#Vital Virus

[forthedancingandthethriving]

Bind.

To wrap (something) tightly.

"If worse comes to worse, Abyssal, I'm going to have to ask you to bind her."

Those words continue to ring in Abyssal's mind as she grips her head. The meeting room was chaotic and loud, everyone shouting and arguing. It hadn't even been a week since the Code Rot was found out, and everything went to shit.

Especially since two people Abyssal cared deeply about were found out to be a part of Patient Zero. It was a miracle that they were able to calm down Antivirus, Domain, and Forum when Cursor opened her mouth on the subject..

"-SKIN YOU LIKE THE FUCKING SCRAPS YOU ARE-"

"-DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE WHEN THEY CAUSED-"

Abyssal grips the roots of her hair, gritting her teeth. She'd give anything to turn off her audio intake, but she really couldn't, considering she was the only Admin capable of facing the infected and not getting infected herself.

"-NOT BE KILLING INNOCENT PROGRAMS-"

"WHAT OTHER CHOICE-"

An Admin whose name Abyssal couldn't care to remember at the moment was cut off by the sound of the meeting room doors slamming open. All attention turns to whomever it was.

"Abyssal. With me. Now."

It was Vitality. No one had really seen her since the word of the Code Rot began, having practically moved to a specialized space to deal with figuring out two of the three Patient Zeros, and containing any infected that Abyssal caught.

But judging by the look in Vitality's eyes, Abyssal knew that this wasn't regarding anything new. In fact, it was regarding something the two had discussed regarding the second Patient Zero.

Something the two agreed that shouldn't exactly be discussed with anyone else.

Abyssal stands up from her chair, knocking it to the ground. Confused and worried looks watch the two of them as Abyssal briskly walks out of the meeting room, her head hung as her hair covers her face.

"Figure out a solution," Vitality hisses, her nails digging into the doors and making them creak, "or else I will use one of you to try and figure out a cure."

With that, Vitality slams the doors shut, and her heavy words echo through the now silent room.

○●○

"I'm guessing she's worse," is the first thing out of Abyssal's mouth as she and Vitality exit the portal.

"It's gotten to the point where that wall won't contain her anymore." Vitality shakes her head. "She needs to be bound, now."

"God, Antivirus is gonna kill us." The abyss-born can't help a small, bitter laugh. "Mira, too. Maybe even Amy. Fuck- I.." She let's out a shuddering breath. "Is she even still coherent?"

"Thankfully, yes." The medic nods as the two begin begin walking through the hall, heading to the two specialized rooms where the two are being held. The muffled sounds of the infected in other halls were present. "I think it's because of her code's origin. It's highly resilient against this."

Abyssal breaths out a small sigh before her mood plummets. "But she still needs to be restrained."

"It can't be risked any longer." Vitality frowns.

The two get to the cell, and Abyssal feels like throwing up. Root's horns were out, and they were curling more like a deer's now. They were splintered everywhere, silver blood dripping from some parts. Her tail was also frayed, and her claws were mismatched in size.

The virus looks up, her eyes tired. Behind the wall, she manages a weak smile and wages.

Abyssal inhales deeply, forms some chains, and walks in, the door hissing and locking shut behind her. "Hey, Root. How are you feeling?"

"Tired.." Root murmers, sitting against the wall opposite of the see-through wall of code. Her arms were lazily wrapped around her knees, eyes half-lidded. "Body's burning up.."

"That's just your code trying to help you feel better," Abyssal says, her voice soft as she walks over. "So.. I have to-"

"Bind me." The Offshoot nods. "I asked.. for Vitality to.. tell you to do it.."

The Admin's heart breaks. "Oh, I see. Well.. do you want to get in a more comfortable position?"

Root nods and slowly moves to be sitting down normally. She places her hands in her lap, and Abyssal begins wrapping the infected virus in chains.

"Is everyone else.. okay?" Root asks, voice soft.

"They're okay." Abyssal nods, wrapping some chains around the virus's wrists. "Everyone is healthy."

"Good.."

While Root was definitely coherent, Abyssal could see that the young girl wasn't there mentally. She was trying to mentally distance herself, and the Admin didn't blame her.

"Can you.. tell everyone I'm okay..?"

"Of course I can."

After a few minutes, the young virus was bound. Abyssal stands, her wings quivering with repressed emotion.

"Thank you," Root murmers.

"We'll figure something out," Abyssal promises, voice cracking.

With that, she leaves the cell, with the door hissing shut. She brushes her hand against the code wall, inputting more abyss-code to reinforce it.

"Fuck." Abyssal hits her head against the door. "Son of a bitch. This virus. Fuck."

Vitality sighs softly. "I have to go and check on Juliano. Can I trust you with informing SMG4's crew? I will handle telling our group.."

She swallows. "Yeah. You can count on me."

○●○

"Abyssal!" Lily gasps as she runs over to the Admin, who had appeared just in front of the castle. She smiles down at the young girl, who quickly hugs her legs.

"Hey, Lily. Good to see you're okay."

The rest of the crew pours out of the castle soon after, with the USB Trio included. Forum opens his mouth, but Abyssal clicks to them in Binary, "private space later. Important."

Domain's brows crease with worry, but he clicks back, "Are you okay?"

"Later," is her final click back before she focuses on the kids.

"How's Root?" Lily asks quickly, gripping Abyssal's robe with worry. "Is she okay?"

"She's gotta be okay.." Lil Coding mutters, anxiety weighing heavily on him. If she isn't okay, will we be okay?

"Root is doing fine," Abyssal assures them, to the relief of the crew. "Her own code is doing really well fighting off the infection."

Her smile is strained, but barely any of them seem to notice.

"Vitality is doing her best."

○●○

"She's not okay- she's not-" Abyssal chokes out mere minutes later, once the USB Trio had their chance to pull her aside and into their private space.

"Calm down." Emulator says, her voice gentle as she places a hand on Abyssal's shoulders. "Breath, Abyssal."

"What happened?" Forum gently prods.

"She's gotten worse." Abyssal sniffles, tears shining in her eyes. "And no one up in the Adminspace can agree on anything. It's getting so bad that no one is listening to anyone, and I just-"

She chokes on her own breath, shuddering.

"I had to bind Root since she's getting too dangerous. It's getting worse."

Forum pulls her into a hug at that, and she finally lets herself break.

[bubble-you]

read a post about if the doctor was a vampire and got snacks from friends. just a bite. and uhh a little horrified because proportionately they’d probably need like 1L of blood at LEAST to be full. And that’s like 25~30% already. So say a snack. But Rory would apparently draw blood for 11 using a needle, and that’s alright, that’s only 5 ml or 10 ml, at most 20. That’s a reasonable snack, if you were to give that away.

It doesn’t dull the dread of if they were to really drink. That’s your strength. Also… the puncture wound needs to heal. Bruises. Anemia. Drained. Unstoppered.

[magnoliamyrrh]

MY PC IS ALIVE AND I DIDNT LOSE ALL MY SHIT 😭😭😭😭😭😭 GOD BLESS

[blonde-fraumell]

Bow tie. Yea or nay?

[arctic-hands]

[Image Description: a slightly unfocused photo of a blue Digimon Vital Hero bracelet on my wrist. Underneath the time and pedometer it shows a Drimogemon, a blue and white mole with a narwhal horn on the head. End I.D.]

Well I was hoping to stall my Black Gabumon from digivolving for a while but I didn't know you had to hold down the bottom button, I only just briefly pushed it, so he didn't evolve into Garurumon like I was hoping for. Ah well, life and children rarely go as planned, and I love my champion level unicorn mole regardless

[renthony]

[Image description: A photograph of a page from a spiral-bound sketchbook. The page has an illustration of the covid-19 virus and overlaid text that reads, "If I die of Covid-19 - forget burial - just drop my body on the steps of the C.D.C." A caption on the bottom of the page reads, "Ren Basel 2024. In memory of David Wojnarowicz and everyone killed by AIDS, COVID-19, and the government's negligence. Fight back!" End description.]

In 1988, AIDS activist David Wojnarowicz was photographed in a now-famous image, wearing a jacket that read, "If I die of AIDS - forget burial - just drop my body on the steps of the F.D.A.." I am far from the only person to adapt Wojnarowicz's words to COVID-19, but today I am feeling especially angry at the world. Holding the rage in my chest hurts--it hurts so fucking much--so instead, I've put it on paper.

Living through government negligence and community indifference during COVID-19 in 2024 fills me with rage and grief in equal measure, and as a queer person who studies queer history, I can see the echoes of AIDS in the way marginalized communities are being left to die.

As a disabled person who lives in a household that is very high-risk for COVID-19, the C.D.C.'s recent decision to shorten the COVID-19 isolation period feels like a slap in the face.

COVID-19 is not over, and it is vital to take steps to protect yourself and others. Please, follow the work of the People's CDC, an organization dedicated to COVID-19 safety, activism, and education.

Our government has failed us. Our communities have failed us. For those of us who are immunocompromosed or otherwise high-risk, we only have each other.

Remember us. Fight with us. Mask up, get vaccinated, get boosted.

Please.

[brookeem101]

CHECK OUT 'PROTECT"

PENANA https://penana.com/story/123694/protect/

QUOTEV https://www.quotev.com/story/15643684/Protect/1

[jimvasta]

Humans are symbiotes

When we met humans we were naïve enough to assume they were like us. We thought each of them was a single entity until our ships systems completed their routine scans.

Of course we offered to rid them of the parasites they carried, it was politeness or so we thought. It took some careful explaining, we expected they would be horrified by the realisation there were microscopic creatures living within them. Instead they were horrified at the thought of losing them.

Humans are each a chorum. Do not be fooled by their use of the singular, the body you see is a vehicle carrying a population of billions.

All the bacteria and viruses we worked so hard to eradicate, humans instead invited in and made a part of them. The relationship is so profound they will deliberately cultivate and ingest the species they prefer to have inside them, and their digestion of food (another horror with their definition of food including a lengthy list of poisons) relies on of having the right population mix.

They create and alter viruses at whim to do many chores, and easily tolerate micro-organisms deadly to us.

They are each a walking army, deadly in the most terrifying way imaginable.

How do I know this?

We thought our systems isolated everything, we thought we were safe and their protective suits were sterilised. Somehow, we missed it. One of the suits had clinging to it a tiny virus colony.

When the Captain realised what was happening they closed every airlock and isolated each section to halt the spread. I got stuck on the lower storage deck for almost two cycles.

The humans did all they could to reassure me from a distance, sharing their knowledge to cleanse the ship for the rescue party. They knew they could not come in, but they would speak to me, make sure I knew what was happening and that they had called for rescue on my behalf, and how long it would be until I could be released.

They were mortified by the actions of one of the feral viruses they consider little more than an irritating pest.

I think they were sad to realise they can never safely interact with us or fully join our union. They can watch from a distance, but never walk on our worlds or share our ships. For a symbiotic ensemble that isolation must be painful even knowing it is vital for life.

I am one of the only members of the union to have met humans in person.

I alone survived the plague the humans later identified as 'the common cold'.

[reality-detective]

WHAT IS CITRIC ACID

“My opinion...is that this “citric acid” is the basis of cancer. When my dad got cancer I learned many facts…go look up SV40. Also, most cancer starts as candida then turns into cancer...so It is introduced to the body as black mold, turns to candida...then to cancer. Well what I learned is that there are virus & other “things” in the vaccines besides the main active ingredients (that’s where the SV40 comes in). Anyways, citric acid appears to be the mold that starts it.”

“When the words "citric acid" appear on a ingredient list, many believe it comes from limes / lemons. The truth is citric acid is poison & comes from genetically modified black mold. Hiding known toxins in food for the masses to consume is actually a form of spiritual warfare carried out by evil forces in a direct attempt to lower the population's vitality & natural vibrational frequency.”

- Connecting Consciousness 🤔

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Although many Canadians act as though the pandemic has ended, the airborne virus that causes COVID-19 continues to evolve at an amazing pace with devastating consequences for both individuals and the public at large.

The pandemic may no longer be a major conflagration but it still kills about 140 Canadians a week while morphing into a steady viral blaze sustained by dirty air, waning immunity and overt political indifference.

What was once a giant wave of acute illness has become a series of often unpredictable wavelets driven by ever-changing variants that can cause chronic illness. Long COVID, a disabling health event that can affect multiple organs and destabilize the immune system, now affects millions and continues to claim new victims.

A 2023 Danish study recently confirmed that about 50 per cent of those diagnosed with long COVID fail to improve 18 months after infection regardless of the variant.

Long COVID has taken a huge toll among health-care workers. Anywhere from six to 10 per cent of Quebec’s health-care workforce, for example, has been derailed by long COVID.

Seventy-one per cent of health-care workers impaired by long COVID reported that their state of health now interferes with their ability to function. Another 16 per cent said that they are often unable to work. Multiply this data across the country and then ask: How sustainable is this trend?

Continue reading

[forthedancingandthethriving]

Tis ANOTHER collection of incorrect quotes

Tulip: I’m gonna mix a can of Red Bull with seventeen shots of espresso in a fishbowl and then chug it while Kids by MGMT plays in the background so I can perceive twenty-three spatial dimensions and fight my own soul.

Juliano, already removing every potential hazard in the vicinity: How about you don't?

----

Lily: But when all hope seemed lost, I had an epiphany!

Lily, earlier: I'm going to throw myself into the sea.

----

SMG3: What’s that off in the distance? Could it be? It is! My last damn, disappearing over the horizon. Be free, my old friend… be free…

SMG4: 3, hun, I literally JUST asked you to be nicer to Boopkins.

----

Lil Coding: And that's when it hit me. The best idea I ever had!

*After everything goes to shit*

Lily, glaring at Lil Coding: That was the worst idea you've ever had!

----

Morris: You played me like a damn fiddle!

Root: You're wrong. A fiddle is beautiful and difficult to play. I played you like the cheap kazoo you are.

----

Cody: LC, I am questioning your sanity... 

Sage: I never questioned it, I knew his sanity was missing from the start.

----

Cody: I always wondered how a living person could kill another living person.

Cody: And then my siblings got threatened and I was like "oh okay!"

----

Root: I'm friends with this family for the same reason people visit the zoo.

Root: Oh! Shh, look at that!

Root: *turns to watch a screaming Mario chase a screaming Luigi*

Root: Nature is amazing.

----

Cory: I'm six, so I get six cookies!

Cody: Cory, bub, that's now how it works-

Lil Coding: *pocketing 12 cookies*

----

Cody: What did you guys get in your yearbook?

Lily: 'Prettiest smile'.

Root: 'Nicest personality'.

Lil Coding: 'Most likely to start a bar fight'.

Bowser Jr: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'.

----

*The Crew right before Domain&Forum's wedding (potentially idk lol)*

SMG4: Well, we have to go, we have a wedding to attend.

Abyssal: Wait... Oh! I have a wedding to attend too!

Mario: Oh, I have a wedding to attend as well.

Umbra: I THINK WE ALL HAVE A WEDDING TO ATTEND!

Vitality: I THINK I HAVE A WEDDING TO OFFICIATE!!

----

Meggy: Where's the other kids?

Welony: They're playing hide and seek.

Meggy: Where?

Welony: I don't think you get how this game works.

----

Luigi: How late were you up last night?

SMG34 & SMG3, in tandem: Me?

Luigi: No, not you two. You stay up late all the time.

Luigi, to Mario: You.

----

Buffer: CPU was sitting next to me during the meeting today and offered me a sip of hisbdrink because I mentioned that I was thirsty...

Buffer: I was not fucking expecting to take a sip of vodka cranberry at 9am.

----

Forum: God, you’re so clingy.

Domain: YOU came to MY USB?!

----

Buffer: CPU, I need a gun, but you can't ask why I need it.

CPU: As long as you don't ask how I've gained all these.

Buffer: Deal.

CPU: *sets 20 different guns on the table*

Buffer: ..

CPU: ..

Buffer: *points at one* That one will do.

CPU: Good choice.

----

Tari: Why are you still drinking? It’s 10 in the morning.

Bob: I know how bad this is gonna feel when I sober up, so I'm just gonna keep drinking a little bit.

----

Lil Coding: Boil up some Mountain Dew. It's gonna be a long night.

Sage: You could have said anything else.

Lily: Cauldron boil and cauldron bubble, baja blast to fuel my trouble.

----

Lil Coding: Lily suggested the idea of putting me on a child's leash, and I think everyone honestly considered it.

----

Umbra: You didn't happen to bring any coffee, did you?

Abyssal, handing him a thermos: Milk and sugar.

Umbra: Oh, awesome. You're a lifesaver.

Umbra: *drinks it*

Umbra: Wait, is this just milk and sugar?

Abyssal: That's what I said.

----

Root: How petty can you get?

SMG3: I once edited a Wikipedia article to win an argument I was wrong about.

[feckcops]

Joe Biden Is Shrinking the Welfare State

“By the estimates of the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS), 15 million people are going to lose their health insurance over the next few months, including 5.3 million kids. Worse, based on historical trends, 6.8 million of those people will lose their Medicaid coverage in spite of still being eligible for it simply because of bureaucratic trifles ...

“The effects of the declaration’s end will go well beyond this, affecting working people’s ability to get free tests, vaccines, and affordable treatment for the virus. It also means the end of extra food stamps, another generous program set to continue as long as the emergency exists and a vital lifeline for working people struggling to keep up with grocery bills in the face of inflation ...

“From a practical and moral standpoint, this is obviously a travesty. But it’s also a needless own goal for the president, putting an already deeply unpopular Biden in the position of running for reelection in a year’s time with millions of people losing their health insurance — and his potential Republican opponent being able to boast he’d been the one to extend it to them in the first place. More than that, it makes a mockery of his frequent public statements insisting that his administration will ‘continue to fight for racial justice,’ since, as the HHS, acknowledges, 15 percent of those who are about to lose their coverage as a result of his decision are black and one-third are Latino ...

“If the idea is that Americans are now tired of thinking and caring about the pandemic, making supporting any COVID-related policies politically toxic, then this is the wrong way to go about unwinding those. Americans didn’t hate that the pandemic response included protecting them from being kicked out of their homes by greedy landlords, getting financial support for the government while they were unemployed, or having health insurance and a variety of other health care needs guaranteed.”

[mindblowingscience]

A new study has revealed for the first time the vital role carbon dioxide (CO2) plays in determining the lifespan of airborne viruses—namely SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19. It clearly showed keeping CO2 levels in check helps to reduce virus survival, and therefore the risk of infection. The research, led by the University of Bristol and published today in Nature Communications, shows how CO2 is a major factor in prolonging the life of SARS-CoV-2 variants present in tiny droplets circulating in the atmosphere. Lead author Dr. Allen Haddrell, Senior Research Associate in Aerosol Science at the University's School of Chemistry, said, "We knew SARS-CoV-2, like other viruses, spreads through the air we breathe. But this study represents a huge breakthrough in our understanding of exactly how and why that happens, and crucially, what can be done to stop it.

Continue Reading.

[thebibliosphere]

Sorry if this is an obvious question but with the impending doom stuff- how different is that to. Hm how to phrase this. I have a sort of long term foreshortened future thing going on with my illness where I'm Always certain I'm going to die soon, and sometimes I get periods of Oh it's Getting Closer. I don't really feel afraid, but I tend to seek medical help anyway just in case- and in most cases something is wrong. Usually I have a virus.

But I don't really know how to categorise that feeling seperately from depression? And people talking about calm acceptance in Sense of Impending Doom resonates with me. But I'm always worried about mentioning this certainty to doctors because they tend to already think I'm making shit up/overdramatic.

Sorry for rambling. Point is- do you know much about a longer term "sense of Impending doom" ?

Possibly. Hm, let me see if I can put this in words.

So, my near-death experience in 2019 was a slow, drawn-out process largely facilitated by medical neglect. I knew something was Wrong in my body, and no one was listening to me. I knew it was going to kill me soon, but again, no one was listening, so I just kind of... quietly got my shit together. It felt gradual but inevitable. Creeping. With hindsight, that was my organs slowly winding down. Horrible feeling.

But that was very different from what I will now categorize as Immediate Impending Doom, which sort of hits like a tidal wave. It's weird to say it's an urgent-calm feeling, but that's what it is.

It's a very now feeling. Like, death within the next twenty minutes to an hour. It's the difference between "This will happen soon, get your affairs in order," and "This is a medical emergency; pay attention. Now."

Which I also have to differentiate from the "something is wrong" feeling I get as a chronically ill person when something new pops up.

I sometimes get what I think of as "warning flashes." My immune system is overreactive thanks to my mast cells being little malfunctioning bastards, so when I get sick with something else, it kicks off my fight or flight due to adrenaline and a bunch of other hormones being thrown into the mix like a Molotov cocktail.

I've had to learn to distinguish that from anxiety/depression because of the nature of my illness (can it be remedied with my meds, does doing grounding exercises help, what are my vitals etc), and I imagine it's the same for other chronically ill people, even if they don't have my specific immune problems.

A virus or something else will absolutely stress out an already stressed nervous system, and it can send you into a feeling of fight or flight, which can feel a bit doom-y.

But the Impending Doom they talk about with heart attacks, strokes, anaphylaxis etc, etc, is a very immediate and all-consuming feeling. The "soon" you seem to be describing seems to be "it'll happen sooner than later" but the Immediate Impending Doom is "right the fuck now." Is that right? Did I pick up on that, or am I way off?

Gah. I'm still probably doing a very bad job of explaining this.

[shiyorin]

Do Dreadnoughts dream of taking a bath?

#Inspired by PowerWash x Warhammer 40K and Roco.

#I love Dreadnought.

"Do Dreadnoughts dream?"

That is a question with no certain answer. On one hand, a Dreadnought is more machine than man, neural implants fuse mind to machine in ways bizarre to comprehend. Their armored carapace shelters only remnants of flesh, sustained through bionic might alone. By all rights, their cerebral cortex should have decayed long ago.

By such logic, one could argue conscious thought ends where flesh yields to steel. Sleep and its dreamscapes are biological realities, are they not? With only trace humanity remaining, why expect mental functions of slumber? But integrated into their armored shells are enough enhanced organs and neural implants to sustain bioniorganic functions far beyond mere biological viability. Isn't the nature of dream itself stems from biological instincts overwritten.

The pain was a dull ache, easily ignored after centuries entombed. But a new irritation assailed him now, crawling itches across flesh long denied sensation. Confusion, this body felt change, though it had lain inert as worlds turned. Deeper still came the oppression, lungs seizing as if drowning once more in bloody. 

What trickery was this? Diagnostics reported stasis, all systems firing true. Yet the discomforts grew, phlegmy coughs racking the half-machine beast. Panic swelled, animal instincts long dormant rising within the eternal tomb. Then light, piercing the darkness behind closing lids. Sweet air rushed into ruined lungs, this labor easing at last. 

His eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar realm. No armored bulk rose before him but limbs scoured by shrapnel and burned by virus-bombs. His original form, given once more against all reason, a gift or curse, he knew not. Unfettered he stood, wounds healed to bare scars across taut flesh. This was a dream, or something. 

An uncertainty gripped him. What madness was this? To be returned to old flesh but feel no urge to battle, no call to crusade? A different impulse arose, foreign but ingrained, cleansing ritual performed eons past in youth. He walked uncertain, waters calling him to rites unseen by any in aeons untold. 

Ribs still bore flecks of ceramite and plasteel patched within living shell. He paused before the waters, studying form that had known only warfare. Scars told their own tales, each etched upon memories kept alive through aeons in stasis. With care he entered in that, waters lapping old wounds as if in benediction. 

There he lingered, letting cares and pains wash freely away. Muscles long locked in adamantium relaxed, tension fleeing in steam rising. For the first time in memory untold, no demands of duty or flesh assailed him. A feeling swelled within him, emotion locked beyond reach of mortal sensation. Peace, serenity swept over ancient minds as waters sloughed away cares of ages...

Pain pulsed through his battered form as consciousness returned. The fleeting peace of dreams melted away, centuries of enforced half-life onboard the Dreadnought crashing back upon ancient shoulders. Systems booted sluggishly, sensors recalibrating after solaris of monotony disturbed. 

A hum escaped grille as servos whirred back to their duties securing crumpled flesh deeper than mortal sight could pierce. Outside clangs and grinding announced the diligent ministrations of tech-priests ensuring their perpetual charge clung yet to shadow of function. One voice carried clearly through armored carapace:

"Vitals stabilize in sector C-12 Magos. Neural links firing within tolerances." The Tech-priest's voice rang through microphones.

"Understood. Continue maintenance protocols and monitor for anomalies. This relic has served faithfully many centuries. Pray for the Omnissiah." The Magos's bionics buzzed in compliance. They ensured history marched on, whatever hulls preserved that march.

With effort, aged vox-grille creaked open. "Brother, I was dreaming." Static laced speech imparted by cobbled augmetics mere palliates for ravaged throat too ruined for basic sounds. The Techmarine's etheric sensors detected words nonetheless.

A static pause preceded Techmarine's reply. "Dreaming? Impossible, your neural engrams show only baseline activity."

Mirthless chuckle issued from loudspeakers. "Impossible, yes, But I dream... I'm taking a bath." 

Silence answered as Techmarine puzzled over the incomprehensible scene. "The priests scrub your plating clean as monthly rite. Perhaps some synapse misfired."

Silence reigned for moments uncounted as ritual continued outside. Then, a final whisper from within. "Indeed. A... nice dream." 

With that, consciousness fell back into lowest-level rest as painkillers suffused systems. The Techmarine watched monitors return to quiescent patterns, then signaled to close the Dreadnought once more. Its machine spirit's notions were beyond his. The armored tomb closed, and darkness reigned once more.

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The Memory Keeper

Chapter 3: Frame

Pairing : Noa x human reader

Warning : grieving, otherwise, none!

Summarize (please I'm so bad at writing these!): A woman, allowed to live as long as the virus keeps running through her body, living on autopilot for 260 years, is going to see her life takes a new turn, finding hope in something that might come to put an end to her wandering.

Words : 3k+

A/N : Well, well, well, chapter 3 is out! Enjoy your reading 😁

The Memory Keeper masterlist.

You watched as the flame devoured the kindling and gnawed at the petals you'd carefully placed in their usual circle. It progressed slowly, longing to consume every piece of wood and petal it found in its path. Knees braced against your chest, one arm wrapped around your legs in a vain attempt to maintain the cracks you felt growing deep inside your ribcage.

Why was it getting so complicated?

A tear fell onto the frame you held, fingers shaking, above your knees. You quickly wiped it away, not wanting the moisture to stain the glass that protected the picture from the long years gone by.

Why was it so complicated? You repeated to yourself once more, wiping your nose on the sleeve of your top. You noted that you still hadn't changed for the night. You had to take a deep breath, it always helped… supposedly, it always helped, but the shaky breathing that was supposed to be helpful only allowed more tears to fall down your cheeks.

But why? Why couldn't you calm down? Why did your eyes seem to drown despite your best efforts? Why, over the past three days, had it become so difficult to even breathe normally? Why was it so difficult to keep your heart beating regularly, so regularly that you sometimes forgot you even had one?

Usually, it was easy. One or two slow, deep breaths. Your hand removing the tear drop from your skin, preventing others from joining it. Sometimes you'd close your eyes to focus on this task, and when you'd open them again, indifference would quietly resonate deep inside you.

So why tonight, for the third time, did you feel this organ so vital to your body crumbling, shattering, giving up on you a little more with each beat? Your eyes blurred, making it difficult to see the photo in the frame. No matter how much you blinked to clear your vision, it remained stubbornly blurred. But you wanted to see it… no, you had to see it, but the more you forced yourself to wipe away those tears, the more they rushed in to tangle and alter your vision. You clenched your fist around the frame as the other desperately tried to restore your sight. You had to look at him. Every night, you had to remember. You had to remember him, the features of his face, the color of his fur, the way he carried himself. You couldn't not look at him.

Unwittingly, your knuckles turned white and the pressure on the already worn wood increased. If you didn't look at him, you'd forget. You'd forget, just as you'd forgotten the words to that song you'd hummed every night as the petals turned to ash. You would forget, just as you had forgotten the faces of your parents, and of those whose existence you could only remember by their first names. You weren't allowed to forget, just as you weren't allowed to forget how to speak. So you had to look at him, you had no right to forget him.

Maybe if they had never come to your clearing, maybe you wouldn't be in this state, only three days after their arrival, three days since you seemed to be having great difficulty keeping a steady gaze. How stupid to bring them fish for three days so they could eat, so they could feel welcomed as you would have welcomed two friends back in a very distant past. How stupid of you to remember that a human, to remain human, had to give a proper welcome to his guests, whether they showed up unexpectedly or not. How stupid not to be able to keep things in perspective. How stupid. And you rubbed your eyes again and again until you felt like ripping the skin off your face, when suddenly…

A crack.

Your breathing stopped in a flash. All your muscles froze. You were no longer shaking, your heartbeat had almost stopped its frantic race and your eyes were now wide open, your tears frozen in the fear of having to look down.

The broken pieces of wood threatened to fall to the floor, and the only thing holding them together was your hand crushing the frame against your skin. The bark of the crumbling wood stuck to your hand like hundreds of grains of sand, and it was only as you loosened your fingers around the frame that your hand began to shiver again.

No.

No no no. This couldn't be happening.

The tears had become dry, allowing you to see the foolishness you'd just done. The wood of the frame had broken under the pressure, no longer able to hold the protective glass in place. The picture would end up in the open air, exposed to external aggression, exposed to moisture, exposed to time that just kept flying by without waiting for you to be ready to watch it roll by.

The picture would be damaged, the colors would fade, the events it had frozen in time would disappear along with the last image of the ape you called, with a sinking heart, your friend. And for as long as you could, you would cling to a mental image of him that would inevitably end in oblivion. You were going to forget. Of course you were going to forget. Maybe not in 1 year, 5 years or even 10. It might take you a lifetime as an uninfected human to forget, but it was going to happen. It was the only fatality of your condition, your body didn't age, but on the other hand you couldn't keep your memory intact, you had to give up part of your memories in exchange for a long life. One that was too long.

For the first time, as you firmly held the broken pieces of wood in the vain hope they would glue back together, you realized how tired you were.

In your turmoil, you'd shifted to a more cross-legged position, with the shaky frame gently placed in front of you. You had taken care to arrange the pieces of shattered wood so that they formed the frame around the glass, now detached from the frame.

With your gaze locked on Caesar, your quivering fingers rested on the glass in a gentle stroke.

“P... please forgive me, Caesar,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, almost desperate for forgiveness that would never be able to come.

You breathed in as best you could when all of a sudden, the cool wind touched your skin. The wood of the old floor creaked and you abruptly wiped away the last of the tears that had found their ways onto your cheeks.

Clearing your throat.

Rubbing your eyes. Your cheeks. Your whole face.

Brand-new you.

You looked back to where the sound had come from and your stony eyes fell on the two apes. You remembered very well having told them that it was going to rain during the night and that if, only if, they had no other choice, you would allow them, to a certain extent and with a few precautions, to enter.

How silly.

The apes weren't usually the type to fear the rain, but when you offered, almost against your will, to spend the night in your home until the rain stopped, they seized the opportunity to talk to you. To talk to you and convince you to let them keep your horse.

You could see them walking cautiously inside your house. Their eyes were everywhere, curious and careful, as if they didn't want to glance at an object, a piece of furniture, a corner of the large room that would be off-limits to them.

Noa immediately noticed your nest, which was a bit unusual; he couldn't quite work out what it was made of, certainly not branches or down, and the blanket covering it wasn't the fur of any animal you'd caught either. But he knew from the intensity of your scent on the fabric that this was where you slept. He looked away quickly. This was your nest, and if you had allowed them in, checking out your nest and judging it would be seen as disrespectful by his people. He at least wish it was comfortable for you.

It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You were sitting cross-legged, and it was hard to know whether you'd changed your mind about allowing them into your home. With your blank stare, you showed them nothing, happy? Surprised? Angry? Annoyed? None of these things were apparent, and it was beginning to drive him mad. He wanted to shake you, to bare his fangs and at least provoke a reaction, even one of fear, which he would accept, because this impassive face was making him ask questions he wished he'd never had to ask.

Emotions and facial expressions were the key to communication for apes. So how could echoes communicate if they all had the same blank face? How could they respond appropriately to each other's words and behavior? How do you build trust? Bonding? Did all the echoes really have that lifeless face? How could he know that his behavior wasn't offensive to you? How could he know that he was doing the right thing for you to simply agree to communicate with him?

And it had only taken him three days to get used to this inexpressive face. He was so used to getting no emotional response from you that he didn't immediately notice that behind the cloudy veil of your eyes, something had changed.

Noa had to look twice, and even then, he still wasn't quite sure what he'd just seen appear in a corner, somewhere well hidden, deep in your eyes. Noa had always been good at reading other apes' thoughts and feelings. You'd given him a hard time not showing anything, but he finally saw it. A little sparkle, as delicate and transparent as it was, as shy and barely recognizable, he had finally found what could look like sadn… And you lowered your eyes, ending this exchange in which he'd never thought he could lose himself in such an involved way. Had you figured out that he'd seen it?

Had he noticed? A pang of anxiety deepened in your stomach. You couldn't stand his stare any longer. Nor were you in any shape to have your soul probed by a chimpanzee you'd met three days ago and didn't even know the name of. Yet you knew it was important to them. Caesar had taught you well, explained it well: apes are observant, they communicate mainly through their eyes, and not allowing them to look at you could mean that you didn't trust them, or rather, that you didn't want to trust them. And not wanting to trust an ape could just as easily mean that they couldn't trust you either.

Was it why you'd allowed him to dip his green eyes into yours? To tell him silently that he could trust you? Or rather… that you trusted him?

After what seemed like an eternity, you finally stood up, heading for your chest. If they were staying the night, you could at least lend them a blanket. You rummaged in your chest, and under the 3-4 items of clothing, you grabbed two old blankets that you used in turn with the one on your armchair to sleep on.

You approached them silently before handing them the blankets.

“For… the night.”

You felt compelled to clarify what you meant in front of their inquiring eyes, and just as you were about to return to where they'd found you on arrival, Raka's husky voice caught your attention.

“Do you have a name?”

It was true that after three days, you hadn't taken the time to make any introductions. It wasn't very humanly polite, you thought to yourself, nonetheless pondering on answering him. Of course you had a name, but it had been so long since you'd been asked that it took you a split second to remember it… (Name). But was it really necessary to give it to them? As you were slow to answer, the orangutan went on:

“If you don't have one, we could call you… Nova?”

Nova. You knew that name. Somewhere deep in your memory, you could recall a girl. A little girl whose name was Nova. But that couldn’t be, it was way too long ago. Therefore you chose not to dwell on it. The chimp beside Raka gave him a quizzical stare as well and you managed to decipher the sign language Raka was giving him as a respond, being "will explain further later".

"I’m (Name)." Was all you could say.

Though your eyes lingered on the chimp and Noa swears he saw you sign a "you?" but it could only be his mind playing tricks on him.

To tell the truth, he hadn't been imagining it. You couldn't consciously bring yourself to ask his name, so your subconscious did it for you. After a few seconds of silence, you thought maybe he hadn't noticed your request or maybe he didn't want to answer this silent question, which, on reflection, wasn't such a bad thing: it was easier to forget without knowing names.

But he had finally decided otherwise.

“Noa.”

You nodded silently. Noa and Raka. Two names you'd surely remember for a long time.

---------------

You'd taken your seat in front of the fireplace again, the only difference being that you'd taken the blanket that had been lying on your armchair with you. You had wrapped yourself up inside it to protect yourself from the fresh air of the night, and your fingers had mindlessly begun to skim the outline of the frame that was still on the floor. You were almost desperate. No matter how hard you thought about the best way to repair the frame and protect the precious treasure inside, your brain couldn't come up with a solution.

As focused as you were, you didn't even notice when Noa pointed to the wall above your head where your lists were lined up and arranged in columns.

“Do you know what these are?” Noa signed to Raka, who answered with a “no” nod. “Maybe… ask her?” Raka signed back.

But would you answer him? Until now, you'd never really exchanged more than two words apart from the first day when you'd caught them wanting to take your horse. Maybe you wouldn't accept his question, and maybe you might even take it the wrong way if he ventured to ask you a question that… concerned you too much? He'd kept in the back of his mind your reaction when Raka had wanted to help you pick up the rose petals.

“Not a good idea.” Noa signed again. “She gave fish, and the blankets.”

Raka shrugged as if that were enough to justify the fact Noa could ask you a question without batting an eyelid and you were kind enough, in spite of everything, to answer him.

“If you want her horse, you have to speak.” Raka prompted.

Noa huffed quietly, resigned. He had to talk to you.

You jumped when the wooden floor creaked beside you. Your eyes immediately went to Noa, who was taking a closer look at the lists on your wall. His voice buzzed in his ribcage and your gaze followed the movement of his hand, pressing down on one of your lists.

“What… is this?”

Silence.

Noa lowered his eyes to yours, feeling the need to perceive an answer from you, even though he already suspected he'd find nothing in your veiled gaze.

Perhaps if he looked harder, he'd be able to see again that melancholy glint he'd seen earlier, but you'd obviously managed to hide it even deeper. He wasn't going to get you twice in a row.

Unable to find what he was looking for, and frustrated by your silence, he was drawn to what your fingers were fiddling with on the floor.

Noa didn't understand the object at your feet. He had no idea what it was and out of curiosity, he crouched down, trying to get a little closer to the shape to understand its use. He could feel your puzzled gaze, almost on alert for the next move he might take, but he decided that as long as you didn't push him away, then he was allowed to continue his inspection. You had most certainly hovered your hand over the transparent plate on purpose to prevent him from seeing more precisely what it was, but whatever it might be, there was only one possible conclusion.

“Broken?” he asked.

Noa sought your gaze again, and the answer he found completely baffled him. He hadn't said much. One word. Just one word. And yet, the glimmer he had glimpsed with difficulty when he first entered your hut had just leapt into his face like the solution to a question that had been left unanswered for too long.

Sadness.

He could see it clearly, clearer than the water in the river. Echo's eyes were sad. This sudden emotion you were offering him as if on a platter of berries, this emotion he'd been searching for in you for three days, wondering if you were really capable of such a natural thing, this emotion, he suddenly didn't know what to do with it.

If the rose petals you'd picked up were important, this, this object you were shielding from his eyes with your hands, was certainly far more important. So important that it triggered an emotion in you capable of being expressed and given as a gift.

You closed your eyes. Maybe you'd given him too much. You closed your eyes and Noa noticed the long sigh that made your chest expand and contract.

And then, nothing.

Like the sun reaching the last horizon before fading behind it, there was nothing left in your eyes.

He watched you lay the blanket on the broken wood before getting up and leaving your house. Noa abruptly sought comfort from Raka, who gave him only one sentence in return.

“What have you done this time?”

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