#Slitting Machines Market Share

[tigerspite]

If you couldn't tell already, these two are getting flung around my mental washing machine at frightening speeds.

Read the rest of The Devil's Claw here

Previous chapter

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CHAPTER ?? / The Forbidden

House Kings does not know how to deal with a human of remarkable talent amongst the ranks of Devil warriors.

House Devils themselves hardly knows, either.

Wethraks notes that Yami's presence in the Kell Guard and association with its most esteemed inner circle destabilises loyal bonds. Allowing a thief of the Great Machine in the halls of the Devils' Lair stirs Barons into action. They question Ursaviks's sanity and authority, and promise to maul his precious weapon, or make an example of everyone involved if they cannot do that. House Devils is capable of defending itself without the need for interference from another species, they believe. Doing so implies weakness, and a failure of their own warriors, which means their leaders are worthless. If one human can replace entire crews worth of Devils, the sacrifice of Eliksni lives and the deaths of those who built London upon its new foundations is unnecessary.

The first few, Ursaviks docks for insubordination, and strips them of their statuses. The rest, the smarter ones who know to let the foolish younger Eliksni take the fall before making their stand, he regards as amusements. Every single one of them is laughed out of the Lair. He waves them away with a suggestion to look at the results before making such bold accusations and statements.

None of them realise that, for the most part, Yami is the prized pet of the Kell Guard.

They name him 'Lodask' for his ferocity on the battlefield. An ancient word from home-Riis, equating him to a vicious, six-legged creature that Wethraks has only heard described by Elders. A predator that would steal away hatchlings from shorelines, lurking in the shallows to drag even unsuspecting adults to their watery demise. Intercepted comms from Kings raiding parties prove that he strikes the same primal fear into their minds.

Outside of combat, his existence is accepted to varying degrees. Having the courage to fight for a people who are not his own wins favour with the coldest of hearts, and others find him a curiosity. Some of the trappers make friends with him and ask to be taught about his culture and the way of life he left behind. Others take him on tours of the city - which really means pub crawls - or ask him about the artefacts found in the salvage markets. On occasion, they ask to be taught human games and activities. 'Throwing-football' is a particular favourite, and the primary cause to blame for most recent injuries in their ranks. It is very different to 'kicking-football', which teeters on the edge of being banned on the grounds of the Lair for entirely different reasons that Wethraks does not understand the extent of.

Supposedly, he has even endeared himself to his neighbour, Taniks. The latter speaks no English, and the former gets by with an ever-increasing grasp of Eliksni, but they find alternative ways to understand each other. The target propped at the end of their shared hallway, and the axes and arrows sticking out of it, says everything Wethraks needs to know.

As his charge learns the ways of the Devils so he can do as Ursaviks ordered and leave his humanity behind, less complaints about his presence filter back. Or if they are made, they are quieter. Subtler.

What none of them see, however, is Lodask's guilt and regret.

One night, he finds himself knocking on Lodask's door. The man disappeared after a skirmish, and rumours from the Guard swirl wildly as to why. Apparently, someone watched him tear the arm off a Kings Captain and beat her senseless with it, stabbed her in the eye with an arrow from his quiver, and then slit her throat with the same arrowrtip. While it does not seem out of the realm of possibility, his newfound crewmates tend to speak highly of him in defence of his honour, as if they collectively still have something to prove.

There is a moment of hesitation, a slight delay before the door cracks open and Lodask peers through the gap. The haunted look on his face is both unnerving and worrying, and confirms his fears.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

"I heard what happened," Wethraks does not mince his words. Yet from there, his confidence scatters. "Is…can I come in?"

"Uh…yeah, sure." Stepping aside, Lodask allows him to squeeze into the narrow hall and into his relatively unfurnished apartment. The single lamp light on is dim, and he manages to step over the discarded armor and weaponry on the floor before he can trip over it. Despite the shelving and storage available, few things in his home are kept in a designated space.

From there, he doesn't inquire further. Instead, he watches as Lodask sinks into the couch, and wonders why he never realised that he is just as small and fragile as every other human.

When he finally speaks after several seconds of silence, his tone is flat, and he rubs at his face. Something in the action speaks of vulnerability. Expert though he is at hiding his emotions, his body language almost always gives him away.

"I lost control." he murmurs.

Wethraks's hearts sink to hear the speculation confirmed. "Are you injured?"

"No, no." The denial is instant. As always. It would be of no surprise to learn that he is hiding grevious wounds but is too fearful to admit it, as he has done before.

"I can look, if you're worried about infection-"

"No, I'm not hurt," he insists, shoulders slumping. "I just can't keep doing this. I said I was done, I was meant to start over. I told Ursaviks I didn't want to hurt anyone. But how many Kings has he made me kill?"

In place of answer, Wethraks sighs through his nose and lowers himself to sit. At his friend's side, he spots a dark purple blotch of dried blood stuck in his hair. If there is one thing they have both discovered, it is that Eliksni blood clings to human skin and hair like thick oil. Once the sheen of Ether evaporates off, it leaves behind a residue reminder of his sins until days worth of scrubbing and picking remove it.

"He trapped me. I walked straight into it." Lodask almost growls with self-hatred, lowering his head and shaking it.

Wethraks lets a purr rumble in his throat, thin yet steady. Nothing else he can say or do will soothe him. Any offer of comfort would only send him spiralling further. Sitting within his personal space and being present, listening, not pushing at any boundaries, is as much as he will allow. Even the privilege of being able to hear him express his concerns is a high honour. One day, he is sure he will be able to rest a hand on his arm, embrace him, or invite him to the warmth of his own home and nest as night-family so that he does not have to bear his burdens alone. But that day is many years away, distant behind impenetrable emotional walls.

In the quiet, he thinks. A way forward has to be available. Lodask cannot suffer forever. Treating him as a weapon of mass destruction, absent of his own agency. Is unsustainable. London is supposed to be not solely a safe refuge where he can recover and rebuild his life, but a home too, with Eliksni who would care for him as if he had lived among them his entire life. Beholden to Ursaviks he may be, his mate would also not want him to feel so miserable. However, all four of his hands are tied. Allowing him any further concessions may prove disastrous when his ultimate goal is to transform a human into an Eliksni.

Although within those boundaries, one option remains. An unpopular one that risks rejection at the first hurdle, and tone-deaf in the face of their present situation. But it is better to share his thoughts and plant the idea in his mind than leave his friend to fester, unaware of an escape route.

"Why don't you go to Proving?" Wethraks suggests.

Lodask glances upwards from his hunched position, eyebrows raised in bone-tired, exasperated, disbelief. The mere implication of fighting for his honour and position seems to age him another twenty years before his very eyes.

"Ursaviks is Kell, but because he took charge of you, he's also the leader of your crew," he attempts to explain, pausing to ensure that the translated distinction is correct. Why English has so many words for types of leaders, he fears he may never know. *If you can campaign to him to enter the next Proving and defeat any challengers, you'd earn your freedom. With the life-debts you've accrued, you'd become a Captain or a Baron."

"Did you do that?"

"Well- no," Wethraks stumbles over his words before recovering. "Being Kell's Mate means I don't have to do anything. But it's what I would've done if I hadn't joined with the Lair." Excluding that he would have been eviscerated as soon as he stepped on to the field, with his history of fleeing from battle, seems sensible.

"Isn't it a fight to the death?" he asks, incredulous.

"They happen, yes, but that's usually someone trying to prove a point."

"How many Devils have a point to prove about me?"

He opens his mouth to assure that not many would try, then catches on to his point. Some way or another, it seems the entire city knows of his existence. While most simply cross the street to avoid him or turn their backs when he approaches, the disgraced once-Barons could band together and enter themselves into the same competition pools in order to regain their reputation when they hear of his campaign. Let alone who they could rally behind their cause to fight and kill on their behalf. Or the sheer number of Devils who would want to watch the battles. If he were to fall, it would be a public embarrassment of the highest order.

Beyond that, though, it would mean he is never accepted. Determined to drift and not once find the stability he so terribly needs. He could leave and find refuge in another House, or with a band of exiles, but it would lead to more of the same. Fighting for survival first, and to justify his place in an uncaring world second.

He cannot betray him like that.

Clutching at the last few desperate straws of optimism he has, he answers, "I wouldn't worry about them. Ursaviks likes you too much. So do the rest of the Guard. They wouldn't let anything happen."

Lodask sighs and slumps back into his seat, arms folded. "I guess."

Sensing that he does not believe him, he clicks his mandibles to make his friend meet his gaze. When his attention turns to look at him, Wethraks touches a hand to his own chest, over his hearts. "I won't let anything happen."

The briefest flicker of a genuine emotion passes over his friend's face. Unable to read it, and with no immediate reaction other than his usual guarded stare, Wethraks's insides writhe. Perhaps the gesture was too intimate. Too honest. For all the time they spend together, it is as far as he has ever pushed. With so many barriers in the way, it is difficult to tell where their friendship stands on the best of days.

But before the awkwardness can set in and force him to take it back, a faint smile ghosts across Lodask's lips.

"I know."

[talesofsonicasura]

Play With Me

A little something for the spookiest month of the year. Warning that this does contain some light gore and blood. This is a Legend of Zelda based fic but I'll put a Linked Universe tag so it's easier for others to find it.

'It should've been an easy job! Just raid Lon Lon Ranch and take every bit of Lon Lon Milk. The only person there at the moment is the ranch's little redhead daughter. She would've made a good extra coin on the black market but…' A shared thought amongst a medium sized group of bandits.

They were an infamous group who has been terrorizing Hyrule as late. Offering their services to the highest bidder no matter how despicable the job in question was. Every single one had always gone off without a hitch as the Dark Moblins weren't just any common criminals.

They made a plan for each job, checking the acquired info about every place, the people who live nearby and how long it would take for unwanted help to arrive. A very wealthy noble had asked the Dark Moblins to steal all of Lon Lon Ranch's famous milk. Night would be the time they struck as the ranch owner had left for some important business which in reality had been a setup.

The girl put up a fight so it was only fair that the bitch deserved a blade to the arm. And everything went to hell afterwards. Some monster came out of nowhere, one unlike anything seen before. It rushed at them like a Keese from hell.

The now alone bandit, Gary, remembered the vivid scene that led to his group fleeing. Razor sharp claws plunging through Ridrick's stomach like paper, large spines turn Eddy into a pincushion, and giant fangs crushing Dustan's head as if it was a grape. How their blades broke against its tough hide whilst metal axes were snapped like twigs.

Gary barely made it into the small woods in Hyrule Fields alongside at least six of his comrades. He didn't know what happened to everyone else but the bandit could tell the hell that came. An omen brought in the form of a SONG by a distorted, deep, growlish almost childlike male voice.

Do you want to play with me?

A simple game of hide and seek

Close your eyes, and count to three

Keep this interesting for me

Everyone had picked up their speed when slitted crimson eyes pierce within the darkness of the trees. Gary's stomach curdled from the pure madness within those bloody lights. A glare promising nothing but agonizing death.

The skies are darkening, the world you know, the hills no longer green

Like the animals your blood will flow

Dreaming of this cursed machine

A blackened blur darting from tree to tree faster than an arrow. The moonlight provides small peeks of large stick sized spines. How the crimson painting those large clawed hands. Caleb was the first to go.

Smiling wide with empty eyes I'll find you, you're a lot of fun just like your friend you're

Hiding but I'm deep inside your mind, you'll

Die a thousand times

Do you want to try again?

You're tired of running, nowhere to hide and

I'm getting closer every second

Behind you

Gary barely got a glance when he saw the massive paw grab the poor man from behind. His comrade had enough time to scream before he was dragged into the bushes. The man saw Caleb's dismembered lower torso crash into a tree as if it was a mere ball.

There's so many souls to play with

So little time, not long till I find you, run for your life

You're in my world now, you're joining your friend

I'm coming to take your soul in the end, you can't run

Marie quickly followed next. Gary made out the horrible whistling that came when the beast flung its quills. How the young lady let out a short scream before it became a gargled whine and went dead silent. It must have hit her lungs or windpipe.

There's a silence in the air you know you're facing your demise

Try to counteract but you're too slow, disappeared before your eyes

Try to run, try to fight, try to keep the end in sight

I'm always just beyond your reach

Count from three down to one, find out how far you can run

Found you, game over and over again

Matthew tried to fight back with his trusty bow. No doubt to buy everyone some time to escape from this monstrosity. Gary remembered the flames that temporarily lit up the woods from the man's Fire Arrows.

You're tired of running, nowhere to hide and

I'm getting closer every second going supersonic

I'm in the corner of your eye I'm in your deep subconscious

I'm getting closer every second

Behind you

A swift powerful gale instantly blew out the fire as if it were mere candlelight. Gary had turn his hand back for a second just to catch Matthew's blood curdling scream before his bow was shoved through the throat. Furious blood red eyes stare back alongside a malicious smile of crimson coated fangs.

There's so many souls to play with

So little time, not long till I find you, run for your life

You're in my world now, you're joining your friend

I'm coming to take your soul in the end, you can't run

Fang immediately followed as the bandit heard the telltale sound of a curse. Poor fool must have tripped cause he had enough to plead for help. Shouts of 'I don't want to die' fell silent with a harsh wet sound similar to a pumpkin getting smashed.

I'll be your nightmare tonight

The torture is fun and the fun will be endless

So just try to put up a fight

I'll be counting the seconds, you're drowning, you're bound to go down in this fight

My arms and mouth are open wide, reveal the emptiness inside

No more hiding, drop the façade, you know the truth, I aM yOuR GOD!

Charlie was the last one to fall as both of them decided to split off. Between them, the surviving bandit had more stamina despite being slower. His cold blooded shriek became overshadowed by the powerful earthshaking roar of that thing.

Do you want to play with me?

A simple game of hide and seek

Close your eyes, and count to three

Keep this interesting for me.

Gary had managed to take shelter behind one of the larger trees. Trying to calm his heart and breathing before he would search for better cover. If he got out of this insanity, a price would be put on that beast's head. No way that damn monster finds peace as every hunter, warrior and knight hunts it down.

You're tired of running, nowhere to hide and

I'm getting closer every second going supersonic

I'm in the corner of your eye I'm in your deep subconscious

I'm getting closer every second

Behind you

The bandit barely had any time to sprint much less dodge as a large clawed hand went for his head from behind. He didn't get much farther when a mustard yellow spine dug itself deep into his right heel. Gary couldn't hold back the scream from his ragged worn throat as two more found themselves in his right arm and left thigh.

There's so many souls to play with

So little time, not long till I find you, run for your life

You're in my world now, you're joining your friend

I'm coming to take your soul in the end

The wounded bandit felt his heart sink as the beast lumber out of the foliage. Every bit of the moonlight shone down to reveal its hideous visage in full much to Gary's growing horror. A giant hulkish beast crossed between man and porcupine that dwarfs even the biggest horse.

Dark golden fur stained with so much blood that it was now blood orange, long gold mane that lead down a back covered in hundreds of sharp mustard yellow spine bigger than a grand oak sapling, long tail engulfed by those large deadly needles trail behind, large paw like hands that can encompass a man's skull and claws the size of knives.

Its eerily wolf-like muzzle smiled maliciously back with razor sharp bloodstained fangs, long ears narrow in fury as blue slitted humanlike eyes turn blood red at the sight of the bandit. Slightly thick fur outlining the powerful muscles that would put even the burliest of giants to shame. Gary let out another scream as the beast grabbed his bleeding ankle and ruthlessly pulled the spine out.

There's so many souls to play with

So little time, not long till I find you, run for your life

You're in my world now, you're joining your friend

I'm coming to take your soul in the end, you can't run

The bandit let out one final scream as he was pulled into the forest brush by his foot. His nails dug into the dirt leaning a trail of blood from how hard he held on. Last evidence that Gary even existed was the crimson that wouldn't be found once nature began to feed.

Later that night, a certain prickly beast would be washed clean of his deeds by a certain red haired girl. Both held in each other's loving embrace until morning where the beast would become a normal Hylian boy. And none shall ever learn the truth behind the Dark Moblins' gruesome demise.

And that's it. This is my WerePorcupine!Link specifically the OoT/MM iteration. Story takes place post Majora's Mask where he's living with Malon and Talon on Lon Lon Ranch. Ingo doesn't start working until a bit later than in canon.

In the Linked Universe, this Link is called Mask while the older iteration has the name of Time. These names make it easier to separate the Links especially if you have write the different iterations together.

That's all I have for now. Until next time folks, I'll see you back at Hyrule. Here's the song that not only Link was singing but also the fic's title, Play With Me by Longestsoloever.

[giresearch]

Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines Market Size, Analyzing Forecasted Outlook and Growth for 2024-2030

Global Info Research’s report on the Global Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines Market offers profound understanding of the market's structure, dynamics, and prevalent trends. This report offer a contemporary snapshot of the market's current size and its potential for growth in the future. The report pinpoints the key competitors within the market, their respective market shares, and the emerging opportunities they can capitalize on. Additionally, the report delves into the impact of technological advancements on the market and how these can be harnessed for competitive advantage.

Moreover, the report provides a comprehensive analysis of the significant drivers, challenges, and opportunities within the Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines Market. It takes into consideration the macroeconomic factors and regulatory frameworks prevailing in each region encompassed by the market. A thorough examination of the industry's supply chain is also conducted to identify key players and assess the influence of recent developments on their market positioning. The report offers a clear perspective on how to leverage the evolving market conditions for maximum gain.

The report on the Global Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines Market meticulously scrutinizes the competitive landscape, offering valuable insights for market participants. The report identifies and appraises the leading players, providing a holistic view of their market presence and strategies.

Through meticulous analysis, we identify market leaders, challengers, and niche players, evaluating them based on factors such as market share, product offerings, and recent developments. This comprehensive understanding enables businesses to gain a deeper insight into their competitive positioning within the industry.

To provide a comprehensive overview of the Global Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines Market, Global Info Research adopts a segmentation approach and also categorizes the market into distinct segments, considering various criteria like product types, geographical regions, and consumer demographics.

By closely examining each segment, we reveal specific trends, growth potential, and challenges. This segmented analysis allows businesses to tailor their strategies to meet the unique needs of different market segments, thereby enhancing their competitive edge. Our segmentation analysis serves as a strategic tool, guiding market participants in navigating the complexities of the Global Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines Market effectively.

The content of the study subjects, includes a total of 13 chapters: Chapter 1, to describe Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines product scope, market overview, market estimation caveats and base year. Chapter 2, to profile the top players of Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines, with revenue, gross margin and global market share of Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines from 2019 to 2024. Chapter 3, the Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines competitive situation, revenue and global market share of top players are analyzed emphatically by landscape contrast. Chapter 4 and 5, to segment the market size by Type and application, with consumption value and growth rate by Type, application, from 2019 to 2030. Chapter 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10, to break the market size data at the country level, with revenue and market share for key countries in the world, from 2019 to 2024.and Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines market forecast, by regions, type and sales channel, with consumption value, from 2025 to 2030. Chapter 11, market dynamics, drivers, restraints, trends and Porters Five Forces analysis. Chapter 12, the key raw materials and key suppliers, and industry chain of Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines. Chapter 13, to describe Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines research findings and conclusion.

Reasons for Acquiring This Report:

The conducted research offers valuable insights to top executives, policymakers, industry professionals, product developers, sales managers, and stakeholders within the Global Aluminum Foil Slitting Machinesmarket. The report presents a comprehensive analysis of the market, enabling companies to assess their market share, analyze projections, and identify new growth opportunities.

The report provides detailed revenue data for the Global Aluminum Foil Slitting Machinesmarket at the global, regional, and country levels. This comprehensive analysis covers the period up to 2030, allowing companies to make informed decisions based on market trends and projections.

The research divides the Global Aluminum Foil Slitting Machinesmarket into various segments based on type, application, technology, and end-use. This segmentation offers a clear understanding of each segment's growth potential, enabling leaders to plan their product development and financial strategies accordingly.

Investors can benefit from the Global Aluminum Foil Slitting Machinesmarket analysis by gaining insights into the market's scope, position, key drivers, challenges, restraints, expansion opportunities, and potential threats. This information helps investors make informed decisions when allocating funds.

The report provides a detailed analysis of competition within the Global Aluminum Foil Slitting Machinesmarket, including key strategies employed by competitors. This analysis helps businesses understand their competitors better, enabling them to plan their market positioning effectively.

6.The study evaluates business predictions for the Global Aluminum Foil Slitting Machines market based on region, key countries, and leading companies. This information assists investors in channeling their investments strategically, targeting areas with the highest growth potential.

Global Info Research is a company that digs deep into global industry information to support enterprises with market strategies and in-depth market development analysis reports. We provides market information consulting services in the global region to support enterprise strategic planning and official information reporting, and focuses on customized research, management consulting, IPO consulting, industry chain research, database and top industry services. At the same time, Global Info Research is also a report publisher, a customer and an interest-based suppliers, and is trusted by more than 30,000 companies around the world. We will always carry out all aspects of our business with excellent expertise and experience.

[allindiamachinery]

Different Types of Flexo and Rotogravure Printing Machines

Choosing a Flexo Printing Machine

Using a flexo printing machine to produce printed products can be an effective way to produce high quality, consistent results. It's a fast-drying printing process which works well on a wide range of materials. They can be used to print on paper, polyethylene, plastics and metallic films.

Flexo printing machines are capable of producing consistent results with a low cost. This is mainly because they are designed to use low viscosity inks. This means they will dry faster, allowing for quicker turnaround times. These inks also do not release volatile organic compounds.

The ink is delivered from a roll or sheet. It is then transferred to a flexible plate by an anilox roller. As it passes through the press, raised images imprint on the substrate. This process is repeated until the image is rendered.

A common problem with flexo printing is the slitting stage. This is a critical step in the process. If the slitting stage is incorrect, the whole batch can be discarded.

It is also important to control web tension during printing. Correct web tension prevents the material from stretching or shrinking. This is a complicated process, involving both machines upstream and downstream.

When choosing a flexographic printing machine, it is important to ensure that you're getting the best performance for your money. Some models offer the option to use water-based inks, which are becoming standard in some areas. They are suitable for many different materials, are easy to dry and have a lower viscosity. They are also perfect for printing on many different packaging substrates.

Rotogravure Printing Machine Market

Increasing consumption of packaged food & beverages is the primary factor driving the growth of the rotogravure printing machine market in the packaging industry. Rapid urbanization in Asia-Pacific region is also strengthening the market. The shifting lifestyle of consumers towards packaged food & beverages products has created lucrative opportunities for vendors. The rise in the number of e-retailers has also resulted in increased demand for rotogravure printing machine.

The food & beverage sector is the largest segment of the global rotogravure printing machine market. However, the sales of products from this segment has been declining due to production issues. The rotogravure printing machine market in this segment is anticipated to witness steady growth in developed regions.

The Asia Pacific region is expected to hold the highest share of the global rotogravure printing machine market in the next two years. The market in this region is expected to grow at a significant rate during the forecast period. The rapid urbanization and shifting lifestyle of consumers in the region will contribute to the growth of the market in this region.

Europe is also expected to witness growth at a fast pace during the forecast period. However, the COVID-19 pandemic has adversely affected the market in the first quarter of 2020. Government initiatives and large-scale vaccination drives have helped Europe to recover from this pandemic.

The market in Europe is expected to witness growth at a faster rate than in North America. The key market in Europe is the UK.

[expert-market-research]

Global Slitting Machines Market To Be Driven By Increasing Demand For Fully-Automatic Slitting Machines In The Forecast Period Of 2021-2026

The new report by Expert Market Research titled, ‘Global Slitting Machines Market Report and Forecast 2021-2026’, gives an in-depth analysis of the global slitting machines market, assessing the market based on its segments like manual, semi-automatic, fully automatic, and major regions. The report tracks the latest trends in the industry and studies their impact on the overall market. It also assesses the market dynamics, covering the key demand and price indicators, along with analysing the market based on the SWOT and Porter’s Five Forces models.

Request a free sample copy in PDF or view report summary : https://www.expertmarketresearch.com/reports/slitting-machines-market/requestsample

The key highlights of the report include:

Market Overview (2016-2026)

Forecast CAGR (2021-2026): 5%

Completely automated slitting machines are expected to rise the fastest in terms of market share due to their high level of precision, which the other two types of slitting machines cannot match. Automatic computers assist businesses in adopting a digitised growth strategy. As a result, factories are expected to transition to digital devices in the coming years. These computers are outfitted with cutting-edge technology, such as programmable logic controllers (PLCs), which allow for better process monitoring and protection. Meanwhile, due to the high reliability of the workers on these machines, the semi-automatic segment maintained a substantial share of the industry. Firms are now looking for machines that are more user-friendly, which is expected to increase demand in the forecast era.

Industry Definition and Major Segments

A slitting machine, or a slitter or slitter rewinder is a system used for the slitting process. To put it another way, a slitting system’s primary function is to convert (slit) sheets, film, and foil materials so that large rolls of these materials can be cut into smaller rolls.

Explore the full report with the table of contents : https://www.expertmarketresearch.com/reports/slitting-machines-market

By type, the market is divided into:

Manual

Semi-Automatic

Fully Automatic

Based on product type, the market is categorised into:

Roll Slitting

Rewinding

By material, the market is divided into:

Paper

Polymer

Foil

Others

On the basis of end-use, the market is segmented into:

Packaging

Healthcare and Pharmaceuticals

Pulp and Paper

Textile

Automotive

Others

The regional markets for the product include:

North America

Europe

the Asia Pacific

Latin America

the Middle East and Africa.

Market Trends

The major manufacturers are adopting an integrated approach to increase efficiency and, as a result, lead to slitting machines’ high performance. Manufacturers have increased their research and development efforts to enhance the production process of paper slitting machines. This will not only improve productivity but will also reduce the amount of waste produced by the machines, lowering the company’s costs. Furthermore, the production process has become more efficient thanks to the digitalisation of the supply chain. With the help of digitalisation, industries are moving toward continuous growth, which entails a continuous flow of information through stages such as manufacturing, refining, warehousing, and distribution. As a result, factories can effectively manufacture a variety of products using the same method. As a result, in addition to meeting fluctuating demand for a variety of products, they are now able to reduce the latency time of these devices.

Key Market Players

The major players in the market are Dah Bah Machinery Industrial Inc., GHEZZI E ANNONI S.r.l., HCI Converting Equipment Co., Ltd., ALS Limited, Oteman and Euromac s.r.l.. The report covers the market shares, capacities, plant turnarounds, expansions, investments and mergers and acquisitions, among other latest developments of these market players.

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[batarella]

The Prince of Gotham (Jason Todd x Reader)

absolutely love love love this one. Thank you again for the suggestions from my dearest friends in the taglist. You are all so amazingly talented. 

PRESENTING THE DAMNED PRINCE OF GOTHAM. I MEAN IS THERE EVEN A HOTTER VERSION OF JAYBIRD THAN THIS????

WORDS: 4509 WARNINGS: UNPROTECTED SEX. ORAL SEX FEMALE RECEIVING. FUCKING AGAINST THE AQUARIUM IN HIS ROOM. THE POOR FISH.

Masterlist

Call him damned, or whatever the tabloids call him as Bruce Wayne’s forgotten son, the son he almost never talks about. Jason Todd will be damned for all that was left of his second life.

The glass was cold on his lips, even colder between his fingers. The Falcones were here again. At least one of them running their mouths at another million-dollar loss. He placed the glass onto a waiter’s tray and placed his firm hands into his jacket pockets.

Miguel came over to him, whispering about a blackjack table with an unruly foreigner throwing the cards at the other players. Surprised it wasn’t of the Falcones, Jason whispered something back. And the next thing he knew, Miguel was taking the culprit into the suite.

No one has crossed him too much. Yet. And not much has happened, either. At least by now, something should have happened. Penguin’s goons. Two Face’s. A worthwhile encounter with any of the beautiful women catching his eye. But there had been nothing. Nothing worth thinking twice about.

A crime lord. In Batman’s fucking city. It’s a death wish not many can escape from, not many can succeed in. The Dark Knight will eventually find some dirt on you, but him? His son? He’ll take it as a free pass. He smiled at a photographer taking a quick photo of him, straightening his jacket. The papers have been all over him tonight, more often than the past week. Just yesterday he saw an article about how he’s now up against Dick Grayson as the most sought-after Wayne bachelor.

The nightly performance should be up soon. He was told they’d bring in a number of beautiful women who usually danced at the bars on the outskirts of Gotham, so it should be something these strip club enthusiast pigs haven’t seen so often. Jason walked over behind the booths.

“Mr. Todd!” A man came to him with a crouched back, ginger hair and freckles that covered half his face. Stretching his hand out that wasn’t holding his camera, Jason firmly shook it. “Jimmy Olsen from the Daily Planet. Is it okay if I ask a few questions?”

“Ask away.”

“Proprietorship over the Iceberg Lounge costs millions of dollars, Mr. Todd. Did you have any financial assistance from Mr. Wayne in your investments?”

He wanted to scoff.

“No. I’m all on my own.”

“Are you involved in any of Wayne Enterprises’ operations, then?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Then what other means of income did you have prior to the Iceberg?”

Blackmail. Robbery. Decapitating drug lords’ heads. Among others.

“My father taught me how to invest in the stock market with more accurate predictions than the average person.”

“You’re not so often mentioned by Mr. Wayne.”

“Well, I am the second eldest son. And there may have been a falling out at the time I was wrongfully declared legally dead. But now? I assume Bruce will have plenty of good things to say about me.”

“Mr. Wayne has not released any statement about your ownership of the Iceberg, Mr. Todd. The media has gone rampant after the Mr. Wayne’s absence in the Lounge’s opening ceremony.”

He wasn’t invited.

“I’m sure he was busy.”

“And your siblings?”

“They should be as well.”

“Last question, Mr. Todd. Will all eight of Mr. Wayne’s children have an equal share of his wealth?”

Huh. He’s never thought of that. “Perhaps. What are people saying?”

“Mr. Wayne is currently worth eighty billion dollars. That would mean you’d inherit ten billion dollars along with your other siblings.”

Shit. Maybe threatening Bruce with his identity a few days back wasn’t the brightest idea.

“Right now, I’m worth more than any of my siblings,” Jason smiled at the camera. “And if Mr. Wayne does give me an eighth of his fortune, I’d be sure to give you guys a first at an interview as the youngest new billionaire.”

Kylie Jenner can suck it.

The music started blaring out from the speakers. Burlesque music. He took another glass of champagne from a waiter and nodded at Jimmy Olsen. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Todd!” he exclaimed.

Jason’s eyes were on stage. Five women with feathers around their arms twirled, moving their legs so gracefully to the music. They only had so much clothes on. Sipping into his glass, he moved closer to the stage.

.

A kiss may be grand but it won't pay the rental

On your humble flat, or help you at the automat

Men grow cold as girls grow old

And we all lose our charms in the end

But square cut or pear shaped

These rocks don't lose their shape

Diamonds are a girl's best friend

.

You caught his eye more than anyone else in the damn room.

You were staring right at him, then with your soft, lace covered hands, you ran it over the side of your cheek, over your red-stained lips. You were covered in red. And the wig you had, a short blonde one, you had that Marilyn Monroe look he always had a thing for. You reminded him of Isabel, the flight attendant he once dated. But you? On stage with your legs covered in the most intricate fish nets, you were definitely something else.

You looked at him again. Perhaps you knew who he was. Your mouth so slightly parted, and the feathers grazed against your glistening lips. Jason smiled at you. You didn’t smile back. At the next move, you moved to the other side of the stage and faced away from him.

Jason then walked over to your side, standing beside a booth. You were looking at the business moguls drooling over you at their table. But then your eyes darted to him again, this time with the slightest smirk. You turned around, along with the rest of the dancers, and bent over.

Jason’s eyebrow quirked up at the sight of your ass, but he kept silent, drinking his wine. Your eyes were immediately on him the moment you stood back up. He held his glass up at you, smiling, and you ignored him once again.

Biting his lip, he watched you throw out your feather scarf over your shoulder, holding onto another dancer’s waist as you grinded onto her, so slowly with the song changing to something a bit more seductive. You then walked off the stage and continued your choreography holding your scarves over people’s necks.

You walked over to the Falcones, avoiding their grabby hands. You almost kissed the best looking one in the group, your chest so close to the tip of his nose. Rolling his eyes, Jason sipped on his glass.

But then you turned to him, your lips subtly curving up. You were making your way to him, most probably knowing he owned the place, because you walked ever so slowly to his way, cheekily winking at all the other men fawning over you.

And when you’d stood in front of him, smelling like sweet, yet strong rose petals in a garden, the tension was immense. You were absolutely gorgeous. And his eyes were all over you.

Slowly, ever so slowly, you put your face so closely to his while your delicate fingers drew a line across his shoulders, his collarbone, over the muscles on his arms. He pretended not to be so shaken, standing still with the glass between his lips.

You were enjoying yourself just as much as Jason did. But he was practically growling in hunger as you swayed your hips, momentarily pushing your ass to his crotch but not near enough to actually touch it. Jason couldn’t care less about all the other people around him. As far as he knew, you were the only one in the room.

Then you placed your scarf around his neck, your forehead so slightly brushing against his. Your breath was hot, too hot, and your body was glistening under the pale blue light. Jason licked his lips before you left to go back on stage.

Looking down at the red feathered scarf around his neck, Jason walked over backstage just before the number came to an end.

-----

“Mr. Todd!”

A large woman with a fur coat big enough to have been from an actual bear came up to him. “Did you enjoy my girls?”

“I did,” Jason said. “Where are they?”

“They’re just about to finish up at the dressing room. Would you like to meet one of them?”

“Send them all out to the casinos for the night. I’m sure all the guests would be delighted to have them around at the lounge,” Jason said. “If they want to, of course.”

“They would love to. If you can excuse me, Mr. Todd.”

Jason nodded at the woman who then walked into the dressing room. He waited outside, just by one of the slot machines.

The girls walked out of the room, now dressed in long gowns, their backs bare and the slits on their legs high up to their thighs. You no longer wore your wig, but your natural hair looked even better on you, if Jason had to say. You were the last to come out, and the seductive, shameless demeanor you once had was now replaced with a shy, silent, yet beautiful disposition. Your dress was the same color red as his Red Hood mask. He loved it.

You caught his eye, stopping your tracks, then you brought your purse up to your torso as if you were covering yourself from him.

Jason walked over to you, stretching out his hand. You looked at his arms, then at his face. You didn’t smile at him, but slowly, you held his hand for a firm shake.

But he didn’t shake it. Instead, he brought it up to his lips, delicately pressing it against the back of your hand as if you were so fragile. But you sighed at his gesture, and you couldn’t help but step closer.

“Jason Todd,” he said, still not letting go of your hand.

“Y/FN.”

Your voice was sweeter than your scent.

“You were amazing out there, Y/N.”

“I didn’t realize I was dancing for the Iceberg’s new owner, Mr. Todd.”

“Call me Jason. Please.”

So you didn’t know who he was, and still you danced for him like no one else. Interesting.

“A drink?”

You nodded. Jason motioned for a waiter to his direction and he took two glasses from the tray, handing one out to you. “Walk with me, Y/N.”

Your lips stained the glass’s rim with a faint coral. He looked away before you’d catch him staring too much at it.

“How do you find the place?”

“It’s perfect, much better than when Mr. Cobblepot owned the place.”

“So you’ve danced here before?”

“A few times. I didn’t like it as much. Who knew a handsome young bachelor such as you would turn the place so much more interesting?”

Your eyes were piercing. And every so often, as you walked past the crowd, he’d catch you looking at him longer than you should.

“Being one of Bruce Wayne’s wards has its perks.”

“You are definitely different from your siblings.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.”

You’ve reached the dance floor, where drunken socialites had a glass on one hand while holding onto some businessman or crime lord half their height with the other. The live band was playing jazz music for now, and with the lights coming to a dim, Jason stretched out his hand for you again. “Dance with me, Ms. Y/N?”

Placing your glasses onto a waiter’s tray, you took it, and he placed his hand on your waist, yours on his shoulder. And with the other, he held your fingers with a slight brush against your thumb.

“You must do this with a whole number of women, sir.”

Sir. You didn’t say it the way you called him Mr. Todd. You said it seductively. Oh, he definitely had that kink.

“On the contrary, I don’t.”

“So the Prince of Gotham isn’t a stud after all?”

“Not at all. But women don’t hate me, that’s for sure.”

His grip on your waist tightened, and you were pulling him closer. “I sure hope you like me, Ms. Y/LN.”

“Call me Y/N, and I think I like you just fine.”

The smell of rose petals yet again. Your faces were so close, and you danced at a slower pace than everyone else in the room. “I’d like to get to know you better. You have a show tomorrow night, Y/N?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Dinner. With me at the rooftop lounge. I’ll reserve a special table with the best view.”

“Just thought you should know, I cannot be reeled in over wealth and gifts.”

“Not that kind of woman, huh?”

You smirked. “I don’t think so.”

“Is that a no?”

“If you weren’t so rich, or if you weren’t so alike to your playboy father, maybe I’d immediately say yes.”

He twirled you around so skillfully you almost squealed. “Then let me prove to you I’m no rich playboy.”

“You have the whole night.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, smirking as you looked into his eyes. You were warm, and even if you weren’t so immensely sexy, he was still so drawn to you, he’ll make sure to make the night worthwhile.

The song ended, and reluctantly, he pulled away from you, but not without a kiss to your hand once again.

“You may not be that kind of girl, but what if I take you up to my room?”

He watched your face, looking for any signs of hesitation. Even at just the slightest bit of pressure, he wouldn’t push it. But the wide smile on your face and the enthusiastic nod reassured him. “Lead the way.”

Jason held out his elbow for you to take, and you wrapped your hand around your bicep as you walked to the back of the room, to the elevators no one was supposed to go into. He heard whispers from socialites left and right, how he was taking a burlesque girl up to his room. They’ll call you cheap, for sure. But even if they had half the charm you had, he’d pick you in a crowd of hundreds in a heartbeat.

You didn’t seem to mind. You walked into the elevator, still holding onto his arm, and you walked out into a hall of glass walls and crystal statues. At the end of the hall was the door to his room. And with no one around, Jason led you inside.

You placed your purse on a console table, marveling over the immensely luxurious bedroom. The walls were still of the same crystal-like glass, blue all over the walls. There was a couch and living area to the left, and right in front was his own liquor bar, which he walked over to immediately after pulling out a seat for you to take. Behind it was a beautiful aquarium, large enough to fill up the whole wall. Walking over to it, watching the fish move around the corals and seaweed, Jason took out a bottle of champagne and poured both of you a new glass.

“You have quite the exquisite taste.”

“I’m hoping that doesn’t turn you off as much.”

Handing you a glass, you clinked it against his and sipped. “Your charm makes up for it. I take it you weren’t born with a silver spoon up your ass?”

He laughed. “No. Glad you should mention that. I grew up in the streets, in fact.”

“You and I both.”

Another lipstick stain on the rim of your glass, and your eyes still on the fish of the aquarium. He had to stop staring so much.

“Where’s your next performance?”

“I’m not so sure yet. Our manager usually tells us of our performances on the day.”

“Call me. I’d love to watch you again.”

Smiling as you walked over to the liquor bar’s stool, Jason put his arm on the bar’s surface. “Why me?”

He was flustered. “Well, other than the fact that your beauty absolutely captivates me, red happens to be my favorite color.”

“A way with words, you have, Jason Todd.”

You both placed your empty glasses on the table, and Jason started to put his face nearer to yours, leaning towards you from the other side of the bar. You were pushing your ass out, leaning towards him in turn. With a brush of his fingers against your cheek, you bit your lips.

“May I take another step at convincing you over that date?”

“Take as many measures as you want.”

You were first to lean in to his lips, and you were warm, so soft, and incredibly addicting. That rosy smell was now mixed with the faint remnants of champagne. He breathed in, walking over to your side at the table so he could roam his hands around your hair, your neck, your waist. He stopped, and you went on to kiss his neck, and he leaned over to push on the lever under your seat so you’d be elevated up to his height. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed him again and you felt his hand snake up your thigh.

“You sure those-“ you breathed. “-socialites downstairs wouldn’t mind?”

“I don’t care.” He smiled at you. Jason took off his suit jacket and you worked him off his tie. His red dress shirt was a shade lighter than your dress, and all you could think about were the thick muscles he had on under his clothes, how huge he was compared to any other man you’ve ever been with. Your hands on his face, you spread your legs so he could settle himself between them.

Shit, this was hot. Your heavy breaths, your gasps, the slight mewl when he’d bite into your neck, he lifted you up on your thighs and carried you to the other side of the liquor bar. Now sitting taller than him, he could nip at your chest easily, biting into your collarbone. Your legs were hooked around his waist and with neither of you fixing the straps of your dress falling down your shoulder, you moaned in delight when his hands squeezed onto your thighs.

With your help, he fiddled with his belt buckle and unzipped his pants, never leaving your lips while he was at it. Hiking your dress up to your waist, he groaned when your hand suddenly started to pump his length.

“You really got it all, Mr. Todd,” you winked.

“Like what you see?”

“Yes, sir.”

He swore his dick twitched.

Then he started attacking your neck, the top of your breast. He pushed your dress down so he could bite into the skin of your now exposed breasts. Of course you weren’t wearing a bra. He didn’t know what he expected. Eyes closed shut, moaning even louder, he tipped over a few glasses when he leaned his weight over you. Your legs were in the air, and you were holding onto him so you wouldn’t fall off.

Kneeling down, your fingers locked onto his hair, Jason looked up at you as he pushed you further toward the edge of the surface, your exposed ass cold against the bar. He kneaded your thighs, so skillfully well you could probably cum just as that, then the cheeky bastard started biting at the hem of your stockings.

Smiling down at him, you watched him pull them down your legs with his teeth, before he’d traced his burning hot tongue up the skin of your inner thighs. Your thongs were thin enough for him to know you’d feel his breath if he ghosted his mouth over you, so that was exactly what he did. And watching your reactions, and the way you pulled even tighter into his hair, he stood back up to pull your lips back to his.

You bit at his lip, feeling the tip of his warm cock play with your folds.

And when he’d slid inside you, your nails raked onto his back, nevermind his shirt to protect him. You weren’t so shy anymore when you suddenly tore his shirt open, the buttons flying to whatever direction to the ground. Smiling as he thrusted inside you, your nails traced the outlines of his abs. So fucking hot…

He probably heard another glass break, but he didn’t care. Jason picked you up once again, turned around, then pushed your back flat against the aquarium’s glass. The fish were frantically swimming around in panic, especially when he started pounding against you and the window shook in loud thuds. You screamed, and with a bite onto your neck, the tip of his cock hit that side of your tight walls clenching around him to hard, he wanted to break the glass.

He moaned into your ear, effortlessly keeping you up with his hands on your thighs. He thrusted into you, gaining speed the more you screamed and moaned his name. He caught your lips, bit onto them even when he didn’t want you to be quiet. This was fucking hotter than anything he’s ever experienced.

And he didn’t want this to end so quickly. Not with you. Something to captivating within you made him want to take his sweet time, enjoy your body he was lucky enough to have at the first night. He didn’t want this to be just for tonight, no. He wanted you to come back, to make you feel so good you’ll have to say yes to that date. So he lifted you up once again, his cock still lodged inside you, and he carried you into bed.

Fuck, you were so hot splayed out on his bed like that, your thighs drenched and your hair a mess. Jason took his dress shirt off, throwing it to the floor, then he helped you slide off of your dress, your thongs, your stockings, and fucking hell, you were beautiful.

Jason took off his pants, and before you could pull him in, he leaned over to the side of the bed and pressed on two buttons. One of them dimmed the lights to a sexy, seductive red glare, and the other put on some music. Some slow rap song he didn’t have the liberty of choosing, and it made you giggle. You obviously didn’t want him fiddling around with more buttons, so you pulled onto his shoulders and hooked both your legs around him.

Moaning, your hands gripping onto the sheets, Jason kissed your breasts and midriff so breathily slow that it made you a writhing mess. He leaned over to your cunt, breathing against it to make you jolt, then he lapped his tongue over you so gently your back arched high up to the air. He inserted a finger, then another, and you were screaming his name over and over, shaking each time he thrusted inside you. “Fuck,” he moaned, before lapping at your clit with the tip of his tongue.

Yes. Moan. Scream. Twitch at his touch. Just watching you would’ve been enough to get him off. The lights, the room, the music, it was all perfect. “Is that a yes on that date now?”

“If you don’t continue fucking me right now, I might never call you.”

He laughed and went back up to your lips, grinding against you so deliciously slow, his shaft grazing up your cunt, he held onto you as you jolted up. Suddenly, he flipped you over, and you squealed as he held your ass up, licking his fingers as he played with your pussy. You buried your head against the soft pillows and moaned as he slid back inside you, hands roughly gripping onto your hips.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!!!” you screamed, and with his arm holding onto your shoulders, he held you up, keeping that sexy arch of your back intact with his other hand, and with your head falling to his shoulder, he pulled you up for a kiss. Hands all over your breasts, skin so flustered and over stimulated, you felt burning. Jason bit your lip too hard when he felt your already tight pussy clench around him. Forehead against yours, he looked right into your eyes and snapped his hips into your ass, making you shriek.

“Fuck! Do that again, sir!”

Fucking hell.

He did it again. And again. And again and again.

He’s never been so intimate with a stranger, never took so much time to make them feel good. And even when he’d just met you, something didn’t want him to make this a single night of quick, meaningless sex to keep him going through the day. Something wanted him to make this more than that.

So he kissed you, long and hard. And with your limbs trembling and shaking hard enough to make you fall, he held you up, holding himself back from the immense pain and pleasure that went with you clenching so hard around him, he hissed and gave in.

He came, and you both fell to the bed, his chest pressed against your back, he sloppily kept up with his thrusts and rode out his high. He shuddered, spilling so much of his load inside you. Fuck, this was too good for him. He kissed your shoulders, your back, then your cheek. You looked amazing, and undoubtably grateful. Jason turned you around, legs around his body, and kept kissing you all throughout the night.

Fucking a stranger, sure. But making love to one? Not exactly what people would have in mind. But somehow, with you, nothing has ever felt better. Nothing felt so right.

And eventually, when the ripe beginnings of sunshine had met his window, you kissed him once again before walking back over to pick your clothes from the ground. “My phone’s over there,” you pointed to your purse. “Give me your number.”

Pinching your butt cheek, Jason took your phone. He then gave you his and you put your number with a little heart next to your name.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a night like that with someone I barely know.”

“Neither have I.”

Smiling, and with your clothes back on, you leaned over to him and kissed him, before walking out of the room. Biting the inside of his gums, he put on his clothes, walked over to the liquor bar, then turned over to face the fish.

A push on the remote he had opened the screens behind the aquarium. His hand in his pockets, he watched as the glass unfolded.

“You alright there, Cobblepot?”

“You. Fucking. Tool,” Penguin growled from behind the glass, his clothes and hair a mess. Probably from almost tearing them out from his skin in frustration.

“Shut up. At least I had the decency to shut the glass and the one way mirror. You didn’t see anything.”

The stout man looked absolutely traumatized. “And you just forgot to turn the sounds off?”

“Oh,” he sipped on his wine. “Whoops.”

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[youllallriseintheink]

A one-off request for @lonelyghostwriter: a story about Joey introducing Henry to the more innocent side of magic. This is just a goofy, whimsical ball of fun, and Joey x Henry is implied. This is the last one-off before I’m finishing “The Angel of the Ink Machine.”

The Boris had come out perfect.

The Boris had come out perfect!

And then it had decked him and run away to God knew where, but it had come out perfect! Joey was ecstatic. All he had to do now was hunt the creature down and make a few more and his dream would be fulfilled! And in the meantime, he had one more dream that he needed to fulfill, one that concerned his dear partner, Henry.

Despite sharing so much of his life and soul with Henry, he’d always kept the magic secret from him. He’d moved nearly all his supplies into the studio when Henry had moved in. Even the spell he needed to do regularly to keep disease at bay, he completed before Henry got up in the morning, with a pentagram hidden under the carpeting in their closet. But seeing their cartoon creations brought to life was worth the risk of scaring him- and anyhow, Joey Drew had planned how he’d do this years ago.

After dealing with Buddy’s body and before coming home that night, Joey made calls to Allison and Sammy. It was late, and in the excitement he’d forgotten that he’d fired Allison out of anger mere hours ago. Thankfully he’d been able to bribe her into one more session of potion-making. Sammy hadn’t picked up at all, but Joey could make do without him.

---

Henry woke up, far too early, to Joey shaking him awake with a big smile on his face.

“Huh? What is it?” Henry asked.

“I have a whole day planned for us. Get up! We’re meeting Allison soon. There’s something- a lot of somethings, actually- that I need to show you. You have an hour to get ready. Alright?”

“Uh, okay!” Henry was kind of used to Joey being full of surprises. He was fairly sure this would be a good one- they usually were. Within an hour, he was in the passenger seat of Joey’s car.

Joey took a deep breath. This would be the difficult part- admitting all he’d been hiding from Henry for the past few years. “So, Henry... you know how I tell you that Sammy and I go bowling together? Well, that’s not entirely true. Sammy and I share a hobby, but it’s one I didn’t know how to explain to you without showing it to you, and... anyhow, we perform magic together.”

Henry didn’t miss a beat. “Oh. Okay, the thought of Sammy doing stage magic is pretty strange. But it seems right up your alley- why did you hide it from me?”

“It’s not stage magic. And you’ll see why later.”

“Oh. Um.” Henry wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Great. I can’t wait!”

A while later, they pulled up to a lovely brick house on the outskirts of town. Over the short wooden fence, Henry could see a lovely hutch of three rabbits. The garden had a lot of browning plants in it that clearly weren’t getting enough attention. “Nice place- must have cost a lot to get one in this area. Who lives here?” Henry asked.

“Allison,” Joey answered, ringing the doorbell. “I borrow books and buy potions off of her. And we’re going to make potions with her today.”

Thomas opened the door, rolled his eyes and called for Allison before retreating into the garage. Then, Allison popped her head in.

“Hey, guys! Sorry to call you here so early. But you know- early is the only time you can get fresh morning dew, and for what we’re making, that’s pretty important.”

“Of course,” Joey said. “I brought everything we’ll need. Let’s get cooking!”

Henry had been put to the task of chopping up herbs as Joey mixed three strangely-labelled vials into a pot of boiling water and Allison was outside collecting morning dew and whiskers from her rabbits. He was pretty sure at this point that this was some bizarre prank. Hopefully there would be some kind of payoff to it and this wasn’t just a waste of a Saturday, but at least Allison seemed pleasant enough.

“So, where do you get crow’s blood from?” Henry asked, a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

“A crow!” It didn’t seem like a good idea to tell Henry about the black market- at least, not yet.

“Okay. So, what’s this potion supposed to do?”

“You’ll see,” Joey said cryptically, “this is actually a pretty powerful one.”

A few minutes later, everything had been added, and the potion had boiled for just long enough, according to Allison. She scooped some out into coffee mugs with a ladle and handed it out to Joey and Henry.

Henry stared down apprehensively at the unappetizing mix of herbs and hair floating in the clearish-brown substance. “What’s it going to taste like?”

Allison smiled. “About how it looks, I’m afraid. But go on, down the hatch. Oh, and the effect might startle you, but it isn’t supposed to last long, so just try to have fun with it.”

Henry did as he was told, and Allison took his cup. He started to feel... heavy, and off-balance, and dropped down onto his hands. All traces of red melted from his vision, leaving the world in tones of blue, yellow, and green. Joey ruffled his hair, and it seemed as though his skull was smaller and thinner than usual. He said something that Henry heard as gibberish. Then, Joey took a sip of his drink, handed the cup to Allison, and before Henry’s eyes, turned into a black lab.

Henry yelped and skittered backwards, and yelped again once he caught sight of his own paws. But Allison was laughing- she seemed unconcerned, and she had said that this was temporary. So, Henry rolled with it. Allison ushered the two of them into the backyard, where they played fetch. A while later, as Henry was trotting back to Allison with the tennis ball in his mouth, he felt his teeth dull and his center of balance change once again, and he spat the ball back onto the ground. Joey came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, Henry? Do you believe in magic now?” Joey asked.

“Yeah, it would be pretty hard to deny at this point.”

“Thank you. Because I have a whole lot else to show you.”

Joey returned to Allison. “And thank you! I’ll miss this, you know.”

“I’ll miss it, too,” Allison admitted. “I’ve never made a potion this advanced before- and I might not have much use for it, but imagine the kind of money I could make from this! Oh, and thanks for testing it for me.” Allison went quiet a moment. “Let’s keep in touch, alright?”

Joey weighed his bitterness with his desire to do just that. “Sure.”

With that, Joey and Henry got back into Joey’s car and they took off to their next destination.

“So... you’ve been doing stuff like that for years?”

“Well, yes and no. Allison is more of a specialist than I am. Unfortunately, the stuff I’m most into has a bad reputation, but I’m going to show you that it can be just as innocent as Allison’s potions.”

Henry nodded. After literally turning into a dog, he wasn’t even going to try and guess what Joey had in store. After a few minutes, Henry found himself gazing out at a wooded area on the edge of town. Henry figured that Joey must have been driving to another city, but instead he pulled over onto the side of the road and  ushered Henry into the brush, taking with him a bag. Finally, Joey reached a clearing and dropped the bag.

“This is the place,” he announced.

It was an untamed natural area, with no trails made through it. No one was likely to come out here. It wasn’t pretty either- just a dusty field surrounded by trees.

“Sammy and I spent our first few sessions here. I spent some of my first sessions here alone, too- learning to summon things. And now, I’m going to summon something for you. A demonstration.” Joey’s back was turned to Henry- he was scared of how he’d react.

Henry was beginning to worry- Joey sounded like he was trying to seem positive, but it wasn’t working.

“What kinds of things? And how?”

Joey met Henry’s eyes. Henry didn’t seem too afraid yet. Still, there was no easy way to explain this. “We summon spirits and Gods from the spirit realm using pentagrams. The spirit realm isn’t hell, spirits aren’t demons, and Gods aren’t the Christian God. No religion is right about everything. Spirits aren’t angels and demons- they aren’t fully good or evil any more than people are. But it’s the more reckless ones- the fast-and-easy-with-the-rules ones- that are likely to come when you’re summoning one. Pentagrams are like a ‘help wanted’ add for spirits and Gods. They have a job description, which are in the pentagram itself. Pentagrams are like writing in their language. And, they have an offering of pay. The sacrifice for spirits is generally flesh or blood. Tasks that are more difficult for them, you want to leave out more of a payment, or the ritual has a higher chance of failing- no one took the bait, basically. Or, someone did, but thought your offer was so insulting that they found a way to bungle it up. Gods… they demand a greater sacrifice. But summoning Gods is considered insane even by pentagram users. A spirit won’t escape unless your pentagram has line breaks, and there’s a limit to how much damage they can do. As for Gods, well… even I don’t know how to contain them, or the consequences of letting them escape…”

Joey broke his somber monologue with a bright smile. “So, wanna ask a demon to grab us some lunch?”

“Uh...”

“Okay, I know I made that sound scary. But I’ve... actually been doing a summoning ritual every morning to keep myself healthy for years. It’s no big deal.”

Henry smiled awkwardly. “Can I maybe just watch?”

Joey smiled back. “Sure.”

And so, Henry watched. Joey drew up a pentagram in the dirt, lit a candle in its center, and then slit his wrist and let his blood drop onto the pentagram.

Henry rushed to the bag and pulled out a first aid kit to tend to Joey’s wound. Henry had seen the scars on Joey’s right hand before, and had seen them seem to grow and stay fresh, but he’d never gotten the chance to really look at them before.

“Y’know, this is actually a huge relief. I mean, it’s a lot of things, but... Joey, I thought you were self-harming, and I didn’t know how to bring it up. I’m glad you’re not.”

Joey smiled. “Thanks. So, are you okay with this?”

“I mean, I guess so. It seems shady, but you aren’t harming anyone.”

“Good. Because I’ve been working with the Gods of the spirit realm, and with their help, I brought one of our cartoons into existence. And I didn’t want to hide the magic from you anymore because I couldn’t imagine leaving you out of something that big! The toon I made is a Boris. He’s scared, and hiding somewhere in the studio. After lunch, will you help me coax him out of hiding?”

Henry’s face was lit up with awe and disbelief. “Oh my God. Of course! I can’t believe this! Joey, you should have told me sooner!”

Joey could practically feel the weight of secrecy leaving his shoulders. He still had to keep the murders away from Henry, of course, but he didn’t mind that. The murders weren’t a part of him. Magic was. “Thank you. I should have known I could trust you.”

At that moment, the pentagram glowed, and a picnic lunch sprang up from the ground.

“Let’s go see what those demons sent us for lunch.”

[eligos-venator]

The Devil’s Unpaid Dues

[Trigger Warnings: Implied Murder, Implied Organ Harvesting. Putting it all below the cut due to this.]

[Word count: 1026]

Drip, drip, drip. The first sound that awoke the man was that of a faucet dripping and the liquid splattering against the bottom of an empty sink.. Where was he? This was certainly not his home. The next thoughts were clouded by the sharp pain at the back of his head and the thought of how oddly cold his body was, as a glaring white light shone down on him from entirely too close for comfort, making it difficult to see anything even when he squinted. It was as he attempted to reach to the back of his head to feel the lump there that he found his arms unable to move, bound by what appeared to be curved metal restraints that had no give, keeping them secure and in place. The most he could do was manage to wriggle his wrists. In shock, he tried to sit up, only for his throat to quickly catch a bar of metal and the sudden winding sending his head crashing back against the cold steel slab he laid upon. That only made the headache worse, but the sudden jolt of pain helped him come to his senses all the more swiftly.

This wasn’t right. Something was wrong. Desperately, he tried to move his legs, only to find they too were bound to the table. And bare. He was entirely bare, with nary a shred of dignity left for him to salvage in the position he now found himself in. “What’s going on? Where am I?!” His voice raised in a panic as he looked around, brown eyes tolerating the painful glare of that light as he did the only thing he had been left able to and looked around. On his left there was a second metal table, and upon that appeared to be what were several open white metal boxes. They each had a chart attached to them, but the text itself was illegible to the man, the script an unfamiliar language. From the open boxes drifted a faint misty haze of cold air, indicating they were chilled or had some method of refrigeration built into them.

As he tried to process this, a familiar, deep voice spoke up. “You are awake. Marvelous.” Twisting his head to the other direction, the man tried to turn to face his captor as best possible. A chill ran down his spine as he saw something all-too-familiar: it was the friendly, elder Highlander male with graying hair who had approached him in the bar and offered a drink. They’d spent long hours together sharing stories and tales, and the man had recounted his recent reparations received to his excited friend, as well as the tale of how the cruel man who’d sunk him into debt had been bankrupted and forced to release him from his servitude. They’d parted after the night of drinks, and it was soon after that he’d found his world turning to black as a blow to the back of his head had knocked him out cold.

“You? Why? What are you going to do to me?” The man asked, his voice raising only to be almost immediately cut off. “Do not waste your breath and my time. Nobody can hear you. Nobody will find you. Nobody will save you. It’s unfortunate, really.” The highlander stated as he appeared to shimmer, the light around him warping as black, spiderweb-like veins started spreading out over the image. The image didn’t shatter immediately, but what broke first was a patch over the right eye, with the warm and caring, soothing blue iris being replaced by a cold gold gaze that even had a demonic-looking slit pupil. A cold fire seemed to burn in the eye as the man eyed his captive impassively.

“I’m owed money by your so-called saviors. The money that went into your pocket, that you so recklessly spent on alcohol? It wasn’t yours to take. As they fled with my pay, my contract was broken.” With that, the ‘highlander’ leaned down, the golden eye’s gaze locking with his captive’s brown. “Pity for you. As operation proceedings demand, I will be obtaining my owed amount through -“ He took a moment to pause here, noting the subtle changes in his prisoner’s horrified expression. “- alternative measures.” The man told him calmly, as if he were addressing a slab of meat put up on the market. His icy gaze was that of an appraiser, eyeing for flaws and seeing only monetary value, as if he were incapable of seeing the whole of what was before him. “You’re worthless to me alive, but I must keep you so for the time being. Once I have what I want? I will break you down into base components and dispose of them. Do not fret. Your former employer never did properly register you. Likely to avoid having rivals see just how many were in his debt. From what I discovered, you barely made it off the boat and to Ul’dah before you ended up in his debt. You dropped off the map almost immediately. For all intents and purposes? You do not exist, friend. When you are gone, it’ll be the same as before. Nobody will miss you. You were forgotten in life. You will be forgotten in death.”

“They will find you!” Growled the man in defiance as he then tried to spit in the direction of his captor. “You damned monster!” The spit did not hit his mark, the figure stepping aside at the last moment before leaning in as the rest of the illusion cracked and fell apart, revealing a black-haired man with demonic gold eyes and an impassive, cold smile that played upon his lips. He was garbed in a simple set of white scrubs with latex gloves, at a glance being entirely unremarkable save for how pristine and modern they were. For someone who once was forced to serve Garlemald’s war machine and had fled, seeking better life in Eorzea, the sight was all-too familiar and chilled the man to his core. Medicus. “Oh, I’m no monster. I’m the devil they owe, and I’ll get my dues.”

[insane-control-room]

The Concept, Chapter 5

Ao3 Link

It’s been too long since I’ve gone on.

Warning: Contains themes and scenes that are not suitable for everyone. Specifics are: overdose, suicidal ideation and related, depression, and insanity

Henry learned rather quickly the place he found himself in was hell.

Then again, he knew it from the time he worked there, but the disheveled state of the building made the tyranny of the aura all the more prevalent.

There were locked doors, broken and flickering lights, creaking floorboards, the massive ink machine he remembered Joey tinkering with and creating.

Joey Drew. The name left a sour taste in his mouth.

Henry easily powered up the machine

He almost jumped out of his skin when a plank fell from the ceiling, cursing it out and sputtering, hand gripping his heart.

The damn cutout that just… appeared, out of nowhere, almost like it was set up, it’s black, dark, venomous pie cut eyes following him, trained on him, a vice on his body.

He looked beyond it.

He stiffened, walking up to the… thing mechanically, no choice but to investigate, to try and piece together the shattered bits of clues.

The… the sight of Boris’ mangled and vivisected body. It was sick, something very wrong.

Preternatural, twisted a fairytale gone south faster than the stock market crash of ‘29.

Henry did not have very many good memories of working here, but his old desk brought in a wave of nostalgia. But from what? Maybe it was just the joy of animation. Of bringing things to life with his hands.

To grow and create.

Back in the day, Joey made him stay late with him to work on animations.

Pushed him, encouraged his workaholism.

Work hard, work happy.

Then it got worse.

Work hard, work harder.

Happiness ebbed away, and stress alongside exhaustion strained into the job.

More and more effort, pushing himself harder, forcing himself to his limits.

Work your hardest.

Looking at the doodle on his desk, the doodle he had frantically covered, marked with a note for Wally to hide it, he realized how much time he wasted there. Cowering in some strange version of friendship and fear.

Mostly discomfort.

The friend that overstayed his invitation.

The invitation being into Henry’s life.

He tried to force him from his family, pushing the idea of a ‘studio family’, neglecting his own family, his wife and his daughter.

Sure, Diane and he did not last - but he had Linda.

His daughter, who he ignored and pushed away while he worked for Joey. He should have spent more time with her instead of leaving her with Diane or with one of her grandmothers, he should have bonded with her more.

He realized that when he left.

His daughter was so happy, such euphoria coursing through her when he told her that he quit, and she had taken him by the hand to spin around their living room with him, chanting, “daddy, daddy, you’re finally home!”

Now, for some inexplicable, insane, god damned reason, he was back. He was back in the place he lied to himself about. The studio was never anything good, it was a prison, a prison sealed with stockholm syndrome, a jail cell with the most cunning locks.

And here, back in this Hell… something was so very wrong.

Starting up the machine was easy.

The ritual was strangely familiar, as though he had performed it before, but maybe in a vague dreamlike state.

Was it deja vu?

No, he had definitely done this before….

______

Red eyes.

Angry, hurt, red eyes.

Henry stared at Joey. Something was off about him.

_____

The change in the man was obvious now. There was no doubt about it, he was changed. Skin dark like black tea, eyes red like rubies, magenta glasses, a tall stature on his shoulders yet bound to the wheelchair, black jacket, white pants, all familiar and yet so strange.

“Joey?” he murmured. The man ignored him pointedly, eyes narrowing. Red eyes, red, eyes, alexandrite red eyes. Whose were those? Whose lanky body? “... Johan?”

The man before him froze.

Then he smiled nervously, a smile Henry knew very well, but why?

“Let’s talk.”

____

“You promised one more run,” Henry growled, jabbing a finger into Joey’s chest. He rose a hand in a worried protest, a hand that Henry plucked out of the air. Their eyes met, Joey’s puce fearful and confused, he did not recall making such a promise. Henry’s second hand grasped his wrist, and he twisted. Joey howled, back snapping straight with the pain he could not escape from. Seconds, agonizing seconds, passed, and with a sud- SNAP. Joey felt like he could not breathe.

Henry’s hands were on his other wrist, bringing it down onto the counter with a crack. Johan wordlessly howled, doubling over on his broken wrists.

“That should teach you not to lie,” Henry growled. Joey, on his knees, gasped in air as tears spilled over his cheeks painfully. “I expect you to finish on the next run, or if I were you, I would fear for my hands.”

Joey nodded soundlessly and slowly, shaking and shivering.

Henry walked to the door, slipping through it without a word. Johan, stuck in his kneeling position, lowered his forehead to the floor, allowing his tears to drip through his lashes.

Shakily, a smile spread on his lips. Soon it will all be over. Soon it will all end. He would be forgiven! What a benevolent master Henry was! How kind!

Forgiveness!

What a remarkable, impossible, wonderful thought!

___

Dear reader, the next moments are no fault of mine. They are the result of another, whom despite pleading, constantly put aside their wellbeing. And so, it is with a bitterness I divulge the plaintiff cry of self inflicted impairment. This is their fault in two major ways.

I am merely relaying it.

He regretted deleting the Numerica.

He had to have something.

Everything hurt, his wrists ached, more than with the pain of the chains that normally enveloped them, tight and cruel.

He wanted something to relax his mind.

He wanted it.

He NEEDED it.

He groaned.

His closed eyes snapped open, a grin lopsidedly spreading on his lips.

He knew where he could get something of the sort.

He rummaged in another’s dimension, pulling his hand back.

In it, yellow pills.

Half of one was one dose, right?

Shrugging, he tipped the whole thing into his mouth.

He smiled and let the drug take over.

Colors, brighter than he had ever seen in his life, due to his impairment, splashed over his vision. Pain vanished. Ink dripped from his lips.

The colors heightened.

Brighter.

Whiter.

Maybe death would be good.

He did not regret stealing the pills, he never would see him again, anyways.

Johan’s final gift to him, his death with the other’s instrument.

He groaned as the pain from overdose kicked in.

His stomach throbbed and his head ached.

Pain hit every nerve.

He wanted to curse him. To curse them.

But he could not, he was powerless, and he felt tears prick his eyes, only the bright green of the numbers on his vision.

They dripped down the sides of his face, slipping into his hair, shame burning into him again. He cried out in agony, needless needles jabbing into every muscle, tearing him open from the inside out like claws, ripping into every single bone and tendon, a gluttonous devour of any clean feeling he held.

He wanted to die as the pain coursed through him, but he knew he would not be able to.

He choked on his tears, unable to move as the pills wrecked his body, forcing him to scream out, his voice raw and aching, trapped more than before.

He gasped and sobbed, hating himself.

Hating his weakness.

Hating everything about himself.

Pathetic.

He tried to curl up to let the pain ebb away, but the pills kept him still.

He hated himself.

He closed his eyes, and sobbed.

Why did they do this to him?!

Why were they giving him more pain than he was in already!?

Did they hate him?

They must, right?

There was no other explanation.

Confusion sank into him. He thought they loved him. Did… did they never love him?

He felt his shoulders slump.

No one could love him.

Obviously.

He was just a glitch bitch, a worthless shit, empty code, useless machinery. Pathetic, broken, a toy. Nothing. A zero.

They were right to hate him.

He was nothing good, nothing kind, a liar, a drug addict, a murderer, and now, a thief.

Pathetic.

Such a blight.

A disgrace.

He moaned, hand clenching on the pill bottle.

He wanted the pain to end. He wanted it to all go away.

He wanted everything to go away.

He wanted to die.

And this was a reminder he could not.

He hated himself.

____

Henry’s lips kept taking his attention. He had to focus, he needed to barter this right.

“I can do it in a thousand runs,” Johan assertively insisted. Henry shook his head. Joey scowled. “How about you try to repair our world using only ones and zeroes, huh?”

“I’m not the one who committed genocide,” Henry growled, his hand fisting on the table. Johan swallowed roughly. “Fifty at most.”

“Fifty!” Johan exclaimed, disgusted. “Fifty runs will never be enough for me to code even half of south america!”

“Then a hundred will suit you just fine!”

“Seven hundred fifty!” Johan lowered.

“Seventy five!” Henry challenged, eyes narrow.

“Eight hundred!” Joey insisted.

“A hundred,” Henry returned, not planning on conceding.

“Seven hundred is my lowest,” Joey grumbled, eyes looking over Henry, slitted and frustrated. “You can’t rush art.”

“This isn't god damned art!” Henry roared, leaping to his feet. “This is my goddamn life!”

“It’s my goddamn life, too!” Joey seethed. “Y-You don’t understand what you’ll be taking from me! People I love, people I car-”

“What fucking people!?” Henry demanded in an explosion, eyes wild, hands slamming onto the counter, making Johan jump back in fright and shock. “Other yous!? Is that it!? Fuck that, when this is over I’m going to make sure you never see them again! They’re distractions! All of you, every fuckin’ version is a liar! That’s probably why you get along so nice and dandy, oh, he’s a murderer, that’s fine, we all killed someone last week! Is that it!? And how many of you share the same fucking deviance?! How many of you are sods, huh?!”

“Henry!” Joey sputtered, flushing and grabbing at his heart pin. “Y-you’re bisexual, how can you say such a thing? How can you be so, so crude?”

Henry scowled, and then stopped, sighing and slowly lowering himself back onto his chair. Joey watched him with hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Henry said, sincere. “I didn’t mean to say that, I got mad and I wanted to bother you. What I said was wrong.”

“It’s okay,” Johan murmured, sitting down in his wheelchair, his hands wrapping around his cup of tea. Henry’s cold hands pressed over his, and their eyes met. Joey’s lips quirked up in a small smile, Henry’s following in his smoother fashion. “Six hundred?”

“Two hundred.”

“Five hundred is the lowest I can do,” Johan shook his head.

Henry sighed, and stuck out his hand.

“Five hundred it is, then,” he said, sealing the deal with a shake.

Johan made his way to the door, opening it, paining a blue tack on the wall.

“This is run one.”

_____

Johan messed up. Repeatedly.

The artist was trying so hard, and Henry continuously got madder and angrier with him.

He wanted to please him so badly.

To be good!

He could be good!

He could!

Please, believe him, he could b-be good….

He offered Henry runs every time he failed.

With bright hopeful eyes.

Tears in them.

He was lowered, down, down, down, to 414.

____

He could not move properly. Something familiar, horrifically, hideously familiar, pressurized his chest. He was… on his knees? Something restraining him from falling. His blue black hair was splayed everywhere, messily spiking over his eyes. He swayed his head side to side, trying to get a bearing of his surroundings. A wry, tight grin crossed his lips, like someone tearing through paper unevenly with a knife.

Right.

He gave a hollow laugh, whistling to himself and swaying.

He could wait.

He was patient.

He would wait for the good doctor.

Eventually, the door clicked unlocked and swung open.

Footsteps waxed near him, and he continued to whistle and sway, head rolling on his shoulders and chest like a twisted pendulum.

The footsteps paused, and he tensed, a grin mangling his already eerie features.

Silence.

“Boo!” he sharply snapped his head up, jolting at the doctor before him, wild eyed and beaming maniacally. He dropped his notepad on the floor, the restrained man sticking out a leg to cover it and pull it back. The doctor, with his hand on his chest, glared at him as he cackled and hooted with laughter. “Aw! C’mon doc! You’re as white as a ghost!”

“Enough, Ramirez,” the doctor ground out, trying to get back his notebook. Joey grinned at him, kicking up the pad, bouncing it off his shoulder and catching it in his mouth. Quickly standing to full height, he towered over him, grinning smugly. “Joey Drew.”

“Fine, have it your way, Dr. Stein,” Joey grumbled tossing the book. His terrifyingly happy demeanor shifted to one of melancholy, and he sat back on the floor, straight jacket making him feel horribly itchy. “What’re you here for? To gloat?”

“No.” Henry flatly replied. “The lobotomy procedure was cancelled.”

“Really?” Johan’s head slowly rose, eyes wide with wonder. “And… and that means no split brain treatment either?”

“Neither.”

“Oh, thank you,” he breathed, sagging against the wall. “Oh, Doctor, thank you.”

“Are you going to take your medication without fighting this time?” Henry questioned blandly, measuring out a thick, black liquid, into a thin, cylindrical tube. Joey stared at it in disgust, hesitating before shaking his head in the negative. Henry grimace. “Take the goddamn medicine, Joey.”

“I don’t want that,” he grit out painfully, eyeing it with disgust and some fear. Henry approached him swiftly, holding him down on his shoulder. He glanced at him from the corner of his eye, flushing from embarrassment. “I’ll do it for a kiss.”

“Just take the it,” Henry growled, pushing the vial against his lips. Johan pursed them. “Come on already! Take it!”

He shook his head.

Henry’s nails dug into his shoulder, the glass painful through his lips. Joey reluctantly, feeling contempt toward himself, parted his lips.

“There we go,” Henry hummed, running a hand up and down his shoulder. Joey shuddered, his eyes squeezed shut. The taste of the ink… ink? What ink? INK.

With a skreech, he jolted back to reality, screaming, aching, trembling, thrashing.

He made sure he had command of his limbs, sharply lifting his hands and waving them in his face. He curled up, and cried.

Was that real?

Was his entire world a drug induced nightmare? Were the people he knew here just… just other people in an asylum? Was it all fake? It was, wasn’t it? There was no explanation. He was alone.

No.

He refused to believe that he was nothing more than a dream, he was real.

Think of the others.

More proof he was fake.

No.

He was real.

Nothing could stop him.

He was nothing, and nothing would stop him.

No.

He had to believe.

Belief never got him anywhere.

No.

He had to hope.

He had to hope, as belief abandoned him.

Hope was all he had, and he would use it.

He set his fingers to the keys.

Hours passed in his work. He slipped away to visit the others, having completed the necessary amount for the run, proud of himself.

In a few runs, he would have to meet with Henry.

He was not scared, he finally reconciled with his closest, and he was ready to face one of them again, he was ready.

He saved, and waited for Henry to come.

He fidgeted, an unfamiliar dull aching permeating his body.

What was wrong with him?

He coughed, feeling the throb from the simple action he was all too used to.

What was happening?

He tried to focus on the clock. It made him smile. Time worked again. It was a big accomplishment on his end, even if he saw it as a small feat. It was difficult, but he had done it.

What was wrong, why did he feel so… off?

. .. …

Pain spiked into all his being, every limb screaming, each cell shrieking.

He screamed, darkness flaring through his sight, and he felt the wheelchair dissipate from under him.

All he could feel was pain.

Agony seeped into every pore, his lungs burning, his eyes welling, his chest heaving as torment ripped though his body.

He could not move, all he could do was feel nightmares claw at his eyes, false memories of needles jabbing into him, tight restriction holding him in place as fire swept through him, razing every nerve.

“Johan! Are you alright!?” Henry’s voice cut through like a knife. Johan felt a strong arm on his back pulling him to sit. He felt himself get carried to the couch when it became clear he would collapse again. “Oh, Joey, you weigh less than ever before… Joey, pal, wake up, I’m going to get you something to drink, stay put.”

Joey groaned as he forced his bleary eyes open. To his relief, most of the apartment was still in place, and it seemed no progress was lost. Just a bit longer, and he would finish.

He sighed contentedly, leaning back against the couch, gripping it with one hand. Solid. The sensation made him want to laugh and cry out of elation and anticipation.

“Alright, Joey, I’m ba- holy shit!” Joey’s eyes rose to view the wide eyed stare of the other animator. His gaze was drawn to the top of his own head, following Henry’s look. He looked down at the hand on his lap shamefacedly as he caught the merest glimpse of silver. Silver! The other hand hastily shoved it off his forehead and back, not wanting to see any of it. He felt so young, but he felt so tired and ancient, and his body showed it. Henry rushed over to him, gentle, broad, calloused hands slipping through the locks in wonder and with great curiosity. “Your hair… it’s not black anymore. Or even blue.”

“Sorry it’s ugly,” Johan muttered, reaching to his knees and pulling them to his chest, Henry making an odd noise in his throat. “The cause of it is likely the fact that as our world becomes more filled, and as time measuring objects like clocks and calendars appear, I started to show the age I would be. I don’t suppose I aged very well, did I?”

“Joey, listen to me,” Henry’s voice was strange. Joey slowly looked up at him. “This isn't the first time I saw you with white. This is the first time it stuck. And it’s okay.”

“No it’s! It’s!” Joey made a frustrated sound, gritting his teeth. “I don’t! Want! To die! I don’t want to grow up! I’m still twenty two, no matter what my body looks like! I! I! I!”

“Calm down!” Henry soothed him, taking his hands off his face, where he was not even aware he was clawing at in his panic. "No, hey, don't worry about it! I think it... it looks nice! It suits you. And the tips… the tips are still black and blue.”

“Really?” Joey asked quietly, not wanting to grow a false hope. Henry nodded. “I’m certain I look like a buffoon.”

“Not at all,” Henry chuckled. “It’s kind of like a paint brush.”

He ran his hand through it again, Joey leaning into the gentle caress.

Henry’s hand continued to make its way through his hair repeatedly, until Johan felt his eyes slowly drifting shut. Henry’s hand slipped to his jaw, turning his head gently, until they were face to face. They looked at each other in their daze for a long moment, then eyes widened, and they both snapped away, muttering excuses to no one, Henry’s flush more apparent than Joey’s due to their skin tones.

“Here.” Henry muttered, thursting the cup of water he got at the other old gentleman, the liquid circling the glass as centripetal force tugged on it, a small amount leaping over the side, the drops landing on Johan’s hand. Henry’s breath seemed to freeze, and he shoved the cup into Joey’s hands. “Now, drink it, and don’t stop once you start. Doctor’s orders.”

“You... alright there, Hen?” Joey asked, lowering the empty glass, wiping his lips with a small napkin that moth brought him. “Thank you, Gracehopper. Henry, you look… hungry? Is there something I can get you to eat?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Henry shook himself out of it. “Uh, should we see how else you aged?”

“Sure,” Joey sighed in defeat. “It’s not like I’ve ever had go-”

A rumbling tore them from their conversation. Joey groaned.

“It’s destabilizing again. You should go.”

“Fine.”

Joey glitched himself into his wheelchair as Henry made his way to the door. Joey stirred before his computer before looking over at the man.

“I’m almost done,” he called out behind him. Henry paused, and left.

______

And then he was done.

He wept.

He cried his heart out.

He sobbed and shook.

Since, when all is finished, the shock hits.

Henry stood before him as he cried.

He hugged him, awkward from the wheelchair.

“Ten more runs,” Henry reminded, and Johan nodded and wiped his tears. Time to make them last. Hold each precious moment, for he will never have it again.

____

Johan waited quietly for Henry to appear.

When he did, they strolled onto the streets of Manhattan, weaving through the people.

People, something that had been missing for thirty long, long years.

Still, thirty years of life stolen.

Henry and Joey knew it was time to set things right.

They came back to the studio, the ink machine powered on, the computer on, and the world turning to black and green.

Joey typed in the formula with tears in his eyes.

Tears of hope.

The reset button appeared, and he and Henry silently approached it.

“YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME, JOHAN!” a voice that never was roared, calling the name like a mockery. “LISTEN TO ME, I AM GREATER THAN YOU WILL EVER DREAM TO BE!”

Pipes swirled up onto his ankles and ink welled against his limbs, restricting and grasping him, pulling him back to hell. He cried out, and Henry turned back to ask what the matter was, and his eyes widened as he saw Johan, being pulled back even as he dissipated, an arm wrapped tight around his throat.

Henry let out a battle roar, running back, punching the attacker in the face.

The man, for man it was, swore and stumbled back as Johan wheezed and typed a code as fast as he could to get him and Henry back to the button, and paused everything. Henry looked back at the man behind them frozen in time.

He stared at him.

“Joey?” he said, pointing at the default with confusion, eyebrows quirking at Johan.

“No.” Johan grit out. Henry scowled, pieces falling into place. He forced Johan to face him, the dark man refusing to meet his eyes. “What is your problem?”

“You have to deal with him,” Henry insisted. Joey bit his lip and looked to his shoes. “That man, that thing, that, that monster, he’s your problem to deal with. If you don’t get rid of him, he will always be a part of you. You will never be comfortable with who you are as long as you don’t face him. So go! Fight back!”

“Forget it,” Johan muttered, wheeling himself to the reset button. Henry let out a huff of frustration, going over to join him. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Henry curtly answered. “And you?”

“Yes,” he lied. He put his hand to the grey button, watching it fade into a deep indigo. He looked to Henry with a tilt of his head. “Your hand, if you please.”

Henry, saying nothing, placed his hand on the button as well, gold flowing from where his fingers met the code. It entwined with the blue, merging and dancing as one, sapping and strengthening each other, growing and changing and making something completely unheard of. There was a hum, and the button glowed green.

Active.

“Are you ready?” Henry inquired, his fingers twitching on the button, starting it.

“I am,” he fabricated. Inhaling sharply, he said, “Let’s do this.”

“Just so you know,” Henry’s hand tightened into a fist. “I don’t want to see you again. After whatever this is. I never want to see you ever again.”

Johan felt his heart break.

Again.

Something was wrong.

“Okay,” he whispered, ignoring the pang racing through his body.

“Well?” Henry prompted right hand pushing Joey’s left onto the button. “Click it now. On the count of three.”

The world was going to end, and Johan found it shoved in his face.

“Three!”

“Henry! Please, please, wait wait wait!”

“I thought you wanted us to end it all?”

“I don’t know!” he wailed.

“Two!”

“Please no! God, please wait, please, no, wait!”

“One!”

“Henry!”

He pushed their hands onto the button, slamming it and making the bright green glow gleam and glitter and glint and spread, time slowing, Johan able to see the numbers slowly making their way to the activated event.

He stared at the green numbers, eyes widening, and then

NOT THE FIRST TIME.

He gasped.

NOT THE SECOND TIME.

N-no… no, no, that does not make any sense, unless he had…

THIRD TIME.

He deleted his own memories.

Tears dripped down his face, memories flooding him, leaving him trembling, shaking, a tsunami of horror and disgust.

“Are you okay?” Henry’s voice asked him.

“Are you okay?” he asked twice before then.

Johan could not breathe.

Memory wipe?

Again?

Should he do another?

A fourth?

He looked back at the default Joey.

Henry was right, he would never leave him be if he did not fight back against it.

They stared at each other.

With a sharp turn, Johan wiped his memor

Johan Ramirez woke up in an abandoned apartment in Brooklyn.

He went to work and quit it.

He built a studio called “Joey Drew Studios”.

He built a computer.

He built an ink machine.

He deleted himself.

He destroyed his world.

He rebuilt everything, so slowly.

He stared at the default Joey.

Memories flooded back.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

How many times will he repeat this?

How many times will he meet the same people?

If he moves on… what will change?

He would have only met others twice, if met at all.

Could he move on?

He hesitated.

“Joey?” Henry asked for the first time.

A chill ran down his back.

Everything will change.

It is changing now.

He turned his wheelchair slowly to face the fraudulent version of himself, sitting high and proud as he rolled to him.

To it.

To nothing.

He was the mother fucking Johan “Joey” Drew Ramirez, and nothing could take it away.

“You. Are. Not. Real.” he forced from his mouth.

The copy grinned.

“You never were.” he breathed, closing his eyes. “I am me. I am Joey Drew. You are not. You are coding that broke off of the original, because I was afraid of who I was not.”

He rose his head and stuck his chin forward, hands… perfectly steady.

“I’m not good looking. I’m not confident. I’m not smart.”

He inhaled, long and slow.

“And that’s okay. I don’t need to be.”

“I have been told that I am kind. That I am funny. That I am okay. You are not.”

He opened his eyes. The man before him wavered and snapped.

“I love who I am. And you are not me. And I deserve everything I’ve made for myself.”

He turned back around, and wheeled back to Henry.

No more memory wipes. No more feeling wrong.

Meant to be like this.

He was proud of who he was.

He shined his pin on his palm, smiled, and reset with Henry along him.

“Hey, so,” he called to him in the vortex, everything being pulled to them. “Henry, can… do you think we can meet up after all this? I’ve got something to tell you.”

Henry looked at him.

“I know you said that you don’t want to see me again, but… it’s important.”

“Can’t you tell me now?” Henry asked, testily. “While this is all ending?”

“This has happened before,” Joey told him. “All of this.”

“Really now?” Henry asked, curiosity sparked. “Among everything else that’s happened from what you’ve done, this one might just take the cake.”

“Will you meet me?” Johan questioned, tilting his head. “Tuesday, at the old park?”

“I’ll meet you in nineteen thirty, eh?” he smiled at Joey. “Change some things up?”

“N-no,” Joey shifted. “As soon as possible. I’ll probably… go home.”

Henry gazed at him.

“Tuesday at the old park it is,” he quietly affirmed.

Joey smiled at him.

He smiled back.

“I love you, you know,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Henry muttered. “Love you too.”

Joey blinked, then beamed as reality warped around them.

Things were going to be great.

The end.

.

.

.

No.

He still has so many problems.

So much delicious fear, insanity, pain.

He’s not done yet.

Not by a long shot.

He has a job to do, he has a world to fix, and when all is said and done, it will end.

And it is not the end.

It cannot be….

Three pairs of feet surrounded the code that once was the body of Joey Drew.

It will not be...

“Well?” A wavering, glitching voice prompted. “Do we know who’s next?”

Not for a long long time…

“I believe he is,” a pulsing, tired one replied, turning to the last of them. “What do you think?”

Not until the drawing is done and framed and hung….

The ink demon only grinned, all teeth and no happiness.

…. The End.

[ducfiburu1981-blog]

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Fully Automatic

Semi-automatic

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Prismatic Battery

Others

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Europe (U.K., France, Germany, Spain, Italy, Central & Eastern Europe, CIS)

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PNT

Nagano Automation

Hohsen Corp.

Xiamen Tmax Battery Equipments

Toray Engineering

TOB Machine

MTI Corporation

Jiangmen Kanhoo

Wuxi Lead Intelligent Equipment

NAURA Technology Group

Linyi Gelon Lib Co. Ltd.

Ruian Loyal Machinery

Maysun

Semyung India

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