accessible prewar chemical compounds, and nothing more.

The MKX, on the other hand, chronicled history and development for hundreds of compounds, dozens of on- and off-label applications, postwar-inclusive contraindications, and where applicable, means of manufacture. Many chems' entries cross-referenced other sections of the text, as the volume of continuous feed paper had been organized into units based on the chems' properties. It comprised thirteen sections over ten units; while seven of the biggest units referred to the traits of SPECIAL, the largest was of course reserved for the eponymous X family.

I wonder how much I contributed to the selection on cyclomorphine. Following the logic that the chemists that contributed to this text would have excelled in their given specialty, what quality did Deenwood believe I excelled at engineering? Making everyone around me hurt as much as possible?

He still couldn't shake the tactile sensation of trying to skim a fifteen-hundred page text that had been printed double-sided on continuous feed paper and snapped into a binder without perforating the pages. He'd done his best not to waste time right then peeling the feed margin off every single fore-edge… but he'd certainly gotten distracted aweing over the seemingly impossible collation magic of such a mammoth print job.

He expectorated and sighed, continuing to brush. He noted a bit of blood in the sink basin, but RadAway recovery aside, he expected as much after not having had a toothbrush for months.

He rinsed his brush, then his mouth. He gargled, and didn't even notice himself swallow instead of spitting it out. He pocketed his glasses and splashed his face again, then dried off with the edge of the towel at his hip. He glanced up to find anyone who'd noticed his presence was doing everything they could to ignore him. They all faced away from him, even where the bath, showers, and urinals seemed more difficult to use. He still decided to use the facilities before he left.

Thank God they've been keeping up on the toilet paper.

When he reemerged, there were no free sinks. He slouched, but the grievance of his back and shoulder corrected his posture before he could even make his way out the door. Handwashing just wasn't worth everyone else's discomfort causing him discomfort. He promised himself he'd at least wash them before he ate anything.

The See's guard managed a hefty line by the time he squeezed by her. He shook his head to himself in chagrined recognition. Even while relaxing with overdue basic care, he had found himself retracing the day up to that point without even noticing. He forbid himself to resume the thought.

He returned to his room and untied the robe to free the towel. Then, he sat on the end of the bed and towel dried at his hair. A lyrical murmur followed while he trimmed his nails: the pair of clippers Angel had found were a miracle compared to having used the Komàr to peel back the overgrowth for months. As was typical of his winter, the officer's gloves may have steadied his hand, but they had done nothing to prevent his fingertips from looking like he'd been peeling potatoes drunk with a paring knife.

Angel is as resourceful and observant as any of them, even when it isn't operating at its best.

His throat snagged again.

"Don't worry, my friend. We'll get you well."

Soon after, impatient rapping sounded against the door. He shut his robe, towel draped around his neck, and eased open the door. Fresnel stood before him in a mesh blouse and lace skirt, her white embroidered stole doubled around her neck as a cowl. She eyed him, gripping one of Angel's tendrils in one fist and a pair of walnut-sized armillaria in the other.

"What is the meaning of this," she blurted out. "Why are you two separated!"

"Thank you for escorting Angel, but everything is just fine. You knew right where I was, didn't you?"

"Of course, Sir! I hate to have upset the Hierosacristan, but at least I have your laundry mostly finished! There are a few more effects that haven't yet dried. It's not long now." When Fresnel relinquished it, Angel rushed into the room to begin unpacking its satchel on the bed. "I'm always so pleased how effective the Lane's laundry methods are. They've truly innovated in many ways to compensate for their lack of technology!"

"The trouble is you didn't know where it was," Fresnel growled, through a smile. She stepped in and shut the door, then leaned against it with her arms crossed. "You know what a risk that was, to let that Core out of your sight."

He bristled, but did his best to disregard her acuity, instead scrutinizing Angel's fresh laundry with a beaming grin.

"Even if someone were to figure out that Angel has the Core, it has a hidden compartment. And even if you knew how to get inside Angel, you wouldn't find where that is."

"Is that a challenge?"

He cleared his throat.

"Not as such. I take it you came looking for me because Haidinger is ready for us finally."

"I did."

"I'm not going anywhere until I'm dressed. Not making that mistake twice in a week. I don't mind you staying in the room, but I need a few minutes."

"I can wait in the upper level lobby. Don't worry about getting presentable. Be comfortable. We have much to take care of."

"I, yes."

He fumbled an exact response, and she let herself out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, Angel swept in to commence assisting its owner.

"Do forgive me, Sir. It was my idea that we divide and conquer. I didn't think there might be any cause for alarm."

He slipped on the Vault Suit for simplicity. He couldn't pinpoint why the garment felt off. It wasn't too stiff, and had not shrunken. He dismissed the discomfort: I just got too used to how it felt wearing it four months straight. It probably feels wrong because it's clean now.

"No apologies. I wouldn't have anything clean to wear without your efforts. Nothing happened. Nothing was likely to happen."

Angel handed him one piece of Surgical Leather at a time. The laundry methods the Mister Handy had applied had slipped the fan lacing's preset tension, so they had to work together to readjust the fit both for sizing and stability. He noticed that the straps were mostly tightened one or more notches past how he had initially worn the orthotics, but he did not mention it.

"Funny," Angel eventually commented. "Funny how implausible some things seem to be."

He sat up from brushing out his hair, cataracted eyes wide.

"Angel, what are you talking about."

"I'm sure it's nothing. You know me. I worry about simply everything."

"Please tell me. You can talk to me."

"The Hierosacristan does know how to open my compartment. I can't tell you whether she knows about whatever secret compartment you mentioned--and I imagine that's due to some kind of purposeful programming blind spot--but there's no question that you should probably discount my storage as inscrutable security, especially since I seem to have misplaced my attachments."

His officer's gloves and the dampness of his hair facilitated him pinning up his streaked locks. He managed a loose french twist with only four bobby pins. As he returned his sunglasses to his face, Angel presented him his Pip-Boy. He latched it back on, and held the power button so it could resync with his biometrics. He smiled at his robot.

"You haven't misplaced them. This place disarms its patrons. Even you." He let go of his knees and pushed off to stand. He took the lead on their way out, and patted its chassis. "And I'm not concerned. If she wanted to take something out of you, you would have noticed her removing it from you."

"Like you said, I'm sure it's nothing."

"It's nothing. I would like another Mentat before we head out, please."

"Sorry to hear your headache is still holding fast." It gave him the tin, and he handed it back after shaking one from it. "At least there is medication that eases them."

"It's more that I anticipate other headaches," he admitted, as he chewed the tablet. "Hopefully Fresnel and Haidinger will be in good spirits."

"We'll have a grand day of it, Sir. No worries!"

He gave it a small smile.

"We'll do our best, anyway."

They rejoined Fresnel in the lobby, where she then escorted them to an employees restricted hallway. Haidinger awaited them there.

“There you are.” He gave them a sour look with outstretched palms. “I have two ground rules. First, the Core.”

“Right, yes.”

‘Choly turned to open up Angel. He stopped mid-action, however. Fresnel opened her side-bag and produced the STAR Core herself. She handed it over to him with somewhat indifferent deference. His gaze shifted to meet Angel’s, and he pressed his lips together.

“And the other?” Fresnel asked, of equal impatience.

Haidinger did not answer her until he’d stored the Core away safely in his own bag.

“It’s eleven now. You must be done before three.”

“Four hours?” ‘Choly blurted out. “Just a scan might--"

“--be plenty,” Fresnel said. She quirked her lips at him. “Come along. We’ll see how much we can accomplish today.”

Haidinger turned away from them and removed one glove. He pressed his hand against a region of the wall, seemingly to feel for a certain panel. Eventually, a section of the wall inset a few inches, becoming a pocket door which rolled inside the wall. He looked over his shoulder to them as he put his glove back on.

“Don’t make me regret trusting you both.”

“Are you not coming with us?” ‘Choly asked.

“I have other matters to attend to. I cannot be absent for hours without someone questioning my whereabouts.”

He nodded vaguely, and turned to follow the Hierosacristan before the door could shut on them.

“He won’t admit it,” she told them with lyric, “but the main reason is, he thinks it’s likely to be boring.”

The narrow corridor quickly took a corner turn. After that point, fluorescent lights illuminated their way. The two squinted. Fresnel tucked her armillaria into her belt. Once ‘Choly’s eyes adjusted, he took in the dense, exposed wiring, conduits, and pipes of the utility corridor’s walls and ceiling. They eventually reached a dim room where a mainframe computer lined the walls.

‘Choly’s jaw dropped as he took it all in. Large-scale computers weren’t all too uncommon, but this one seemed so out of place, all things considered, for it to be so large. He hadn’t expected the maintenance area to share a space with the mainframe, and he certainly hadn’t expected more of the mainframe than a terminal computer.

“Can you see to work?” Fresnel asked him.

He stood before a pair of secondary terminals, pressing the back of his hand against the underside of his nose at the smell of metallic dust.

“Hm? It’s too dark to work by the light, and I don’t think it’s dark enough to work by armillary.”

“Give me a moment.” She vanished down a second corridor.

“I suppose I could get in position, Sir.” Angel walked itself up onto the platform of the robotics workbench, located in the corner directly beside the two terminals. “Oh, it’s going to be just wonderful to get a once-over from you. I dearly appreciate the attention.”

“Of course. You know I’d do just about anything for you.” It’s my fault you’re all banged up in the first place.

The fluorescent hum intensified, and the brightness of the space followed suit soon after. He took a seat and leaned over the arms of the workbench to plug Angel in. Then, he sat back and turned to the terminal and plugged his Pip-Boy keyprong into it.

“See you in a few hours, Angel.”

“Just a quick nap, ha-ha!”

Once the Mister Handy had powered down, he got to work. He started with preliminary diagnostic scans. Tethered to his place, he scanned the space for any tools he would need to fix Angel’s thruster. He quickly got lost in the size of the mainframe. He shook his head of it, and stood to lean over to open Angel’s compartment. He pushed his effects aside to reach the false bottom compartment. His heart stuttered with his hands on the lid. He gently pulled out the officer’s coat, just enough to unfold one end. His eyes widened to feel something stiff in the fabric: not a decoy object, but a STAR Core. He tucked it back inside, and sat back down with an even greater unease.

He told Angel, “I should have brought something to read."

A few minutes later, Fresnel walked back through with a clipboard, engrossed in the walls. ‘Choly presumed she was holding another conversation with the architecture, and left her to her work at first.

“Hierosacristan,” he hesitated. She stopped pacing about. “Would it be all right if we talked?”

“Did you have something in mind?”

“I don’t want to distract you from your studies. If it’s not a good time--"

“--I can make time.” She finished her train of thought and invited discussion with an attentive glance tossed his way. She turned a fresh page and continued. “This sounds important.”

“We haven’t really gotten a chance to talk in private just yet.” His ears rang, to have stumbled into the timing of it. He thought again to how his shower went that morning. “You disclosed something quite personal about yourself before I left Ant Lane in October. I don’t think that anyone would know that about you, without you telling them. I-- I don’t feel convincing. How do you manage it?”

She stopped sketching long enough to process the nature of the conversation he endeavored to have.

“Nonsense,” she snipped, not irate but rather dismissive. “Even if that were true, what does it matter? You know what you are. Atom knows what you are. You sound like you yourself think your identity is some kind of pretense. Some kind of act.”

“Still,” he insisted. “You’re very convincing. I’ve had trouble believing that you’re anything like me. I’m not asking you to prove anything, though, I swear. I do believe you. I suppose… I’m envious that, if you’ve got to be transsexual, your genetics are still extremely in your favor. Forget I said anything. You probably never have to deal with people questioning or misunderstanding you like that. And you probably never deal with feeling gross for how you are.”

For some time, she resumed intently annotating on her clipboard. He sat on his hands to keep from fidgeting with his finger joints. She eventually let out a long rough exhale.

“Why would you think I never struggle with either of those things? Anyone can have those feelings and experiences on occasion, no matter how they are.”

“Well, how do you deal with it, then?”

“I’ve embraced the things that I like best about myself. I’m not around other people long enough for it to really matter whether they understand who I am. It’s gotten easier in the time since I’ve become a hierosacristan. Most Atomites recognize my features and my armor, and know who I am by my status. Still, for how honored I am to be able to wear my travel gear, there are times I like to wear something less high-profile. I needn't wear my devotion to have it. And I needn't wear specific things to justify that I'm a woman.”

“Well said.” He got a bit distant inside himself, folding his hands in his lap with a faint smile. “People like us aren’t anything new, you know. There were a few medical procedures available before the war for things of that nature, but they were costly and not well refined. I’d be surprised if any of that science has developed further since that time. I fear I missed out.”

“This is all because you don’t think it’s possible I’ve pursued medical treatments?” She flustered, and had to sit on the side of a mainframe section. “I’ve had some access to what’s called an Auto-Doc--but it’s dangerous to reach, and I’ve only gone to it three times in my life.”

He picked up his jaw to stare with indignity.

“Bullshit. Auto-Docs couldn’t do that.” When she shrank back at the accusation, he dialed himself back to mere disbelief. “Something that could cure me of my me, I’d risk my life for it! It’s not somewhere only Daughters can go, is it? Or at least, only Atomites?”

“--It is. That’s right.” She stared off at the polished concrete a moment.

She had a reason for guarding a straight answer, one ‘Choly couldn’t guess. He'd become an Atomite in a heartbeat if it meant being able to access such a treatment, but she hadn't meant it. When she found him eyeing her expectantly, trying to parse what she could be avoiding saying, she smiled and patted the clipboard in her lap.

“I’m woman enough to be a Daughter,” she told herself, her enthusiasm swelling gradually as she spoke. “I’m not the only Daughter like myself, either. The Gift seems somewhat genetic, and associated more often with this type of body. Oh, do tell me whether you too can hear the Granite!”

“What, I, no. No, I can’t.” He hemmed. “I’m sure that’s something only women can do.”

Her enthusiasm faded in an instant, and she froze in place. She abruptly stood and excused herself to continue studying in the corridor.

“Thank you for turning the light back on,” he called off after her.

She eventually replied, “De rien.”

Before ‘Choly could get tangled up in the taste of both feet in his mouth, the robotics workbench clicked and hummed. Its arms engaged and lowered. He checked the scan progress on the terminal. Primary data sector integrity looked to have recovered to 96%, but memory integrity still sat at 84%. Several main systems had gone offline due to hardware malfunctions, not programming. He drummed his fingers on the short desktop in thought. He input the commands for the hydraulic arms to cradle Angel’s chassis and lift it up.

“I guess my first order of business is mechanical maintenance after all.” He unplugged his keyprong from the terminal, and stood to collect tools. As he knelt down and got to dismantling the thruster collar with a ratchet wrench, he chuckled to himself. “Ahh, if only it were as easy for a human to swap out body parts as it is to service components on a robot. Everyone would benefit from that, I think.”

Fresnel came back through lost in thought, very clearly listening with her full faculties. Where she’d been distraught in October, now she seemed awed and fascinated. He glanced up at her from where he’d sat down in the floor of the circular workbench, cleaning out all the mud and debris from Angel’s pilot light well and exhaust ports.

“Did you ask if I can hear it because you hear it, Fresnel? What’s it telling you?”

“That’s between me and the Granite,” she uttered aside, as though answering him threatened to interrupt the conversation she held with the building.

“Okay, I can’t leave it alone.” He threw his hands in his lap. “You gave the Sacristan a STAR Core. Where did it come from?”

She smiled at him, though her gaze seemed a mile behind him.

“I couldn't risk the chance you'd show up empty-handed. He told me you mentioned the existence of more. I’ve had people scouting for beached crates, and paying them extra if the crates are retrieved unopened. I have not told him that I’ve done this, or that non-Children are working on retrieving them. I got lucky this morning. My scavvers found a crate. I decided I’d give him one of mine, so that we could keep yours.” She began her return to Earth. “We have to find them first, so that no one else can bring attention to them.”

“You found one of our crate--" He clammed up, recognizing that she not only possessed their car now, but their bargaining chips as well. With a sorry tone, he asked her, “...How is your assessment going? I take it you found the breaker back there.”

“The generator is undamaged. Its model takes fusion cores. Several need replacement, but I only brought one with me.”

“It takes… seven, wasn’t it? I certainly thought it was odd the blueprints didn’t call for a full reactor, for how much power it must take for the mall to operate off-grid. But, I’m no engineer. Maybe it makes more sense to you.”

“How did you know that without seeing the interface?”

“I’ve read the AEGIS manual.”

“And you have this… manual with you? Where? It wasn’t in your robot.”

“So you did go in its compartment. I will admit, I thought you took the STAR Core from it when you gave the other one to the Sacristan. But no, I don’t think the manual survived the flooding. We were packing everything up when-- Well, when we got washed away.”

“We will endeavor even harder to reclaim the crates, then. You ask if it makes more sense to me, yes. The generator only uses three at a time, and alternates the load to recharge the rest.”

“You said you only brought one. Are you able to get more?”

“I’m not worried. They’re easy enough to find.”

She restlessly reviewed all the notes she’d taken so far. He got everything cleaned out of Angel that he could, replaced its thruster collar, and eased himself up to sit in the office chair.

“Sorry if I overstepped before. It’s no excuse, but I haven’t had the opportunity to talk to someone else about gender issues before.”

“Oh, no, no.” She shook her head with a taut, pursed grimace, and flipped back to the first page to set it all flat. “It’s not that. If half the FC’s have been dead, that means that, all this time, the Lane’s shields have been at half power, and that the building will function even better once I can replace the generator’s dead FCs. But… that’s only if we can get the building repaired in full. It has me still thinking about the Mayor’s announcement earlier today.”

His head picked up, and he shifted from apology to attention.

“I must have missed that while I was in the shower.”

“The Hall must approve all future alterations to the building. Knott said that the plumbing was the last vital asset required to sustain interior living conditions, and that everything else is ‘purely cosmetic.’ I have not yet spoken with the Sacristan how we should proceed, or whether to proceed. I wished to study this space before I talked to him.”

“I understand why I can't, but why can’t you both just… tell Knott about the AEGIS?”

“The fewer non-Atomites know about the workings of this building, the better. I do agree with Haidinger on this much. It matters not, from whose mouth it comes.”

Hydraulic components in the Robotics Workbench clicked as Angel powered back on. It attempted to reignite its pilot, only to clink back down on the lift. 'Choly and Fresnel both turned to it, at the ready to assist as needed. It tried again. Just as 'Choly stood to approach, his heart stuttered. A third series of clicks and hisses yielded a successful thruster flame. He eased back into the chair with relief, and clipped his Pip-Boy keyprong into the terminal to load the results of his tinkering.

"General Atomics International Mister Handy, 2066 model, nickname 'Angel.' Custom order serialization 33013021102113. Good afternoon, Sir."

"Welcome back. I did better repairing your data than I thought. Your hydraulics could use some additional calibration, but you're afloat. I hate to say it, but I can't clean out your condensators today. We're on a strict time table."

"I appreciate any attention my systems can get, especially when you're able to lend your own. I will say, however…" It set itself back onto the workbench and extinguished its flame. "My current fuel tank is almost exhausted. I should preserve what I have until it's absolutely necessary."

"Good thinking, Angel," he praised with hollow reflex, not looking up from the Pip-Boy screen. "We'll locate a refill and top you off next time. Hopefully this will tide you over until later this week."

"I'm confident in your repairs, Mister Carey--and confident that I can better look after you now."

"We have a lot more work to do," he reminded it. He placed a weak hand on it, and gave it just as weak a smile. "I know I have my diagnostics software to help guide us to what needs repairs and tuning, but don't hesitate to compile a list of anything you'd like us to work on for you as well, my friend. You deserve to have the body and programming that you want to have. The best I can give you."

"I'm General Atomics' finest. I would be hard pressed to believe another in my line was constructed and maintained as well as I."

A hesitant "I'll do my best" was the only objection to form.

He glanced over to see Fresnel still stood by, observing him work. She cleared her throat.

"I study all manner of nuclear technologies from before the Great Division, including robots like your Angel." A vague smile warmed in her cheeks. "It's… nice, to see someone regard equipment with the same tenderness as a loved one. I don't often encounter others with any familiarity with nuclear devices, especially not in the Hinter."

"Because of the Fog. Right."

"Technology is human in origin. If it cannot withstand Atom's breath, then its inversion reminds it what it is, sinks it back to nuclear fuel." She sighed, but her smile remained. "This building is… a rarity. I'm having trouble believing I'm standing in a mainframe room well within the range of the Fog, and the computer still works. Angel seems just as special, somehow."

"You… agree, then, that the AEGIS must be repaired?"

She stared at him with resolve.

"Of course. The only way I would ever approve of the Granite bellowing itself apart is if it could… become manifest."

‘Choly scrunched his nose a bit, to stifle a chuckle.

“But we saw it. We all saw it. Some of us remember it. You remember, don’t you? I got the impression you’re one of the few who didn’t forget that day.”

Fresnel’s shoulders sank in resignation. Her eyes shut as her head tilted side to side.

“Another topic he and I disagree on. I held onto my memory, yes. As a Daughter, I cannot disclose what I saw. Anything intended to be known to anyone else, they will recall on their own in time.”

He bristled. I’m going to regret promising Haidinger a copy of my transcript, aren’t I?

“You do understand,” she pressed, “that we cannot tell Mayor Knott about this… AEGIS, as you called it. Her dominion is the people, not the building in which they live, no matter how much she and her kin believe otherwise. It is for Atom’s Children only, to be intimate with this place.”

“You’re not going to try to kill me, too, are you? Fuck-Me-in-the-Mouth, I’m not going to tell, all right…” He huffed and initiated the hydraulics to lower Angel and disengage. “What even is it about this place you’re all excited over. I understand the Granite is special to your lot, but that’s just the Granite.”

Angel crawled out of the robotics workbench, but kept quiet.

“The structure is one of the only examples of architecture that didn’t only use Granite, but was designed for the Granite. We know it is special, but we do not yet know how exactly those before the Great Division could have known this much about how a nuclear Nor’easter would summon sacred borealis.”

Every attempt to ply her for explanations set him back three steps. He pinched at his eye sockets behind his sunglasses.

“Then he hasn’t shared with you what he knows about the architect or caretaker?”

“I know that he knows more than he tells me. Still, something bothers me.”

His head perked, and he leveled his gaze as he turned to her.

“What is it? Everything we discuss back here, stays between us.”

She hesitated to extrapolate for some time. The words fell out with an uncertain tremor.

“There’s… simply too much copper here. I’ve never… seen so much copper. It concerns me… It has to be why he refuses to permit anyone back here. He knows it would do more than concern many Atomites.”

“The copper is why Lockreed deemed it too costly to manufacture other AEGIS structures. There are other sites that use STAR Cores, but as far as I’ve read in Lockreed documents, this is the only AEGIS structure they made. Copper was the first precious metal affected by war rationing. Steel, aluminum, and tin came next.”

Her hesitance melted into a resigned grief. A sad sliver of a smile stitched across her eyes.

“He allowed me back here because he knows I won’t tell anyone, either. And that I would ensure you understand just how crucial it is that you also tell no one.”

He shook his head, too. He didn’t quite follow, but he knew not to question that she’d confided in him something of extreme delicateness.

“I doubt there’s anyone else here with the engineering experience to understand what copper’s even for. I don’t even really grasp most of what I read in the manual.”

Her smile broadened, and the glint in her eye returned.

“I will manage without the manual. For now, I have plenty of information to study. Are you at a stopping point? We should get back to the Concourse soon.”

He mirrored her smile, and unplugged his Pip-Boy so he could stand. He consciously postured his back, and started toward the corridor.

“I think we’ll manage until we’re allowed another visit to the work station, yes. Fresnel?”

“I’m coming.”

“I just wanted to thank you. I know you don’t think I understand, and I probably don’t. But… thank you. For talking with me, and trying to make me understand. I would understand if you had no patience for me.”

“And I needn’t remind that patience is a virtue,” Angel said. “You’re quite virtuous, I would say.”

She chuckled.

“Then you grasp just how much patience is required to contend with your owner?”

“Yes, well. I’m sure you’d be a bit opaque and difficult, too, if you were cryogenically frozen for two centuries, and woke up to the current state of things.”

“You know I was difficult before all that.” Awkward exasperation cracked his voice.

“You’re… prewar?” They stopped when ‘Choly could no longer hear her steps reverberate. “By Atom, it all makes sense.”

“What, exactly, makes sense?”

“Your demeanor matches many Undying I have met. I thought all this time it’s because they transfix you so, and that you emulated them in your speech.”

“I’m sure you don’t know how much I take that as flattery.”

“I don’t compare many to the Undying.” She flashed him a broad smile.

She tossed a fusion cell from one of her pockets onto the floor and cracked it against the polished concrete under her heel. Then, she picked it up and traced along the panels and conduits on the wall until she found the sweet spot. Her fingers tensed to squeeze the battery casing ever so slightly. The mechanisms in the panel disengaged, and the pocket door slid toward them a few inches before it would permit them to exit.

“Why would a shopping mall have doors that unlock when exposed to radiation?” Angel mumbled. “It always strikes me so singularly.”

Fresnel clenched the broken battery in her fist, savoring the success, and took the lead on their way cutting back through Anchor Inn.

“Something fried the circuitry on several hydraulic doors in the Lane,” she explained without her stride skipping a beat. “The only way for them to complete their connection is to expose them to a small burst of concentrated gamma radiation. To use a prewar term… it takes hotwiring.”

“And here I thought the Sacristan’s secret interrogation room was sealed with occult magic,” ‘Choly joked.

“I suppose he might object to repairing everything in the Lane.”

‘Choly sniffed, and scrunched his nose to push up his sunglasses.

“Only the most important parts.”

“Only the most important parts,” Angel and Fresnel echoed in near-unison.

“When do you suppose he’ll let us in there again? I’d like to use the workbench one more time before we leave.”

“Even if it isn’t tomorrow, there is only so much he can do if Atom wishes to whisper open the door for us.”

“I know I don’t need to say it, but be careful.” His breath stuttered a bit. “The last thing anyone in this place needs is to get on Haidinger’s bad side.”

“You needn’t get on mine, either, Monsieur Melancholy.” She turned to face him, gave him a short jerking bow and a sneer, and clicked her heels. “You might find there are more painful things than being branded by Atom’s Light. But I like you. And I like helping you.”

“Well. You do know what you’re doing. I didn’t say it to give you the impression I distrusted you.”

“I get the feeling we trust each other more than either of us thinks. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.” Angel gave a royal wave, though she didn’t see it. “Did that go well? I can’t tell if that went well.”

‘Choly continued on to the GCC. He appreciated that the relocation meant he could avoid stairs.

“I’d like it if you kept my prewar status between us in the future, if you could.”

“You disclose it for shock value all the time, Sir. I figured it was fair game. Did I upset you?”

“No, no. And I don’t think she took it the wrong way. I just have a feeling there are some who will.”

“...Like Mister Jared.”

“Yes, like Mister Jared.”

“M-- Melancholy!” Bledsoe spotted them from his desk in the back corner, and scrambled to rush over to them. He quietened his tone, and shielded onward glances with one hand to the side of his face. “Melancholy, you’ve got to help me.”

“Did something happen while I was out?”

“I took a dose of that Daddy-O you left for me. Now, two of my patients won’t speak to me.” Anxious and gnashing apart the filter of his cigarette, he snatched ‘Choly by both wrists. “You’ve got to fix this. Make me some DayTripper. I’m begging you.”

“Unhand him, Mister Bledsoe.”

‘Choly squirmed. Static prickled in his ears.

“I. I can’t.”

“You have to! This is your fault.” Bledsoe dragged him further into the Clinic, and he could hardly keep up with his gait.

“What! How is it my fault! Have you never taken that stuff before?” ‘Choly remembered to keep his voice down. The moment they were in the back end, Bledsoe turned him loose. ‘Choly shut the door once Angel had joined them. “Have you never taken that stuff before? Why would you take it when you had social obligations!”

“Don’t lecture me, you prick. Not when I think I’ve fucked up this bad. I don’t need this from you on top of getting heat from my patients.” He lit up a fresh cigarette, and began to pace the narrow hall while he finished off the previous one to discard it. “Just tell me what you need in order to make it. I won’t let Sticks be in charge of the price tag, but I’ll let you.”

“I mean to say I literally can’t make DayTripper.”

Liam erupted with a scoff, and vanished into the dining room.

“Yet you can magically make one of the rarest prewar chems out of, let me get this straight--a typewriter ribbon, cigarettes, and coffee.” He heard the snap of a pull tab can. “What, do you need seven rare colors of sewing thread, the piss of an extinct animal, and a photograph of your mother?”

“Low humor, to jeer about one’s mother,” Angel muttered.

Despite how small he felt to be on the receiving end, ‘Choly still stood as straight and firm as he could in the doorway.

“A degree in Quantum Chemistry. I don’t have one.”

“--A what. You made that up just now.”

“I wish I had. It’s too bad I haven’t got any MREs left.”

Bledsoe massaged his nose bridge with his smoking hand, and gesticulated with his Vim.

“I haven’t heard of any Emery chem. Talk some sense, man. Just fix this. You’re some kind of a walking chem encyclopedia. I’ll take any chem you think would help.”

‘Choly squinted through Bledsoe’s meltdown. Eventually, a sliver of a smirk quirked one corner of his mouth before vanishing altogether. He took a seat at the laminated table, and motioned for Bledsoe to join him. Bledsoe preferred to remain standing, so he could pace.

“Now, you meant it when you promised you’d handle ingredient procurement for me.”

“Whatever you need, Sticks and I can probably scrape together just about anything.”

‘Choly folded his hands on the tabletop.

“You’ll let me borrow your phlebotomy equipment. Before we leave.”

“Done. I can already feel you bleeding me dry.”

“And does the area grow Tarberry?”

“Is that all?”

‘Choly gestured for Bledsoe to hand him the Steno and pen from the counter where he’d been working that morning, and he got to writing with a playful murmur.

“Oh, this grocery list comes second nature. Mind you, I told you where the Daddy-O was, but I did not tell you to use any of it. If you can get me the brand name, I might be persuaded to share.”

“You’re supposed to be making me chems!”

“The Mentats and Melancholia are medically necessary. What I make with this list will be… occupationally necessary.”

“Occupationally--"

“--I relied on several chems for my tenure in the US Army. Either you will help me function at the capacity you’re demanding of me, or you and Sticks will have nothing of interest to show for it. You and I, we’re intelligent men. But, we’re no quantum chemists.”

‘Choly met gazes with him. Bledsoe soured first, and took another drink of his Vim.

“What I’m hearing is you promised me you could do something, when you can’t. Can you do this or not? And how the hell did you make the Daddy-O, if it’s so wicked beyond you?”

‘Choly marinated on a way to explain his morning succinctly, relishing the ability to bend the medic’s arm a bit. He drummed at the table a bit in thought.

When he had browsed the MKEXCEED Papers for ideas, he had started with an arbitrary flip to Unit VII: Luck-Adjacent Chems. Only DayTripper had come to mind at the time, as far as chems he knew and that he might find in this unit. Drugstores commonly displayed the chem for sale alongside No-Gesta, with the tandem slogan ‘Get Lucky, with None of the Headache.’[96-2] Its entry in the MKX only listed the standard synthesis via precursor, and synthesis via a shorthand formula.

Now, the MKX seemed to posit two avenues to increase postwar accessibility to the chemistry for its encyclopedic pharmacology. Since Deenwood had allegedly compiled and revised this data for nearly two centuries, they had hit similar obstructions in their studies as he had with the Merrick Pharmacopeia. The primary proposed method substituted the scarce compounds. Through reverse analysis, the authors had deduced everyday sources for otherwise inaccessible compounds. He had not yet determined the means to decipher the instructions provided in the other method.

If it weren’t some manner of pharmacological shorthand, it had to be a cipher. It more resembled the unruly marriage of advanced mathematics and sentence diagrams than it did any chemistry he knew, and it nearly read as alchemical. Why did the formula lines curl and intersect in places? He regretted never learning calculus, but also supposed it wouldn’t have helped him with this regardless.

Still, it had given him such a headache just trying to scan it for any command of methodology that he’d justified taking Mentats that morning. The lights hadn’t been bothering him with the sunglasses, but these formulas? He dreaded what it would take to inevitably cook up √X-Cell for Sticks when the need arose.

But here, Bledsoe’s predicament provided him the perfect opportunity to study quantum chemistry and understand what it stood to represent. Just having access to the MKX method of shortcut constituents like he’d pulled with the Daddy-O had been huge, sure, but Sticks wasn’t the only one of them compelled to procure these bizarre recently declassified substances. He and Sticks had a deal, and he intended to make good on it to the best of his abilities… and hell, if it wouldn’t provide him a satisfyingly maddening challenge to boot.

“My laundry list there is no substitute for any PhD, but using the chems it'll craft for study is the next closest thing.” He smiled a little too wide. “You’ll find I’m capable of anything, given the right chem.”

Bledsoe draped himself down on the table, eyes desperate with interest.

“And me? Chopped liver?”

“You're asking if you could make a chemist out of you? We'll see. I have the feeling we both stand to learn a great deal from one another. Don't worry. You'll come back from our vacation in fantastic shape.”

"When we get back?" Any begging that lingered in Bledsoe's voice deflated. "We don't leave for days… Ohh, I can't wait to leave!"

"Maybe next time, you'll listen to me when I say look, don't touch."

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[96-1] Sheldon shampoo. Analogous to Breck shampoo, one of the oldest commercial shampoo products. Originally formulated in Springfield, Massachusetts. It saw its height of popularity between the 30s and 60s. Models called the Breck Girls posed for the brand's iconic ads, known for their soft, stylized portraitures. Their first artist was C.G. Sheldon.

[96-2] No-Gesta and DayTripper. Referencing this Walden Drugs of Concord pic I did back in 2020.

#fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfic #fallout #fallout fanfic #sole survivor #the anatomy of melancholy #let's have fun in new hampshire #melancholy #angel #fresnel #hierosacristan fresnel #haidinger #sacristan haidinger #glowing ghoul #children of atom #liam bledsoe

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