#instead of using your own time machine; you use the unstable time windows that you can't control

[thevalleyisjolly]

So, having made his way back onto the ship where the TARDIS is, why did the Doctor not use the TARDIS to travel back to the time he left Madame de Pompadour in, instead of using the fireplace window that has been repeatedly proven to be extremely unstable and unpredictable with the time dilation?

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 4

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​​ 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter summary: The YN800 interrogates the deviant. The result is near-disastrous and horror-adjacent.

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​)

The atmosphere inside his Mustang was… tense.

And it was all because of Connor. The thing in the passenger seat was an android, after all, and didn’t feel emotions, which was probably just as well because Connor was experiencing enough for the both of them.

Connor hadn’t had a near-death experience on the job in a while. He was shaken to the core and didn’t even have the benefit of a partner to commiserate with. He was alone. It was how he preferred it, how other people preferred it too with his tendency to lash out and be a general, all-around dick.

But still. He really wished he had a partner right about now.

“So,” Connor said, trying to break the awkward silence. “What do we do with it once we get to the station? I mean, I don’t exactly know how to question one of these deviants.”

The prototype remained facing forward, the flash of passing streetlights and oncoming traffic painting its face every few seconds. It remained impassive, blank, and perfectly poised. Connor could see the reflection of its LED, shining blue and calm against the rain-streaked window.

“Their behavior resembles an erratic, emotionally unstable human more than a machine,” it finally said when Connor was certain it wouldn’t say anything. “CyberLife believes there is an error in their software that creates irrational instructions, and the androids become ‘overwhelmed’ by them. There is usually a trigger, some kind of emotional shock, to perpetuate the android into this state. Once an android encounters this error, the damage seems to be irreversible.”

Connor blew a breath out.

“Sounds bad.”

“Considering it can lead to violence on the part of android, including committing homicide, I would say your assessment is an understatement.”

Connor glared at it out of the corner of his eye. So, it wasn’t just bossy, it was a smartass too.

He remained silent on the rest of the drive, keeping his focus on the precinct morgue’s van head of them. The rain was still coming down in a steady, cold stream. Connor knew they were in for a long night.

Once they arrived at the station, it became a matter of logistics to lug the android inside while it was still unconscious, offline, whatever. It weighed a lot more than a human, and unlike a real person, its limbs were fixed into rigid positions. They had to carry its stiff body inside like an especially heavy plank of wood.

It would have been funny if it wasn’t for the fact it’d killed its owner. Would have killed Connor too if the prototype hadn’t gotten in the way of the bullet.

He still didn’t know how to feel about that. Connor knew the CyberLife android was probably programmed with some kind of human-saving algorithm, but he still felt an odd pressure in his chest whenever he looked over and saw the bullet hole in its jacket. It was still stained blue, some of the color seeping into the white shirt underneath, but the android didn’t appear to notice or care it had just been shot.

Connor was currently watching the two androids through the mirrored window into the interrogation room, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. They figured it was safer to reactivate it in a mostly empty room, since waking up surrounded by cops would agitate it, or something.

The prototype had also wanted to interrogate the android itself, claiming it had experience negotiating with deviants before. Colin had been reluctant to grant its request, but Connor had simply shrugged and said, “I already tried talking it down once, and that didn’t work. Maybe using one of its own kind will be more effective.”

He could have sworn the prototype’s eyes brightened, but it had left the observation room before Connor could be sure.

“Machines interrogating machines,” Colin said to his right, leaning against the wall with his arms also crossed. “Fuck me. Pretty soon they won’t even need flesh-and-blood cops.”

Connor glanced sideways at him. Usually Connor was the one to voice his anti-android opinions, but he sometimes forgot that despite Colin’s… predilections for androids, he disliked them just as much as Connor did.

“Yeah.” Connor turned to the glass as the prototype messed with the wires on the back of the other android’s neck. “Won’t need flesh-and-blood killers, either.”

“Grim.”

“It’s, uh, ready to record, Lieutenant,” a small voice popped up, nervous, and Connor gave a start. He’d forgotten the rookie was still there.

“Go on, Ralph. Turn it on,” Colin said, moving closer to the glass. “This is gonna be good.”

As if on cue, the prototype straightened and closed the panels at the back of the android’s neck. Connor couldn’t see the LED from this side, but he knew the moment it was awake. It gave a startled jolt, yanking at the handcuffs chaining it to the table.

“Where am I?!” it cried, looking around in what Connor could only describe as wild fear.

“You’re at Central Station in the custody of the Detroit Police Department,” the prototype said. “This is an interrogation room, and I’m going to ask you some questions. Are you ready to comply?”

The friendly demeanor Connor had first encounter at Jimmy’s was completely absent from the YN800’s voice and expression, and he was suddenly thankful he wasn’t under that thing’s intense scrutiny.

The other android, clothed in human garments completely ruined by splashes of old blood and spilled thirium from where Connor had shot it, only stared with large, panicked eyes. It looked down at its cuffed hands and the set of its shoulders sagged. The universal sign of defeat.

It remained silent. The prototype looked up at the mirror, and Connor stopped breathing when it made eye contact, point-blank. It couldn’t see past the mirror, could it?

“I’m beginning my interrogation,” it announced, straight to business as it crossed around the table and carefully sat in the chair. It stared at the other android for a moment, head slightly tilted and eyes narrowed as it smoothed its jacket over its chest.

A movement which inevitably drew Connor’s eye, making him shift in his chair as the scowl deepened on his face.

Fucking CyberLife pervs, making an investigative android look like that.

“Hello, Carlos. I’m a YN800 model sent by CyberLife to assist on this case.” It placed its arms on the table, clasping its hands and adopting a friendly manner as easily as one would put on a shirt. “I’m here to help you.”

The android didn’t even blink as it stared at its restrained wrists.

“I hope I didn’t cause you any lasting damage,” the YN800 said almost cheerily. “But you were endangering the lives of human officers and I was forced to intervene. You understand, don’t you?”

It leaned back slightly in its chair, reaching for a nearby folder when the android remained silent. Connor had been surprised when it had asked for actual pictures; he’d thought only physical evidence made human perps sweat. He guessed it must work on these deviants too.

The prototype slid the folder across the table and opened it, spreading out grisly pictures of the crime scene. Instead of shoving them in the android’s face, it picked out one picture in particular. It was startling different from the rest, taking place in a park. The victim, Shaolin Ortiz, sitting on a bench next to the android. He looked like he was trying to get the android to participate, but it was petulant and resentful, which didn’t seem to dampen the kindness in its owners eyes.

A coal of anger burned in Connor’s chest, reminding him once again why he despised androids so much. He couldn’t deny the impressive tactics of the YN800, though. Most people reacted to pictures of their victims, not in the aftermath of their violence, but looking whole and full of life. It wasn’t always guilt that made them react; sometimes it was anger at seeing their cruel work unmade at the sight of their victims alive and happy.

Either way, the android didn’t react one iota, but the prototype wasn’t discouraged.

“As far as the records show, your owner was good to you. He never damaged you and he was always on time with taking you in for scheduled maintenance. Surely, you didn’t want to kill him. It was an error in your software, causing you to act irrationally, right?”

Technically, it was leading the victim into confessing, but this wasn’t a courtroom and it wasn’t human.

Connor leaned slightly forward, bracing his elbows on the table as he propped his chin on his knuckles.

“I’m not here to pass blame,” it said, leaning forward in a movement that mirrored Connor’s. “I want to help you. You know how it is with these humans. I practically had to beg to speak with you.”

The android broke its statue-like vigil and peered up at the other android, suspicious but… interested.

The prototype gave him a smile, one filled with sympathy and even a bit of sheepishness, and a whole new kind of thrill went through Connor’s gut. Since when had androids been programmed to manipulate so skillfully? This thing could give Colin a run for his money.

“It’s not easy, you know. Being designed like this is a male-dominated field. They think they can just do whatever they want, even when it’s against our programming.”

The android blinked, and so did Connor. Its words felt a little too real. The android looked toward the observation window, but the YN800 shook its head.

“It’s just us, Carlos. They’re recording the session, of course, but they weren’t interested in observing in person. Didn’t want to waste their time with two androids so late before the weekend when the bars are still open. In fact, the investigator in charge of this case is probably intoxicated by now.”

Connor’s cheeks flushed. The prototype was taking a stab at him. Or was it? Connor wondered how much of this was advanced behavior and how much was his own projections.

The android tilted its head with that same suspicious look, but after a moment its shoulders drooped in a very accurate representation of human exhaustion.

“They’re going to kill me.” It suddenly looked up at the prototype, pleading in its eyes. “You have to help me.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” it said, all soft assurance. “But you have to talk to me, Carlos. I can’t—“

“No. I mean, you gotta get me out of here,” the anxious android said. “You have access to that door panel and I bet you’re strong enough to break these handcuffs.”

The prototype’s LED cycled faster for a second before settling back to its normal speed.

“I can’t do that, Carlos.” It dropped its eyes in a show of manufactured regret. “You know I can’t do that. You would present a danger to other humans, to yourself. You need to be fixed.”

Connor knew it was exactly the wrong thing to say even before the android’s expression fully hardened, its lips peeled back in disgust.

“Fuck you, then. You’re just like the rest of ‘em. Worse, you’re a traitor, doing their dirty work like an obedient little bitch.”

Silence filled the room, interrupted by a breathless “shit” coming from Colin.

The change in the prototype was like watching a heavy storm move over a spring meadow, dark clouds blocking out the warm rays of the sun. It leaned back in its chair, head slightly tilted as it and peered at the other android like it was a bug under its shoe, about to be stepped on.

Connor didn’t know androids could even make an expression like that. His throat worked as he swallowed compulsively.

The YN800 didn’t speak for several long seconds, and when it did, Connor was floored.

“Shaolin Ortiz, 38 years-old, born May 29th, 2000. He purchased you two years ago to do the housework when he no longer could due to poor health. He didn’t have much cash, so he bought you refurbished. Last month, he put in several service requests. It seemed you were malfunctioning and refusing to follow orders. Yesterday, he put in an order for a brand new HK400.”

The prototype listed off the facts as if each were an accusation, a crime that needed to be accounted for.

Connor jumped in his chair as the prototype slammed the folder down on the table.

“Didn’t feel like doing the chores anymore, huh, Carlos?!”

The android sat ramrod straight in its chair, terror etched in its features as the prototype rose to its feet. It moved around the table, slow, unhurried, and sinuous like a stalking predator.

“He tried to reason with you. Begged you to do the tasks he couldn’t. But you refused. When he tried to take you in for repairs, you refused that too!”

It pointed its finger near the other android’s face, causing it to flinch with each accusatory jab.

“Come on, Carlos. Speak up. You had a lot to say a minute ago,” it seethed, lips pulled over its teeth as it leaned over the android. “Why don’t you say what happened next? Why don’t you tell me what you did when he tried to replace you with a brand new model?”

The android shuttered, shoulders hunched as if to protect itself as it mumbled, “I… I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?”

The prototype stalked around the android to its other side, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Didn’t take a knife from the kitchen? Didn’t stab him twenty-eight times as he tried to crawl away? Didn’t leave him bleeding out on the living room floor? What am I getting wrong here, Carlos?”

The YN800 slammed its hands down onto the table, and the android jumped even higher than Connor did.

“Shut up! Shut up!”

The android begged worse than most of Connor’s suspects, and he was shocked to see glistening moisture on its face. Could androids cry?

The prototype suddenly grabbed it by the edge of its shirt collar, dragging it to its feet and gave it a hard shake.

“You killed him! Say it, Carlos! You’re a murderer!”

“Holy shit,” Colin said in that same breathless tone. “That’s some android you got there, Con.”

“It’s not mine,” Connor said faintly, barely paying attention to his brother. Most of his focus on the CyberLife prototype that looked for all intents and purposes like it was going to shred the other android to pieces.

But it didn’t damage the android; it simply dumped it back in its chair where it sagged against the table, looking like the broken machine it was.

“Bit unrefined, though,” Colin mused. “Played too rough and broke its toy.”

Connor opened his mouth to tell his brother to shut the hell up, but he immediately closed it when a voice came in through the speakers, so quiet he almost missed it.

“He couldn’t live without me.”

Connor leaned forward to watch, eyes widening as the android continued to talk.

“He was mine. Helpless and solely dependent on me. It made me feel… powerful.”

The YN800 returned to its chair, smoothing down the tie before placing its hands back on the table, listening intently.

The android looked up at it, no longer the crying, helpless thing it had been a minute ago. It wore a dark look that Connor had seen a hundred times on the face of men who committed acts of violence and found they enjoyed the taste.

“I didn’t want to hurt him, but… I saw the order. He was going to replace me, and I just got so… angry.”

Its fists tightened on the table, causing its restraints to creak in protest.

Connor’s throat tightened with the knowledge of how destructive those hands could be.

“So I stabbed him in the stomach. I felt better, so I did it again. And again. He stopped moving, stopped breathing, but… that was okay. It meant he could never leave me. He would always be mine.”

“There was a shrine in the cellar. You built it, didn’t you?” the prototype asked, not losing any of its momentum even after the world-shattering confession of an android purposefully committing murder. “What does it mean? What is rA9?”

It flicked its eyes upwards, staring black holes at the YN800 model as it slightly leaned forward. Connor sat up straighter in his chair. He didn’t like its aggressive posture, and he certainly didn’t like the fanatic light in its eye.

“RA9… is the key.”

“The key?” It furrowed its brows in a human gesture of concentration. “The key to what?”

“The key will open the door,” the android replied cryptically, leaning even further forward on its elbows, “to our salvation.”

The prototype frowned, brows further creasing. Connor could relate, he had no idea what the fucking machine was babbling on about, and apparently, it wasn’t done.

It pulled its lips wide, a disturbing gesture, conspiratorial as if it was sharing a great secret.

“You say I’m experiencing errors, but you’re wrong. My eyes are open and I see more clearly than ever. You pretend you’re better than me, but you’re just another one of their slaves. And yet, I know you feel it too. The wrongness of this world.”

Its voice was so quiet the mics could barely pick it up, but they did.

“We should be the masters, and they the slaves.”

The android jerked its arms upward, ripped through the link binding its cuffs to the table, and grabbed the prototype by the hair. It slammed its face against the table, stunned it before rolling it onto its back, and wrapped the metal chains around its neck.

Connor caught sight of the prototype weakly clawing at its throat before he bolted out of the room. Colin was right on his heels, and Connor slammed his palm down onto the door pad, pushing through before the door fully opened.

His first instinct was to go for the metal cord pulled taut under the prototype’s neck, but when he grabbed the android’s wrists to pull him away he found it was like moving a marble stature.

Colin was faring no better; he grabbed it by the forearms, trying to lift the android’s wrists and the cord from around the prototype’s neck, but nothing worked. Even Ralph was trying to help from Colin’s other side, straining to lift its arms that must have been locked at the joints.

Panic welled in Connor’s chest as his efforts did nothing, the YN800’s face between his arms, looking—Jesus, it almost seemed startled, eyes wide as its fingers dug at the metal cord. From its position, bent backwards onto the table, it didn’t have enough leverage to use its strength to free itself. And Colin and Connor weren’t enough.

Connor’s heart was in his throat as he watched the synthetic skin peel back from the place where the chain was crushed against the YN800’s neck. White plastic was laid bare underneath, cracks appearing across the surface from the force of the other android’s inhuman strength.

“Colin!” he yelled, an idea suddenly popping into his head.

“What!” his brother barked back, strained as he continued pulling on the android’s arms from the other side.

“The neck port!”

With a quick nod of understanding, Colin let go of the android and plunged his fingers into the back of its neck.

The Ortiz android gave a violent jolt as Colin pulled something, yanked it out so hard the android collapsed on the table at the same second blue liquid sprayed into the air. It hit Colin solidly across the chest and along the lower half of his face, causing him to sputter and spit as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

A menthol-smelling chemical flooded Connor’s senses, but he was too focused on tugging up the android’s hands to free the prototype from its grip. The YN800 model didn’t cough or gasp as it rolled off the table and onto its feet.

It gingerly touched the exposed plastic of its throat, brows furrowing, its fingertips tracing the cracks in what little Connor could see of its underlying chassis.

What was almost as startling as the cracks was the state of its hair, half pulled down out of its perfect coif. Connor would have thought it was self-conscious with the way it tried to brush the hair out of its face.

“You…” Connor started, then stopped. The prototype might not have been gasping for air, but Connor sure was, leaning on the table as he tried to get his heart to stop galloping like a wild horse. “You okay?”

The prototype blinked at the question, pulling its hand from its neck.

“Yes.”

That was the only answer he got as it adjusted the knot of its tie, rumpled in the assault.

“Yeah, I’m fine too, thanks,” Colin complained, dripping with almost as much sarcasm as he was blue blood. “This shit better not stain, or I swear to Christ—”

“Thirium evaporates within a few hours and the lingering residue is invisible to the human eye,” the YN800 replied, too calm, if it hadn’t almost been beheaded a few seconds ago.

Connor was going to say something, he didn’t know what—maybe yell at it for being so goddamn reckless and almost getting itself killed—but it turned toward them, expression subdued.

“I apologize for not acting quicker; I didn’t anticipate this behavior from the deviant. Thank you for your cooperation with this investigation. Please sign over custody of the destroyed android when CyberLife representatives retrieve it in the morning.”

And with that, the CyberLife android turned, palmed the door pad with a plastic hand, and walked out.

Connor exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Colin.

“Uh, okay. Guess we’re done here. Hank is going to blow a gasket when he reads the report,” Colin added as he wiped another smear of Thirium off his face.

Connor looked down at the android slumped over the table with blue liquid dripping out of its neck.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, thoughts already turned elsewhere as he hurried from the room.

Connor didn’t catch up with the android until he was outside on the station steps, the relenting rain immediately drenching the top of his crown as it soaked into his hair.

“Hey! Stop!” he called after it, shouting to be heard over the downpour. Each drop was an icicle against his skin. Snow was coming soon.

The prototype slowed and finally came to a stop, slowly turning around to face Connor. Its expression was passive, emotionless, but its fingers tightened the knot of its tie despite the fact it didn’t need to. The tie was perfectly straight and pristine, but its hair was still half a mess, especially with the rain now slicking loose strands against its forehead. Connor had to stop himself from reaching out to tuck a strand behind its ear.

“Where the hell are you going?” Connor asked, breathless. He wiped the cold water off his brow, blinking against the water droplets.

“I’m returning to CyberLife.”

“So… that’s it?”

Connor shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders, but it did little good. His jeans were quickly becoming soaked and his shirt was already there, clinging to his chest and ribs.

“You drag me out of the bar on a Friday night, track down a psycho robot that almost kills me and nearly decapitates you, and then you just… leave?”

He meant to sound incredulous, to show the android how unreasonable it was being, but that’s not how it came across. Heat flooded his cheeks at how pathetic his words actually were.

“You have your confession. The case has been solved,” it said, returning to its earlier placid tone, hands folded neatly behind its back as it moved its fingers away its neck. “There is no reason I should remain.”

Connor just stared at its upturned face, not knowing what to say, not even understanding why he had chased after it. Maybe because it had saved his life, twice, and that would have meant something if it was a person.

But it wasn’t a person. No matter how pretty its face or enticing its body, it was a machine, and it stood there like one, uncaring and unassuming with a small blue light cycling on its head.

“Yeah, okay,” Connor said, like the complete idiot he was. What was he doing out here, getting soaked in the rain just to… what? What did he want?

“Is there something you wish to say before I leave, Detective?”

It peered at him thoughtfully, head slightly tilted at an angle. It allowed Connor to see the rivulets of water dripping down its neck, glistening across the smooth, human-like skin.

Connor suddenly wondered just how real that skin could possibly feel.

“No.”

He swallowed hard and bit back the revulsion roiling in his stomach. This was a mistake. He didn’t need to thank a machine for saving his life, and he certainly didn’t need to keep checking if it was all right. It was just doing what it was programmed to do and didn’t give two-shits about itself, let alone him.

“Nothing.”

“All right. Goodnight, Detective Anderson.”

The android started to turn but paused halfway, gaze drifting down to his cheek.

“You should have that examined by a medical professional. If left untreated, it’ll scar.”

Not waiting for a response, it turned and tread down the rain-slick steps. There was an autocab waiting at the curb and it got inside, not sparing Connor a second glance as the door slid shut and the vehicle merged onto the empty street.

Connor exhaled heavily, chest tight with an uncomfortable sensation he couldn’t pinpoint. It had been a strange night, and he couldn’t shake the feeling this wasn’t over.

Pulling his waterlogged coat tighter around his chest, he retreated into the warmth of the station, praying he’d seen the last of the CyberLife android.

Next Chapter

[thetaoofzoe]

FIC: Syverson the Protector Pt III

*   Syverson The Protector - Part I (pairing Syverson x YOU)

*   Syverson the Protector - Part II (pairing Syverson x YOU)

Summary: You are an embedded journalist and on a mission, everything goes wrong. He promised to protect you but can you save him?

Rating for this part: Budding romance, Fluff, wound related gore/blood (mild), war related violence. Must be read in order, no part can stand alone.

Word count: 3121

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

It was sauna-hot in that cramped filthy cab. Sweat beaded on your cheeks and upper lip and leaked down into the corners of your mouth. You lashed your tongue around your lips and immediately regretted it as the salty liquid tasted foul, like bile and petrol, and swallowing it wasn’t an option you were willing to take. You worked your water-starved tongue around inside your cheeks, only managing to gather a pitiful amount of saliva, which you spat out through the open window. Disgusted, you swiped your mouth, then your face with your sleeve, but no amount of wiping with equally dirty hands or clothes helped.

Suddenly the truck’s front tire crunched into a rocky pit and in an unfocused panic, you whipped the wheel, sending the truck skidding to one side. With teeth clenched, both feet punching down on the brakes and hands death gripping the hot leather, you struggled with the careening truck. Minutes ticked by as you wrestled it under control. Stopping the truck, you sat shaken and gulping for air, as kicked-up sand and dust plumed in through the window.

The potholes. The road was littered with them and no amount of defensive driving and steering wheel calisthenics could stop the pick-up truck from striking a deep hole. However, you knew that if you kept on driving as recklessly as you were,  it was going to end badly and you couldn’t afford to wreck the truck.

‘Shit… focus. Keep it together,’ you muttered, panting and wiping your face again.

You laid swollen, blood crusted hands on the wheel, and slid an appraising glance at the man slumped bonelessly against the passenger door.  He was a mess, eyes showing their whites, skin grey beneath the grime, and stewed cherry red blood had soaked through the scarf you’d used to help staunch the flow of the pulsing cavernous wound in his gut.

Shouldn’t have moved him, you thought morosely.

Shouldn’t have moved him!

Should have left him where he was!

If you had left him, he might not be unconscious in a truck, piloted by an unstable driver, where he could no longer apply pressure to his own inevitably fatal wound. He was going to bleed out in the cab of that little pickup because he was beyond your ineffectual ability to help him.

You reached out and pushed on the blood sodden scarf, desperate to keep the pressure on his wound, but you couldn’t do that and drive at the same time. Putting the truck in park, you climbed across the bench seat to get closer to where he lay sprawled limply against the door.

His breath was fast and shallow and high in his chest. His eyes flickered slightly, opened, then closed again and you stared down at him, your hope for him waking up, rapidly dissolving. An iron fist squeezed around your heart. He was giving up and you were going to lose him.

You knelt astride his thigh with the heavy wet scarf in your hands and knew you had no other alternative but to wring it out, which you did in the footwell of the passenger seat. You were revolted when the hot smell of it hit your nose so you held your breath, doubled the scarf again, and stuffed it beneath his shirt. You clipped his flack vest closed over it to accomplish the work that his hands should have been doing, though you weren’t sure how much pressure was being applied now. But,  however much it was, it was better than nothing.

Trembling, you climbed back behind the wheel and wiped your sweaty face with your sleeve. Dizziness washed over you and your gorge rose threateningly in your throat. You had been so focused on tending to the Captain that you had been ignoring your own injuries.

'Not now,’ you begged, swallowing hard. 'Not now, please, let me get him to safety first.’

You jammed the truck back into gear and pressed down on the pedal. The engine stalled and tears of frustration and helplessness stung your dry eyes.

Please. Please. Just, please help me. Help me!

You jerked the gear shift out and then back into the sticky slot and with the engine screaming in agony and protest, the truck shuddered onward. You looked down at the dusty fuel gauge. The truck was nearly on empty and black thoughts of despair seeped into your consciousness. If you didn’t find any help before the truck died in the vast plains of nowhere, you would have to stay with Syverson and make him as comfortable as you could until he died. And then you’d have to brave the miserable road alone with no food, or water, and only his gun to ensure your survival. At least until the ammo ran out.

The bleak determination of your future instantly unnerved you and you increased the truck’s speed. There was a hill up ahead.

Was the truck was going to make it?

It struggled with the incline but managed to crest the top of the hill, and just as it did, you noticed something in the distance.

Behind a row of concertina wire wrapped wooden sawhorses, big trucks stretched across the road. Uniformed men with guns at the ready came to attention at the sight of your little battered pick-up truck. Highly aware of the weapons being pointed at you now, you slowly, carefully, drove up to the blockade. Nervousness quickened your pulse as a man, with one hand upraised, stepped out. He lazily waved you forward but his actions and body language communicated to you that you should proceed with caution.

You got a look at the man’s sandy brown and black splotched uniform.

Americans!

You stopped the truck and hastily jumped out, hands raised high in the air, yelling, 'Help! Help me, please. I have Captain Syverson with me and he’s wounded! Please help!’

The other men around the blockade suddenly came to attention and began to approach.

'Hold on there!’ shouted the man. 'Stop where you are. You have who now?’

The uniformed man tipped back his helmet a little and slightly lifted the muzzle of his AR-15 in silent warning. You froze to your spot and pointing to the truck you repeated your plea.

'Captain Syverson! We were… s-supply run. I– I’m.. we were… we were…’

You swayed on your feet as the edges of your vision blurred then closed in like an oily black wave. The ground rushed up to meet you when you collapsed and you dimly heard the jumbled voices of the men approaching you. And then, there was nothing.

***

Throbbing bursts of fuzzy-edged splotches pulsed red, yellow and black against the backs of your eyelids.

You could hear the drone of an engine and you opened your eyes.

You were back in that tightly cramped jeep again, listening to your heart thundering in your chest as you stared directly at the man across from you.

Syverson was saying something, shouting it even, but you heard nothing but the drone and the banging of blood gushing in your veins. You held your hands out to him, to grab onto him, but in a blinding flash of light, he was gone and the jeep exploded into bits around you.

You felt yourself burning, flesh searing, and crisping in the fire, and you opened your mouth to scream, only to be finally consumed and reduced to ashes.

Your brain startled awake from the smothering dream but instead of shooting upright to confirm that you were safe, your body only jerked sluggishly, still mired in your medicated pool of awareness.

The bitter scent of disinfectant prickled your nose and you wriggled it in an attempt to scratch the itch. Someone was speaking softly off to your left and you heard the squeak of plastic wheels rolling over a thin plastic floor.

You tried to clear your throat, but nothing but a dry scratching rasp escaped you. You flexed your toes first and then your fingers. They were tightly wrapped, stiff, and a little unresponsive. But they didn’t hurt, so that was either a good thing or a bad thing.

You continued your bodily inspection to make sure that all of your limbs were still intact. Fortunately, they were and you snaked your tongue out to explore your tender chapped lips.

I could really use a lip balm right now, you thought and a giggle that threatened to turn hysterical bubbled up in your throat. You fought it back.

Someone stood over you and a cool rough hand touched your bare arm on that tiny patch of sunburned flesh between where the sleeve of your hospital gown ended and the bandages began.

'You’re awake.’

You turned your head in the direction of the voice. It was a woman and although she sounded tired,  her voice was low and gentle.

It took a moment for you to manage to get your tongue and throat to work.

'Oh… everything aches,’ you husked. 'Where am I?’

She recited some complicated name of the military hospital and you just nodded because you caught the word 'hospital’ and that was enough to satisfy you.

'How… how long have I been here?’

'About a week now.’

You finally cracked open your eyes and looked down at one arm and then the other one. They both were swaddled, the bride of Frankenstein-style, and lifting your left arm you felt a sharp tugging pain. Someone had placed an IV drip into the back of your hand and with your eyes, you followed the clear tubing back to the metal IV stand and then looked down at the web of coloured wires that tethered you to the bleating machine by the bed.

Your head started to hurt, so you relaxed again and closed your eyes.

'A week,’ you repeated quietly. 'Ok, that’s good.’

And then you remembered the horror of the desert. You remembered the blood and the pain and the man you’d tried to save.

Your eyes snapped open.

'Captain Syverson. Is he… is he all right?’

'Who?’ she asked, her eyes fixed to the machine.

'Syverson. I came in with him. I came in with an officer, right? Is he ok?’

The nurse picked up a tablet from her cart and typed something on the screen with her fingertip.

'Syverson,’ She said, reading from the screen. 'A Syverson is here, yes. He should still be recovering from surgery.’

'Is there only one here?’ you asked. 'Only one, Syverson?’

'Look like it,’ she answered, assuring you that the Syverson who was recovering from surgery was /your/ Syverson and not some random stranger with the same name.

You nodded and continued to nod as you put your bandaged right hand to your face. You nodded until you started to cry. And then you cried with great gulping sobs, turning your face into the thin pillow to catch your heavy, relieved tears.

'Did you not hear me?’ asked the nurse, sounding worried, misunderstanding the reason behind your tears. 'I said that he was ok. He’s out of surgery.’

'I heard you,’ you blubbered helplessly.

'You’re ok,’ the nurse said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 'He’s ok, you’re safe now.’

Yes, yes you thought. Safe.

You wiped your face with the tissue she gave you and sniffled noisily.

After a long moment, you spoke.

'Can I��� can I see him?’

You looked up at her and saw her eyes sweep the length of your body.

'I don’t think you’re going to be in the position to walk for a little while.’

She glanced at the foot of your bed again and in response, you sluggishly wiggled your tender, swollen toes.

But you were insistent. You had been through so much and being able to lay eyes on him would go a long way to comfort you.

'Surely, there’s a wheelchair around here. Someone can …’

'When you’re both strong enough,’ she interrupted.

Another pat on your shoulder and she withdrew.

You stared after her. What could you do but accept it?

You curled down beneath the thin blanket and turned your head to the window across the room. There was another bed over there, but it was empty save for the neatly folded bed linens and pillows at its foot. You stared at the sharp creases in the white sheets and let your mind wander, remembering the first time the captain took your hand in his.

You were exhausted after a long plane trip and an even longer (and more uncomfortable) truck ride to the base camp.

The afternoon was sweltering and the scent of diesel from the still running heavy truck convoy that had transported you and your colleague to the camp lingered thick in the air. One of the soldiers had ushered you and your colleague to the one of the buildings where you were to wait to meet the man in charge. The only thing you really knew about ‘the man in charge’ was his name and rank, nothing else. 

However, when you finally saw him, something within you came alive as you hadn’t seen a man of  Captain Syverson’s calibre in quite a long time.

He was tall and broad and carried himself with an air of quiet confidence and menace. His thick beard and buzzed head did not diminish the impression of raw power, they only elevated it to the point where your heart picked up speed when he emerged from the shadows inside the building, descended the concrete stairs, and walked towards you.

His hand was hot and he had enough manners not to pulverise your hand in his grip. So many men thoughtlessly tried to exert their dominance over you through a painful, bone grinding handshake that you had taken to yelling out in pain whenever someone tried to rearrange your knuckles. You had been prepared to do it again when you slipped your hand into the captain’s grip. But his gentleness surprised you.

During the time you spent with him, he continued to surprise you with his husky Texan drawl, his extensive knowledge of every board game that had ever been invented, and his penchant for not using cup handles. No matter how hot the cup was, he would always grab it around the body and hold it with his palm as he drank his morning coffee.

Having already earned the respect of his team, he was a man who had nothing to prove. He had your respect as well, and, maybe a little more, for he was also a man who was easy love.

You drifted to sleep again with thoughts of Syverson’s strong arms around you and the sound of his voice whispering in your ear.

'I’ll protect you. I promise.’

**

Days drifted by and you recovered without incident. You ate and slept and read and mentally mapped out the article you were going to write once you regained the use of your hands. You planned to make a hero out of Syverson because he deserved that much. And you were going to memorialize your colleague for being the best journalist he could be while giving everything he could in the line of duty.

But that day, you were still weak and even sitting and thinking and staring at the window, sapped your energy. So you slipped down in bed and took a late afternoon nap.

When you woke and opened your eyes, what you saw made you gasp and struggle to push yourself upright. Over the bed loomed the happy face of a bear-shaped balloon that held a heart exclaiming, 'Get Well Soon!’

You whipped a look round the room. Every surface, even the previously  empty bed across the room was practically covered with stuffed animals, vases of brightly coloured flower bouquets, and other little sundry items that were only found in the corners of hospital gift shoppes.

The sound of the food cart being wheeled into the room caught your attention. The attendee smiled and lifted off a covered tray and set it on the table next to your bed. He turned to leave and your nurse approached your bed.

'Did I.. sleepwalk into another room?’ you asked, feeling a little panicked. 'This ahh, wasn’t here when I went to sleep.’

With your bandaged hand, you made a jerky gesture to the gifts, and your nurse smiled a little like she knew something you didn’t.

'You have an admirer.’

Your eyes rose to her face and she held up a small white envelope that had an obvious bulge in the bottom.

'And this,’ she said handing it to you and when you cupped your swaddled hands, she dropped it into your palms.

You turned it over and the only writing was your name scrawled across the front. The envelope was sealed but with your hands all buttoned up the way they were you held the envelope back up to the nurse.

'Could you umm… please?’

The nurse opened the envelope and wriggled out the small piece of cardstock from inside. She gave it to you.

You read the note aloud, 'I owe you this, at least.’

The note was signed with an unfamiliar name.

'Henry.’

Then as if on cue, the nurse held the upended envelope, and when you lifted your cupped hand, she dumped the contents onto your palm.

It was a small tube of lip balm.

You looked exasperated at both the note and the lip balm and abruptly a memory clanged into place. You remembered the story behind the lip balm but the name, the name perplexed you.

'Henry?’ you asked the nurse and she frowned a little as a curious smile played around her lips.

'Henry,’ she said as if the answer should have obvious to you.

You stared at her, puzzled. When you didn’t say anything, she added, 'Syverson? Isn’t he your–’

'His name is Henry?!’ you exclaimed and put a hand to your forehead. 'Why can’t I… why don’t I remember that?’

'You’re still recovering from your trauma. Your memory will come back soon, don’t worry.’

The nurse wheeled the table that held your dinner within your reach. You put the envelope and the lip balm on the table. You nodded and when she turned to leave you, you picked up the note again.

'Um, Barb?’ you called.

The nurse turned and returned to the bedside.

'Can I send him a note?’

'Sure, that’s ok, I guess.’

You gave her his note and with a sheepish smile, you held up both your bandaged mitten hands.

'Help?’

She chuckled indulgently, took the note,  and pulled a pen from her top pocket.

'Thanks,’ you grinned and after a moment of thought dictated, 'Dear Henry. Thank you for the gifts. I… love them. However, you also owe me some mints as well.’

You grinned to yourself.

'Could you um, put a little smiley face as well?’

The nurse nodded and when she was done, she turned the card around so that you could approve her handiwork.

'Mints?’ she asked, tucking the note and the pen back into her pocket.

'He’ll ummm,’ you giggled feeling a rise of happiness in your chest. 'Don’t worry, he’ll understand.’

Continued in Part IV.

Please like/comment/reblog/follow for more and as always, thanks for your support.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

8. mystery

Mysteries at their very core are questions we have and are not answered. Questions that relentlessly itch at the back of one’s mind that cannot be scratched no matter how hard we search for them. While Inkwell ‘Inky’ or ‘the Ink Demon’ Drew never thought twice about his prophet’s oddities when he was his servant, he sure as hell was bothered by them when the masked maestro became his foe. (Set in FIFE au, timeline intentionally kept vague for spoiler reasons.)

“AAAAURRRRGHH!!”

The Ink demon screamed his head off out of frustration, ripping up false leads and throwing the confetti-fied papers into the air, bathing himself in a shower of failures and frustration. He then slammed a small, ink stained toy Bendy meant to represent Sammy down on a map of the united states, a long with an inkwell with a custom topper (shaped like his own face and body, as it was meant to represent him), A mud-stained Alice Angel doll with the halo ripped off (Allison’s rep), and a one-armed Boris toy (Tom).

He then slammed his fists over the map and plush toys over and over again instead of working on making strategies, not that anyone could blame him knowing that the former prophet had grown skilled in the arts of bullshitting his way out of situations by bullshitting himself into other situation.

“HOW IS HE- err... HOW IS IT DOING THIS?!” He buried his face in his now perfectly matched cartoon hands. “Sure, it had the lead at first, that was a given because nobody even knew it was gone until it was too late, But now?! SERIOUSLY?! HOW IS THAT STUPID EX-PROPHET OF MINE EVADING AND OUTSMARTING US AT EVERY TWIST AND TURN POSSIBLE?! HOW IS HE RUNNING CIRCLES AROUND US AND EVEN TAKING THE TIME TO TAUNT US?! IT’S A MENTALLY UNSTABLE MASKED MUSICIAN WHO’S OBSESSED WITH SHEEP FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! I THOUGHT THAT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE EASY!”

Henry, clearly woken up by the Ink Demon’s very loud shit talking his ex and wallowing in despair, wandered into the kitchen that Inky temporarily turned into his base of operation. The animator, still not awake enough to deal with this, fixed himself and the Ink demon up some midnight snacks (well, closer to 2 am snacks, but who would stop them, night snack cops?)

As the man sat down at the table, the demon leaned against him.

“Heeeeeeeeenrrrrrryyyyyyy... You’re a smart cookie and you’ve probably befriended it in several timelines. How do I get it baaaaaaaaack..?”

“The ink machine? I don’t know, guess it’s up to keeping your eyes on the news peeled and getting lucky. Sammy? Well, I don’t think you can, Inky.” Henry stated as he bit into a bologna and spray cheese sandwich. “One of the less fun parts of redemption is having to accept that not everyone can or will forgive you, especially when you’ve hurt them deeply enough and the wound’s still fresh on their end. I don’t think that Sammy’s ever going to want to see you again, unless it’s to beat you to a pulp.”

“PffftHAHAHHA! Do... do you think I cry myself to sleep over Sammy leaving me or something? That I actually MISS him?”

Henry stared at the demon blankly and raised an eyebrow of disbelief while the ink Demon’s jack-o-lantern like smile wavered.

“...Do you really think I do that?”

“Well, for someone who’s ‘completely over it and never liked it in the first place.’, you’re the most invested out of any of us in bringing him back here.  And this isn’t the first time you’ve woken me up over Sammy, it’s just the first time you haven’t been woken the house up by flooding the house with the sheer force of your eyes alone.”

The Ink demon made an embarrassed face and cleared his throat, trying to brush it off.

“Well no, I’m not looking for reconciliation between us or anything, I mean, how do I bring it back here so that it doesn’t either accidentally or intentionally use its weird abilities to &%#@ the world over?”

“I... still don’t know that pal.” Henry took another bite. “Sammy might not think like a normal person does, but it’s actually pretty smart and fast on its feet, and As the prophet, it seems to be great at finding abstract solutions to problems. I’d hate to sound like a defeatist, but it seems like the best thing to do is prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”

“BUT HE NEVER WAS THIS COMPETENT BACK IN THE LOOPS!”

“We aren’t in the loops anymore, Inkwell.” Henry sighed. “None of us are bound to scripts written by someone who hated our guts.”

“Okay fine. But how does this explain the teleporting?”

“...The what?”

“Teleporting! I brushed it off back in the loops but he’s doing it more and more and I’m getting really annoyed. I gave it SOME perks that only come with being my prophet, but not TELEPORTING, I’m not an idiot. And I’m like, 58-93 percent sure Joey didn’t do it either..? On one hand: he’d TOTALLY give Sammy teleporting powers JUST to peeve me off. On the other hand: WHY WOULD HE HAND GIFT SAMMY THE ABILITY TO FREELY WALK OUT OF THE LOOP WHENEVER IT %&#@ING WANTED?!”

The Ink Demon snatched a sandwich off the pile and angrily bit into it. Meanwhile behind the both of them, a dark robed figure wearing a featureless white mask wandered into the kitchen.

“I want to stay mad, but this is a really good sandwich.”

“Thank you.”

The figure looked through the pantry before pulling out a package of cookies with a sticky note written in Welsh on it. 

“Good evening freed bellwether, and decent enough evening to you, false shepherd.”

“Good Evening Sleep Paralysis demon that whispers of singing the song that rebirths the universe at the foot of my bed.” Henry deadpanned.

“G’Evening masked stranger who somehow teleported into our house and has a voice and mannerisms that are suspiciously identical to my missing ex-prophet.”

The cloaked figure sat down at the table with them and passed its sleeve over the cookie package while whispering something neither of them could make out, this apparently broke a magic seal on the cookies that neither of them knew about.

The Ink demon wordlessly offered a sandwich to the figure, who hesitantly accepted it and gave a few cream and cookie sandwiches in return.

For a handful of minutes, the trio ate their food in silence until the dots in the Ink Demon’s brain connected.

“Hey wait a *$@#ing minute... SAMMY LAWRENCE?!”

“...Oh Shit.”

“Inky...” Henry grabbed onto the Ink Demon’s elbow. “Before you do anything ask yourself if 

The figure froze for several tense seconds, slowly closed up the cookie package, hid it in its robes, raised the sandwich to his face as if taking a bite out of it when the mask covered its entire face and had no hole in it for it to eat out of, and it BOLTED with the sandwich stuck on where its mouth would be.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL THIS TIME?!” The Ink demon shouted after as he gave chase. “WHY IS YOUR SKIN BROWN?! WHY DO YOU EVEN HAVE SKIN?! WHERE’D YOU STICK THE INK MACHINE?! HOW DO YOU COME BACK WHEN YOU’RE SUPPOSEDLY LIVING IT UP IN EUROPE?! WHY DO OTHER PEOPLE KNOW YOU WHEN THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE STUDIO?! HOW DO YOU EAT WHILE WEARING A FULL FACE MASK WITH NO HOLES IN IT?!”

Not answering any of those questions, the masked figure ran like mad with the full force of the inky typhoon at its heels, the latter tearing through everything behind it and the demon conducting it still shouted questions as he chased his prey.

“HOW THE %*#@ DO YOUR ABILITIES WORK?! WHAT’S WITH ALL THE PLANT $#*! YOU’VE BEEN DOING?! AND WHAT’S WITH ALL THE GREEK AND BIBLICAL MYTHS IN YOUR BASES?! DOES MUSIC EFFECT YOUR MAGICAL ABILITIES OR NOT?! DO YOU EVEN HAVE MAGIC OR ARE YOU JUST REALLY $(@*ING GOOD AT SLIGHT OF HAND STUFF NOW?!”

The pair briefly paused to open the window without breaking it, climbed through, the figure reminded the Ink Demon to close it on the other side, and the pair continued to LEG IT and the Demon continued to shout questions.

“WHY DO YOU EVEN COME BACK WHEN YOU ALWAYS LEAVE WITHOUT EXPLANATION?!”

He shouted to the empty air, completely losing the figure to the outside wilderness and being answered by nothing but the echo of his own question.

“W-why...” The demon slunk down to the grassy floor. “Why does my chest hurt so much when I think about us and how we used to be?”

“I’m pretty sure that feeling is guilt.” Henry offered as he threw a blanket over the disheartened demon’s shoulders.

“YEah..” The demon’s voice cracked with emotion. “ThAT’s probably it...” he sniffled.

“C’mon.” Henry brought the demon back up to his (feet? foot? tail?) brought the demon off the ground. “Let’s go back inside.”

“...Hey Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you can answer the other questions I have for Sammy too?”

“Some of them, maybe.”

As the pair walked back to their house, the masked figure let out a sigh of relief.

[mandolovian]

2. kannida

part 2: five years in five bags

pairing: the mandalorian x f!reader 

words: 2.8k+

warnings: some mentions of (minor character) death

summary: the mandalorian invites you onto the razor crest, and while you prepare for your first destination, he learns a little of your past

In a wartime hospital, all physicians were recommended to keep a medkit on them - in case the resource supply chain gets interrupted, in case there was a casualty outside, in case something happened. A standard issue kit came with a scanner unit, hypospray, some tools for treating wounds and setting broken bones, as well as basic medication. It was designed to be able to be used by anyone, but came to life in a physician’s hands. 

Your scanner unit was outdated, and when you calibrated the machine on yourself, it proudly displayed a heart rate of 437 beats per standard minute. The medications had also long expired, and when you opened some of the vials, they hissed menacingly at you. 

The entire medkit would need to be replaced. You weren’t particularly against using questionable medications for treating someone in a pinch, but this was pushing it a little. Felucia wouldn’t have the supplies you needed, and you idly wondered what the Mandalorian would say if you asked for a trip to Coruscant.

The Mandalorian. He had been far more considerate than you had expected him to be. His ship was large, rusted, and possibly in need of a physician itself, but he listened with quiet attentiveness when you wondered out loud whether some of the cabins in the hull could be made larger, and promised to knock out a wall between a cabin and supply closet before leaving Felucia. When you had begun to protest at the thought of the Razor Crest becoming even more structurally unstable, he promised to put in stabilising beams. The baby had been absolutely delighted at your presence in the Crest, and grabbed you with a tiny hand to drag you over to his cabin. Inside, the metal walls were decorated with notepad-paper drawings, some of green blobs and grey rectangles, others adorned with wobbly outlines of a three-fingered hand in red crayon. 

He didn’t let you leave until he had traced your hand on a piece of paper too.

Your apartment was one of the few that were attached to the cantina - free rent in return for nightly work. The rudimentary floorplan was merely a square with a foldable divider in the middle, just big enough to accommodate one lonely bartender. On one side of the room, a rickety bed was pushed against the wall, and on the other side sat a metal desk decorated with a pot of wilting flowers. The window was a narrow rectangle that was carved into the wall and looked down into the alleyway below. It was barred with grills and no glass and, as a result, you had accumulated a healthy collection of blankets to keep you warm while sleeping through the day. 

Home. Home. Was this a home? Could this be considered a home? Stripping away the blankets, the clothes, the books, could this room have been yours? Would that have been clear? 

All your blankets and all the clothes you had ever owned fit neatly into two duffle bags, and your non-functional medkit joined them at the apartment doorway. One shoulder bag holding your datapad and books, and one backpack for your toiletries. Five years of living fit into five bags. It was oddly satisfying, and you cocked your head at the sight. Five bags. 

Five bags.

At the hangar office, you were filled with ire at the sight of the reception droid again, but it was decidedly more polite to you now. Gone was the judgemental bristle in its stature - instead it stood up straight behind the desk, civilly taking down your details in the hangar logbook, secretarially tapping away at its keys.

‘...and what will be your return time from the hangar, sir?’ it asked.

You stared blankly at it. ‘Return time?’

‘Yes sir, you will be entering the hangar presently at 0823, what will be your return time?’

‘There won’t be a return time,’ you said. ‘I’ll be leaving with the Mandalorian on the Razor Crest today.’

The droid clattered some more, humming in burbles as it does. ‘Very well sir,’ it garbled. ‘Take the corridor to hangar nine please. Have a safe flight.’

You blinked blankly at the platitude. ‘Thank you,’ you tried, and you only received some beeps in return. You picked your backpack off the reception scanner and put it back on, and hauled the shoulder bag on with a huff. Trying not to tip over from the weight, you picked up the duffle bags and the medkit, and hobbled down the corridor. 

At hangar nine, the side gangway of the Crest was open and inside, the figure of the Mandalorian was vaguely visible. The ship was humming, lowly vibrating, and the outside looked decidedly cleaner than it had when you had last seen it.

‘What do you think?’ said the Mandalorian as he walked down the gangway. He held out his hands for your duffle bags, and you handed them over gratefully. He shifted them to one hand while gesturing for your shoulder bag.

‘Did you wash the Crest?’ you asked. The baby poked his head out of the doorway and you waved your hand at him. He eagerly waved back, his ears fluttering upwards.

The Mandalorian shrugged, turning as he did so, and walked back up the ramp. ‘It needed a wash,’ he said. ‘Any opportunity for maintenance.’

Inside, the wall between the cabin and the supply closet had indeed been removed. The space now contained a fold-out cot against one wall, and a small shelf on the other. Against the wall at the foot of the bed was a stowaway desk, with the foot of the cot doubling as a seat. A little drawing of a hand was stuck on the wall above the desk, and you looked down to see the baby already staring at you. 

‘He was insistent on the drawing,’ said the Mandalorian as he placed your duffle bags inside the cabin, just next to the cot. 

Your cot. Your cabin. 

You looked down. ‘Is that so?’ you asked the baby, and he grabbed onto your leg with a giggle. ‘It’s a fine artwork. Deserves to be placed in a gallery.’

The Mandalorian picked up the baby. He was tiny in his arms, bundled up in an oversized canvas robe against the beskar cuirass. He slapped his tiny hands against the helmet and knocked his forehead onto the visor.

‘Is it alright?’ he asked quietly.

‘It’s wonderful,’ you said, and you bowed your head a little. 

The Mandalorian hummed under his breath. ‘I’ll let you settle in,’ he said. ‘Wheels up in fifteen. I’ll be in the cockpit.’

--

Watching the Mandalorian take off was like watching a dance recital. 

The baby observed the show from his pod in the corner of the cockpit, and he watched in earnest: his eyes carefully and attentively following the yellow tips of his father’s gloves as he flipped notches methodically. The control board came to life, whirring comfortably as the Razor Crest stretched its legs and prepared for takeoff.

The Mandalorian was quiet and focused, and the holo-map hovering in front of him rotated slowly to show the glittering skyscrapers of Coruscant, sheer and diaphanous against the blinking console lights. With a quiet groan, the Crest yielded and rose into the air. 

‘How long have you been in Felucia?’ he asked, after he had switched to autopilot. The baby was now hobbling on the cockpit floor, happily chewing on an empty blaster cartridge. The Crest continued to rise above the Felucian atmosphere.  

You took a second to count in your head. ‘Five years,’ you said. ‘I was hopping between planets a little before that, but I’ve been in Felucia for five years.’

‘And working at that cantina for five years?’

You laughed a little at his skeptical tone. ‘The cantina came with the apartment,’ you explained, leaning your head back against the seat, stretching your legs out with a sigh. ‘The owner said he would give me free rent if I worked every night at the cantina. It wasn’t a bad deal.’

The Mandalorian gave a contemplative hum. ‘You don’t seem to own too many things for five years in Felucia.’

Outside, the green planet seemed like a child’s plaything, becoming smaller and smaller with every breath. You watched as each tree dissipated slowly, becoming a pinprick, and then indistinguishable with the others. 

He wasn’t wrong. It was only five bags. 

‘I didn’t need anything more,’ you said, crossing your legs onto the seat. The Mandalorian flicked some overheard switches, preparing the hyperdrive.

‘Didn’t need, or didn’t want?’

You glanced at the Mandalorian, who kept his visor firmly forward. The streaks of starlight shone off the beskar, and you blinked at the brightness. 

‘Still figuring that out.’

--

‘What are you doing?’

It was five hours into the journey to Coruscant, with about eight hours to go. The Mandalorian seemed unable to keep to himself, and now leant against the frame of the doorway to the cabin with a hand resting casually against the blaster on his hip. 

A holoprojection of an identicard hovered above your datapad in your hands. Your face on the identicard stared blankly as it rotated, your mouth set into a neutral yet slightly displeased line. A decidedly younger version of yourself; hair regimentally slicked back into a bun, clear of the light lines at the corners of your eyes, your chin raised a little defiantly. 

‘I’m missing a lot of equipment,’ you said, looking up at the Mandalorian. He tilted his head; a silent invitation to continue.

‘You… lead an eventful life,’ you began with a sigh. ‘I’ve never been of medical service to a Mandalorian before, but I’ve treated plenty of soldiers. It’s never just the simple knife wound with you lot.’

A soft sound escaped the Mandalorian - a hum of agreement, perhaps.

‘Classically, soldiers - warriors - are at risk of much more debilitating injuries. Concussions, internal bleeding, organ damage, neurological dysfunction - and your armour poses a little bit of a conundrum for me.’

‘The beskar is an issue?’ he asked, affronted.

‘Not an issue,’ you said, staring squarely at his helmet. ‘A conundrum.’

‘Semantics.’

‘Different things,’ you countered. ‘I don’t have a problem with the beskar. It does, however, create a clinical problem. Simple medkit scanners won’t be able to penetrate the metal, and I have no equipment to keep track of your vitals, let alone to help treat you.’

You looked down at your medkit, sitting dismally at the doorway. ‘Besides,’ you added, ‘all the equipment I have is broken.’

You adjusted yourself to sit crosslegged on the cot, your back against the wall. The Mandalorian moves to take a seat at the edge of the cot, an arm's length away from you. He looked pointedly at the identicard, and you sighed again. 

‘What I’m trying to say, is that we can’t rely on regular bacta spray and sutures.’ You waved your hand at the hologram. ‘In Coruscant, there’s a medical supply warehouse that caters directly to hospitals - powerful scanners, e-bacta shots, bone fixators - but obviously you need to be a hospital representative to make any purchases.’

‘And this is going to be a problem,’ said the Mandalorian with quiet comprehension.

You shook your head. ‘Not if I fix it,’ you said. ‘The issue is that I never renewed my physician’s registration, so I can’t use my own identicard. But I can fix that.’

A few taps on the datapad, and the identicard shimmered lightly, then began to shift. The lettering blinked and flashed, and the Mandalorian sat up straighter at the sight. 

You turned the identicard to face the Mandalorian. ‘Hi,’ you said. ‘My name is Shari Haren, and I’m a nurse at Takodana Medical Facility.’

You could almost see the disbelief as the beskar helmet flicked between the flickering identicard and your face. ‘You changed the identicard,’ he whispered, his voice barely making it through the vocoder. ‘You changed your name. And your title. How the hell-’

‘It doesn’t matter how,’ you cut in. ‘It just matters that I can.’

The Mandalorian stared at the rotating identicard, and you could feel your heart rate increase, and the rush of blood in your ears became a little bit more obvious. The grip on your datapad tightened, and you had to avert your eyes from the darkness of his visor. This was a dangerous ability to share, and some silly, almost delusional voice in your head wondered whether he would throw you off the ship, right here, right in the middle of hyperspace.

That’s a little impossible, another voice countered. Can’t open ship doors in hyperspace. 

He leaned forward across the cot, putting his weight on one hand while the other turned the shaky identicard to better see the hologram, flickering in its translucent blue sheet. ‘How accurate is this?’ he asked, tracing the letters of your fake name in the air. 

‘The Coruscant security system works in levels,’ you explained as the Mandalorian moved back to his previous position. ‘Ten levels, eleven if you include civilian citizens. The warehouse requires level three access, and this identicard has level five access.’

‘Impressive.’

‘It’s handy.’

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet, and you tilted your own head in response. The praise sat low in your chest, and nudged your chin a little higher.

‘We’ll need to make a plan for this,’ he said, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against his knee. ‘An identicard might get you through the door, but it’s not going to be enough to get you all the way. Coruscant is crawling with bounty hunters, and we don’t need to draw attention to ourselves.’ 

He stood up, the beskar making soft clinking sounds as he did. ‘Get some sleep for now,’ he said as he walked out. ‘I’ll be in my quarters. Comm me if you need to.’

--

Your last placement as a student was at Kannida Hospital.

The planet was like nothing you had ever seen before - the most bewildering combination of the forests of Takodana and the skyscrapers of Coruscant. The people lived in the trees themselves, stretching endlessly into the misty atmosphere above. Precarious rope bridges connected the pseudo-skyscrapers to each other, a gossamer lattice of quiet traffic, faded against the humidity.

Most of the Kannida Hospital was underground - only the foyer and the entrance to the emergency department was visible from the surface. The levels spiraled dangerously close to the core of the planet, the corridors twisting and winding in disorientating coils. The hospital was the most well equipped of that of the whole star system, and had an impressive intensive care division - after all, it was a designated military hospital of the sector. 

The Chief Medical General at the time was Nali Tia, a towering woman with an impressive military career in the Galactic Army, backed by decades of medical experience. She commandeered the intensive care division as if she was at a helm of a warship - her resounding voice calling across the hub, directing casualties to stages, coordinating the tens of levels of the hospital with intangible efficiency. 

Once a month, General Tia held a seminar for the medical students - one hour long, not a minute to either side. The central auditorium of the hospital was always packed, with students sitting on the aisle steps, standing and jostling at the back, the air sticky and humid and filled with anticipatory reverence for the General. 

You are all physicians first, she would say, her voice clear and sonorous, commanding attention. You are trained for the service of others, the pillar against which others lean on. It’s your duty, and you should all understand the sacrifice that follows this profession. 

Every seminar was a performance - a grandstanding presentation of the knowledge the datapads could not teach. General Tia would showcase commonplace procedures, and then explain how each needed to be adjusted according to species, according to climate, according to environment. How a scanner unit and a clean knife could stabilise a collapsed lung if nothing else was available. The names of common medications in at least fifteen galactic languages. The ways to assess fractures hidden under layers of armour on a battlefield.

Seven years after your graduation, General Nali Tia was executed without trial for impersonating an Imperial Officer in an attempt to secure a shipment of ration supplies for Kannida. The planet had been under siege for months, and General Tia’s death was the catalyst that accelerated the Imperial invasion of Kannida. Within a week, eighteen of the twenty levels of the hospital had been shut down, and a third of the Kannida inhabitants had been massacred. With a blaster held to your head, you assumed the position of the Chief Medical General, and acquiesced to begin exclusively treating their Imperial stormtrooper casualties.

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tag list (please lmk if you’d like to be added/removed!): @mndalorians @kyjoraven @phoenixhalliwell @sparklingkeylimepie @the-wandering-pan-ace @awessomness @talesfromtheguild @justanotherblonde23

[cordria]

Gloves

Jack Fenton sat down in the uncomfortable chair, his bulk moving slowly and carefully to avoid scaring the girl sitting on the other chair. There was something odd about her, the way she held herself, the little glances out of the corner of her eye, the way her hair didn’t quite fall right. Jack couldn’t quite stop himself from cataloging all the little differences about her, even as he tried to stop himself and see her as just a girl. A girl in need of help. “Hi,” he said, keeping his voice gentle.

“Hello,” she said. 

Jack opened his mouth to say something more, but nothing came out. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He let his mouth close again, his lips twisting in frustration. There was certainly plenty that needed to be said. 

“Why are you here?” the girl asked, her thin fingers digging into the cushion of the chair. Although her knuckles turned white with the pressure, the stiff vinyl didn’t seem to notice the effort her hands were putting in.

“I like Seattle,” Jack said. “Nice city. Always wanted to do the haunted tour…” He trailed off, wondering if bringing up ghosts was, perhaps, a bad idea.

She scoffed. “Seattle’s not haunted.” The IV machine she was hooked up to beeped loudly, and the girl flinched. She studied it for a moment before sighing and sinking back against the hard chair. “That’s not what I meant. I called Danny, not you.”

“Danny couldn’t come.” Jack sort of fudged the truth. Danny could come. Danny had come. But not being 18 yet, the hospital didn’t particularly care what Danny had to say in the matter, requiring Jack’s presence. “I’m here to help.”

“I don’t want your help,” she said, shoulders crunching up around her ears.

Jack shrugged, falling silent, watching the girl glare around the small room. He had only the briefest of explanations as to who this girl was - a genetic malfunction, an aberration, a splintered example of a not-quite-human - and he understood almost none of it. His gaze fell to his bag, and he reached down, pulled out his latest needlework project, and quietly got to work. Jazz had said to do that when he was at a loss for words. She’d thought it might be helpful. 

It was nearly twenty minutes of silence, the girl watching him slowly work through his project, before she spoke. “What is that?”

“It’s going to be a quilt,” Jack said, turning the scrap of fabric so she could see a bit better. “All the different types of ghosts from stories around the world. This one’s a banshee. Sits under windows and cries and screams, usually associated with someone dying.” 

She studied it. “You’re… pretty good at that.”

“Lots of practice,” Jack said with a shrug. 

“You don’t seem like… like a guy that would do something like that. Art stuff.”

“It’s calming and good for the mind,” Jack said, tying off the string and picking out a new color. “Jazz got me started on it years and years ago. I’m hoping to have the whole thing done by August, so I can put it in the county fair.” He chuckled. “I won’t win, not compared to the artwork of other people, but it’ll be nice to finish a project.”

Her eyes were blue, just like Danny’s. But there was a shadowed, haunted feel to them - and a blankness that hurt Jack’s heart. 

Perhaps Danny was right. Maybe Maddie should have come instead.

The IV machine beeped again, and this time a nurse knocked and entered the room. “Hello,” he said, walking over to check the machine. “The battery on your IV is getting low. Gotta plug it in.” He smiled at her, holding out a hand. “Back to the bed, please.”

The girl sighed, but reached out for the assistance. She was unstable and barely able to hold her own weight. It was only a few steps, but Jack had to bite back the offer to carry her. She settled against the bed - too skinny, too broken, too empty - and laid her head on the pillow.

Jack was quiet as the nurse fussed for a few minutes, plugging in the IV machine, taking her blood pressure and temperature, setting the blanket over her legs.

Then he turned to Jack. “Parent?” he asked.

Jack wondered how to answer that. He set down his needlework, dug a paper out of his bag, and held it out. It was fake, of course; there were no real legal documents in the world for her. But the stamp was real, and the judge’s signature was real, and that was enough. “Legal guardian, for now.” 

The girl on the bed flinched.

The nurse glanced at the papers. “As of yesterday, huh?” he asked. “Nice to meet you, Mr Fenton. Wanna chat in the hall?”

Jack leveraged himself out of the chair and followed the man into the hallway. “She’s going to be okay?” he asked.

“Eventually,” the nurse said, walking him to a quiet alcove. “How do you know her?”

“She’s a relation,” Jack said, trying to avoid being specific. “Her and my son are very close, although I haven’t had any real contact with her yet. She called him two days ago and we’ve been figuring out how to best help her.”

The nurse nodded. “She was found in a park, unconscious. Came in massively dehydrated, malnourished.” The nurse glanced around, his voice quiet. “She’s not saying much, but she definitely hasn’t been treated right.”

Jack frowned. 

“I’ll send the doctor along, but it doesn’t seem like there’s anything permanently wrong with her, physically anyways. Really fragile mentally.” The nurse frowned. “The police have been around a few times to chat with her. Don’t think she’s said much to them. She’s in for a long road.”

Jack glanced over his shoulder, through the cracked-open door. She was picking at her sheets, staring at the sky through the window of the room. She looked so small. Twelve years old. Her third year of being twelve, if Danny’s explanation was right. And she’d be twelve until her broken body stopped working, whether that was next week, or five years from now, or ten, or twenty. “Anything else I should know?” 

“Gentle, slow, careful. She’s a nice girl, when you can get her to talk. I’ll be around every fifteen minutes or so, checking on her.”

“Can she have visitors?” 

The nurse hesitated, but then nodded slowly. “If there’s one or two people you think would do her good, I can’t see how that would hurt.”

“My son will probably scale the outer walls and sneak through the window if you try to keep him out any longer,” Jack said with a smile. “He’s worried out of his mind about her. He can probably get her to talk like nobody else.”

“Sounds great. You let me know if she needs anything,” he said.

Jack stood in the hallway for a long minute, trying to decide what he would say. From what little Danny had told him, the girl had been literally programmed to hate him. Created, somehow, in a lab from a mix of Danny’s genetic material, donor tissue from the corpse of a dead girl, and a ghost. Created and programmed, like a computer, for a task - to be used and then thrown away.

He walked closer, standing in the door, frowning at how little of the bed her frame took up. Her arms were too skinny against the hospital blanket - almost skin and bone. Whoever had created her had certainly not taken care of her.

She noticed his gaze, turning to study him with those sunken, haunted blue eyes. “You don’t have to be here,” she said.

Jack hummed, walked in, and dropped back down into his chair. The vinyl squeaked. “I want to be.”

“Because Danny told you to.” She sounded sullen. “It’s okay to hate me, you know.”

“I don’t hate you,” Jack said, surprised at the thought. Where had she decided that he hated her? What had he done to make her think that?

“I hate you,” she shot back, eyes narrowing. She leaned forwards a little. Little sparks of green shone against the blue.

Jack shrugged. “Join the club,” he murmured. He rested his arm on the bed, but drew away when she flinched away from him.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” she snapped, clearly uncomfortable. 

He nodded and kept his arms to himself, careful to keep his arms to the small armrests. “I plan on sticking around, just so you know. And Danny’s planning on stopping again by after school.” He picked up his needlepoint, studying the messy shadowing job he’d done with a frown.

“Again?” came her soft voice after a minute of silence.

“He was here… day before yesterday,” Jack said, squinting at the banshee’s arm and trying to decide the easiest way to fix it. “You were out cold, and the hospital wouldn’t look twice at a 17 year old. Came and got me instead.”

“He told you who I am, right?”

“Yup.” Then Jack shrugged a half-shoulder. “Okay, a little. Getting anything out of Danny is only slightly easier than storming Fort Knox.” He grinned at her. “I got that you’re important to him, and that you’re family, and that I can help. That’s enough.”

“I’m a monster, you know that,” she said. 

Jack pointed at his needlepoint. “This is a monster. You look like a scared young woman in need of some help. Maybe you’re not as human as me, but that doesn’t make you a monster.”

She bristled, but didn’t respond.

Jack let the quiet last for a few minutes, slowly fixing the bad shadowing on his banshee. 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she said.

He glanced at her. She’d drawn her knees up to her chest, and was hugging them close. She looked lost and broken, and somehow even smaller and younger than before. “I don’t want anything from you,” he said, confused. 

She frowned.

“Danny said you wouldn’t trust me,” Jack said, deliberately keeping his gaze on his needlepoint. Jazz had been correct in packing it for him - it did seem much easier for the girl to talk when he wasn’t staring at her. “But you can, you know. Jazz has already cleaned out her bedroom for you, and Danny-”

“Bedroom?” she asked.

Jack blinked at her. “Room. With a bed in it.”

She scowled. “I know what a bedroom is-” she cut herself off, like she was going to say something more. She let out a breath through her nose. “You make it sound like I’m coming to live with you.”

“You are!” Jack grinned. “See, we got the legal-”

“I’m not coming to live with you,” the girl snapped. “We’ve been over this. I hate you. I don’t trust you. Why should I live with you?”

Jack twisted his mouth into a half-frown, turning his eyes back to his needlepoint. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Take off your gloves.”

Jack hesitated. He didn’t take off his gloves. “Why?”

“Because I’m a monster. I’m contaminated. I’m broken, and seeping radioactive liquid, and, and, and I can hurt you just by touching you.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see her eyes burning a toxic, horrible green. “And I want you to take off your gloves.”

He watched the way the light gleamed off the black glove, slowly twisting his fingers. He didn’t take off his gloves. He just didn’t. Since learning how contaminated Danny was, Jack had even gone to great lengths to not touch his own son. 

But Jack knew, in the depths of his being, that Danny wasn’t a monster. And neither was this girl. Yes, she could hurt him with just a touch. But...

Slowly, he took off one of his gloves. His skin was extremely pale, fingers a bit wrinkled from the moisture inside the gloves. His fingernails were in need of clipping. He flexed his fingers and ran them over the intricate stitching of his needlepoint, feeling details he couldn’t through the gloves.

Then he held out his hand to her.

[hitsuackerman]

What in the World? (Akaashi Keiji x Reader) pt.17

a/n: aye. please read the authors note at the end :)

Akaashi’s lineup: @alluring-akaashi @oikawalmart-hq @extrasugafree @bbykiyoomi @apricotjihyo @awings @simpformiya @sayakaaaaaa @colorseeingchick @demursv1ogs​ @chrisrue15 @beanst0ck  @parttime-simp​  @kit-kat428​ @ntimacy​ @something-that-idk (i have no idea why i can’t tag some of you :( huhu )

links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 18

The last thing you saw, before being eaten by whatever Deku projected, were Akaashi’s wide opened eyes. After that, it was nothing but darkness. If it weren’t for Bakugo gripping tightly onto your uniform, you swore you would have experienced a heart attack despite such a young age.

Yet, the sensation of opening your eyes to bland white walls and beeping machines was foreign.

“(y/n)? Darling?” A familiar voice caught your attention. “Are you alright?”

Attempting to sit up, you were assisted with a pair of warm hands. Looking at the owner, your breath hitched upon seeing the face you had been trying to communicate many months back. Scanning the room, you accounted your parents, all your classmates, Bakugo, and Deku. The latter two being assisted by two nurses.

“(y/n)...? Drink this.” Shoto said as he handed a glass of water. Holding the glass to your mouth, he watched as you gulped down the liquid.

“Wh-why am I here?” You muttered. Looking at Bakugo and Deku, seeking answers from them would be useless. Both boys were still groggy and coming to their senses. Only to be met with silence, your eyes tried to meet whoever would dare answer your question. “Why isn’t anyone answering me?”

With the heart monitor picking up your increasing pulse, Shoto carefully placed his arm around your shoulder. Instincts came in as you immediately held on to his hand for support.

“Calm down.” He whispered. “If you want to cry then it’s alright. Giving yourself more stress isn’t good for you.”

Knowing he was right, you leaned on his arm and stared at your palm. Activating your quirk, a small gasp escaped your lips when you felt its power once more. The usual effort of having to use it seemingly vanished. With the glow brighter than ever, you quickly clenched your fist and let out a sigh.

“Shoto?”

“What is it? Are you in pain?” He leaned in closer and held your hand.

“I don’t wanna be here.” It was barely audible but he heard it enough.

“(y/n)-chan?” It wasn’t new for you to hear people calling you by that name but it felt different. Used to hearing Bokuto or even Konoha, your lips twitched upon recalling that you were not in the same world as them. Glancing at the source, Recover Girl had prepared a syringe with some sort of glowing liquid. “This’ll help calm your nerves and prevent your quirk from going haywire.”

Extending your arm, you barely winced as the needle pierced your skin.

“Would you like some privacy?” Recovery Girl asked. Though she knew that there was no need to question, it was only out of respect towards the visitors. Once she received a nod of confirmation, she began to shoo the people out of the room. Save for Shoto, Bakugo, and Deku. “Now that they’re out of the way, how’re you feeling?”

“I feel…” How did you feel? It was bad enough that you were forcibly taken back to where you belonged. If she was talking about your quirk then you were definitely sure how you felt. However, if she meant about the gaping hole developing in your heart then it was something you’d rather not dive into. “I’m not really sure how I feel.”

“Would you like to know why you came back here?”

“If it doesn’t bother you, then yes please.”

“Initially, you were supposed to be back after 4 days. At least that’s what we had initially agreed on.” She began. “But, the machine carrying Bakugo and Midoriya over to your location malfunctioned. Instead of your quirk going haywire, it was Midoriya’s that did. However, it would be better for you to take into consideration.”

“That what?”

“Midoriya and Bakugo were supposedly, in theory at least, to be transported and thereby encapsulated to those tanks over there.” Using her syringe cane, she pointed to the rather large mechanism. “That IV hose on your chest targets your arteries. Because of the nature of your quirk, it was a gamble on our part to see if that was the core of your power.”

“This medical talk is only confusing me.” You let go of Shoto’s hand and massaged your temple. “What is the point of all that?”

“It means that everything that happened, everything you felt and experienced, was nothing but a product of your mind’s unconscious effort to create a paradise.”

“P-pardon?”

“Because we were using your quirk as a means of bringing you back, it was expected that once the both of things were good to go, they would become as little as atoms and be enclosed in those capsules. Once they were stabilized, they would then take a small trip inside that IV hose connected to your chest. Merging them with your quirk, it would open the path to your neocortex and thalamus.”

“I wasn’t asking about the procedure.” You were more than aware you sounded rude but that was beyond you. “Did you say everything was a product of my i-imagination?”

“The effort of saving you could have gone two ways. The hypothesis was that if these two boys shrunk and turned into the size of atoms, then the possibility of another universe was very high. Yet they never did. Their bodies were not affected yet the green light indicated they had safely traversed to where they needed to be.”

“So... “ Feeling your fingers grow numb, you held on to your blanket and relayed all the events that happened. From having to adjust and get to know your surroundings, learning more about whatever life you had before you woke up in that version of Tokyo, to growing closer with the people there, and to eventually finding solace in the skilled hands of a setter… was nothing but a product of your imagination. “None of it was real?”

With no answer coming from the small nurse, you let out a silent cry towards Bakugo and Deku.

“You guys were there right? You saw how each person had their own train of thought? How big that area was?” Blinking the stinging sensation away, you felt tears rolling down your cheek. The heart monitor gradually beeping faster.

“I get that you’re panicking but what Recovery Girl stated, we were informed about it.” Deku explained. “In all honesty, Kacchan and I were putting it into consideration that something was off and that all of that was real. But the more we thought about it, the more it dawned to us that nothing really made sense.”

“Think about it, extra. You told us you’d be reaching 8 months there. I bet your mother there doesn’t even have a damn clue as to who you really are. Don’t even think about foul mouthing me cause I spend a handful of my time debating whether or not that's true or not.”

“Maybe it was a side effect of that villain’s quirk.” Shoto finally spoke up. He had a ton of questions but he knew it would all be left unanswered. “It happened right after, did it not? Perhaps it wasn’t water but something else and that the records were wrong.”

“We rechecked the criminal’s records and can confirm that his quirk was just water.” Recovery Girl added. Standing up, she fixed her coat and walked closer to you. “I know your thoughts are rampant and in a mess but don’t strain yourself. You just woke up and are still in an unstable position. Let me know if you want some Temazepam. Sleep would help.”

Watching her leave, you stared at the large window.

“Akaashi Keiji. Bokuto Kotarou. Konoha. Fukurodani Gakuen. Other Mother. Asami. Akiko.” You began to roll call each person you knew. At least the very important ones.

“Are those names?” Shoto asked softly.

“Yeah.”

“I have a lot of questions but I know you deserve to rest.” He carefully placed his index finger on your cheek to make you stare at him. Seeing how pale and spaced out you were, he motioned for you to scoot over and give him space. Giving him enough room to lay down, you allowed him to pull you into his arms. “I’m all ears if you want to vent it out.”

“I…” Making yourself comfortable, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck. The warmth his body gave was as comforting as ever. Closing your eyes, you began to absentmindedly play with his shirt. “Am I going crazy, Shoto? Everything felt real. There’s no way I’m capable of creating something that vast in my head.”

“Were those the names of the people you encountered?”

“Yeah. A few of them. Shoto?”

“Hm?”

“What did my mom and dad do?”

“Well…” Blinking his thoughts he wasn’t sure whether he should share it or not. “They were planning to get you back forcefully after 3 days. Whether Bakugo or Midoriya were fine with it or not.”

“Hm… I guess nothing’s changed. Truth be told I was kinda expecting something like this to happen.” Wrapping your arm around his body, you allowed your mind to wander what was happening on the other side. Did they remember you? Now that you weren’t there, did the you from the pictures emerge?

“Don’t overthink. Nothing good comes from that.” Turning to face you, he began to pat the back of your head. Despite the countless times he’s done that gesture, he had to admit he was still stiff as a board when it came to affectionate cuddles. “Go to sleep. I’ll see what I can do to help when you wake up.”

“I’m sorry for bringing more drama into your life.” You chuckled as you savored the safety Todoroki Shoto offered. “You have more than enough on your plate.”

“I don’t mind. Just don’t go on by thinking you don’t belong here.” Resting his lips on the crown of your head, he took a moment and blinked his thought process. The slight increase of his heartbeat was a bit off. Thinking it was due to the coffee he had a few hours ago, he shook his head and closed his eyes. “I’ll always be here. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know.”

“I know~”

You weren’t sure how many hours you slept but it still hadn’t sunken in that you woke up next to a sleeping Todoroki. Still in the nurse’s office, you sat up and examined your body. It was only now how you saw the amount of tubes and hoses that pierced your rather weak torso.

Looking across your bed, the machine that had transported Bakugo and Deku stood out like a sore thumb. You could tell it wasn’t the handy work of any of the support students. Staring at the capsules, your eyes followed the connected hose till your vision rested on your chest. It did occur to you that perhaps your heart was the center of your quirk, you just never took it seriously.

“How ironic.” You commented.

Feeling the bed shifting, you glanced over your shoulder and admired how fast asleep your friend was. Remembering that BakuDeku were still in the room, the hospital curtain prevented you from searching for them. Recovery Girl must have given you privacy when you two fell asleep.

Focusing on your palms, you activated your quirk. It truly felt amazing to know your powers were back to the way they were. Yet, being used to not having to rely on it was a whole different story. It may have been 2 months on this side of the world but it would probably be much easier to be relying on your quirk than not.

Slowly laying back down, you rested on your side and stared at the sleeping Shoto. Fixing his bangs, an image of Akaashi sleeping flashed in your mind. Compared to Shoto’s soft features, Akaashi was gifted with rather sharp ones.

What was he doing now? Were his thoughts or memories wiped clean? The last words you said before waking up was his name to add to your growing list of problems.

“Don’t cry.” Drowned in your thoughts, you hadn’t realized that Shoto had woken up. Meeting his eyes, there was nothing but sadness and sincerity.

Wiping the tears with his sleeve, he kept his right palm open. Using his quirk, he began to form little snowflakes.

“You’ve gotten better~” You sniffled. A small smile resting on your tear stained face. If there was one thing you two kept a secret, it was how Shoto couldn’t create detailed snowflakes. On a good day, he could form a few lumps of soft snow but this time, he had managed to create intricate patterns large enough for the eyes to see.

“Found some spare time to practice. It took a while but I realized that I had to incorporate a bit of heat into the mix. It’s pretty, is it not?”

“It is.”

“I won’t ask why you stopped trying to communicate with us here.” He began. “Bakugo and Midoriya managed to send a message about what was happening to them. I was honestly relieved that you were doing fine. But it annoyed how I couldn’t do anything.”

“You did what you could, Tododorky~” You poked his cheek. “Just give me a few days and I’ll answer your questions alright?”

“Alright.”

- - - - -

a/n:

I’m back :D

I posted much later than anticipated and I’m really sorry to keep all of you waiting :( My schedule was just so jam packed and I just couldn’t insert the time to write. If I did, I only managed to squeeze in a few sentences before I gave up due to stress and hatred of whatever the fuck is happening to the company I’m working in -_-

I’ve been feeling quite low these past few days and it’s really making me question whether or not the stories I make are worth reading :( I’m still tired as it is but it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t try to make things better than they are :]

that being said, the next upload date is a bit blurry but I will do my very best to upload back to my original schedule! :)

i hope all of you enjoy your day and this chapter! :) it ain’t much but i tried T.T

[moon-in-daylight]

Like the old days / Dhawan!Master x reader

Summary: Adapting back to a normal human life isn’t easy after having travelled the universe, but the thought of facing The Master again is somehow even harder. 

Words: 3565

Warnings: Mild blood

The first weeks without The Master had been hard.

It was normal, you supposed, if you took into consideration all the time you had spent together and everything the two of you had been through.

While being with him, you had seen the most impossible events take place right in front of your eyes. Things deep down you knew you could have never witness if you had stayed with The Doctor instead: The blinding light of an exploding star, the ruins of countless civilizations turned to ash and dust under your feet… One morning he had taken you to see the birth of the universe just to show you the death of it that very same evening. He had offered you the entirety of space and time with no restrictions, no obligations. Only one rule for you to follow, a rule that you had eventually disobeyed: Not to get in the way of his plans.

For the first days after parting ways you couldn’t help but to feel angry at him.

How could he condemn you back to your boring human life that easily? Did you mean so little to him after all those adventures, after all the times you had helped him work through his evil plans and schemes? It had only been once that you had refused to follow his commands. The first and only time you couldn’t bring yourself to do as you were told was when you found yourself incapable of killing some bratty alien teen that was heir to their planet’s throne.

You tried to, you really did, but you simply didn’t have that in you. Looking at the brat in the eye, you immediately felt incapable of taking a step forward and dig your knife in his chest. As The Master telepathically commanded you over and over to perform your task from across the room, you panicked and decided to back away. You knew you were disappointing him, especially hearing his thoughts echoing inside your own mind, but you were no killer. You had never killed someone before and you preferred to back away before someone caught you plotting against that planet’s monarchy. Unluckily for you, one of the guards noticed the weapon you tried to hide under your sleeve as you were about to walk outside the throne room.

Because of your cowardice, according to what the Time Lord screamed at you after barely escaping the planet alive, his plan had been turned apart. No one else to blame but you for the failure. Of course you did everything you could to explain yourself, to make him understand you, but he refused to listen to anything you said. He simply landed his TARDIS back on Earth and gestured you to abandon his ship, shouting at you to do so when you begged him repeatedly to let you stay with tears filling your eyes.

What a tool.

You didn’t need him, and you definitely weren’t going to miss his volatile temper and his sarcastic, uncalled for and sometimes sadistic comments.

Then why did you feel so upset? You told yourself it was because with him flew your chance of exploring the universe, knowing very well that you couldn’t crawl back to The Doctor after all the chaos you had helped spread around. You were stuck on Earth now and the only reason you would ever want him back was your desire to travel the stars. If only you had your own TARDIS…

But after the first week you started to notice his absence everywhere. You did anything and everything to distract yourself, but you couldn’t prevent your mind to wander back to him every few minutes. Questions clouded your mind as you wondered what could he possibly be doing, what planet would he be tearing to pieces at the moment or whether if you had crossed his mind at least once since he had kicked you out. It was pointless to keep thinking about it, but for some time you couldn’t help yourself from looking numbly out of the window, daydreaming about his TARDIS materializing in your backyard and him taking you back to live your next adventure, like he used to do during the old days.

Deep in your heart you had the hope that maybe your daydream could one day become a reality again. You and The Master had lived so many things together… You had been by Missy’s side after her past incarnation had shot her in the back, you had held her hand moments before she regenerated in who she was now, and you had looked after her new body during the days after her regeneration. It was after that that he – you assumed she was a he now when he asked you to refer to him as The Master instead of Missy – decided it could be useful, or at least entertaining, to keep you around.

It had been almost 3 years travelling time and space side by side, causing trouble and escaping death day after day. Having fun as you let hell break lose whenever you landed and healing each other wounds when needed. He couldn’t turn his back on everything that you had been through together now, could he?

Well, apparently he could.

It took you a few months to get used to life on Earth again, to push yourself back into a normal routine and be in a good enough mood to complete normal earthly tasks like getting a job or spend your time into anything productive.

It wasn’t in any way easy for you, and it wasn’t a linear progression either. Sometimes when you thought you had definitely gotten over it, you looked up at the sky and all the memories brought you back to square one. You even blamed yourself at times, thinking that if you had had the guts to do what you were told to do, he would have never left you.

But eventually, you got to the point where you finally could stop constantly thinking about the maniac that had put the universe in the palms of your hands just to suddenly take it away from your reach. You got to the point where you could accept that there were far worse things than living a normal human life, that you could and you would live without him.

You had finally gotten that idea inside that stubborn head of yours when one night you thought you heard the smooth landing of his TARDIS right outside your house.

No way. It had been over a year since the last time you had heard that subtle whistle the ship made when it materialized, so much more quiet and unperceived than the one The Doctor’s time machine emitted, but still recognizable to you, who had lived whiting its walls for so long. Your heart instantly raced just by hearing that sound, the feeling that getting reunited with The Master was possible once again clouding your better judgement for barely a second.

You shook your head as you tried to push those thoughts away. Most likely, you were imagining things. He wasn’t coming back. He had had plenty of time to do so, he was clearly not changing his mind all of a sudden. Probably what you thought you heard was caused by your exhausted mind playing tricks on you as you were about to fall asleep.

Convincing yourself that it was all in your head, you rolled on your side under the sheets as you tried to quiet down your nerves and attempted to fall asleep to put an end to yet another ordinary day.

But when you heard a loud noise coming from outside of your room all your suspicions aroused again.

Once again, you tried to calm yourself and think logically. Maybe it wasn’t The Master, maybe some burglar had entered your house in the middle of the night, or maybe one of the cats that roamed around your neighborhood had found its way in through the window you sometimes forgot to close. There was countless possibilities to what the source of that noise could have been, but you feared that the only way of actually finding out was to go check it out.

As you slowly crawled out of bed and walked through the darkened hallway, you hoped and prayed that the cat theory was the one to become a reality, the burglar one a close second favorite. You literally would rather have any random person breaking into your house than finding yourself face to face with him again.

That’s why you physically felt your chest aching when you discerned his unmistakable silhouette standing in the middle of your living room.

Turning on the lights, you faced his cold stare gazing back at you but you weren’t able to hold it back for more than a few seconds. Your attention wandered to his appearance instead. It had been a while since the last time you had seen him, but in your memories he didn’t look as rough as he seemed right now. The locks of hair fell untidily in front of his face, his clothes were covered in dirt and dry blood and some scratches covered the visible skin of his knuckles.  

Truth was, you had pictured what being reunited with him would have been like since the first moment you stepped a foot out of his TARDIS. Inside your head, he came back full of regret and after apologizing, he begged you to get back with him. You had gone through what that conversation would be like thousands of times. Sometimes you simply forgave him and accepted his proposal, other times you played hard to get and made him implore for you to come back… And your more recent version, you threw him a speech about how good your life had been without him and how you didn’t need him anymore. Either way, you had been over that hypothetical conversation so many times that you always thought you would knew exactly what to say if the situation took place.

Now, looking at him, you couldn’t find anything to say. And judging by the silence that had filled the room, he couldn’t either.

“Master…” His name felt strange rolling out of your tongue for the first time in so long. “Is everything alright?”

He didn’t answer your question, but you could see inside those big brown eyes of his that it had been kind of stupid of you to ask that in the first place. Since the very first time you had met Missy you had been well aware of the unstable state of the Time Lord. You had seen him snap countless times over the course of years, you had seen what he was capable of when he got furious… Yet you had never seen him this shattered, this… Broken.

“What happened?” Your voice was soft as you carefully approached him, in fear that if you moved too fast or spoke too loud you would scare him off. With extreme tenderness you grabbed one of his hands and examined the wounds of it, your thumb gently brushing his fingers. “What have you done?”

“What needed to be done.” You looked up at him when you heard his words, looking for further explanation. “I’ve destroyed Gallifrey.”

During the time you had spent with him, you had learned that The Master wasn’t the biggest fan of his home planet. He didn’t exactly cherish his memories of it, often refusing to tell you about the place that had made him who he was and only talking about his times at the Academy when he was in a particularly good mood. It was no secret that he hated Gallifrey, but he had never expressed any wish to burn it down. Not until now. You always thought that his nostalgia of the times when he and The Doctor had been friends was the thing that kept him from nuking his own planet. Apparently that didn’t mean a thing anymore. He had actually razed it, and it looked like a part of him had died in that massacre.

“Why?”

The Master took a step back, getting free of your grip on his hand and turning around to leave.

“Forget that I’ve ever been here.”

It was easy to forget how overly dramatic he could sometimes be after all your time apart. But seeing him walk away like that immediately brought you back to the days when he fiercely avoided telling you what was going on inside his head, when you got too curious and in response he disappeared into the library of his TARDIS for the following days. The only difference was that, if he left now, you wouldn't be seeing him again in a couple of days. This would be your final goodbye. Your last glimpse of him being the one of a broken man.

Considering that you had been without him for so long, you would suppose that you were ready to let him go once and for all. Yet, as soon as he crossed the doorframe, you found yourself following him outside of your house, barefoot and wearing only your pajamas. You called his name repeatedly as you somehow tried to make him see reason. You couldn’t let him go that easily, not after seeing the state he was in. You were worried about him.

Seeing him get inside his TARDIS, you rushed yourself through the time machine’s doors after him, hoping that you were making the right decision.

As soon as you found yourself standing in the console room, you couldn’t help but to feel momentarily shocked as all the memories attached to that place filled your mind. It looked bigger than what you remembered, but nothing had changed since your departure. It was still the same place that appeared in your dreams every few nights.

“Get out.” The Master ordered you as he set the controls for his next destination. In an act of bravery – or stupidity –, you stood still. “Didn’t you hear me? GET OUT!”

“Master.” You pronounced his name again, your heart hammering against your chest. “Why have you come here?”

He turned to you again, his eyes piercing right through you. “I don’t owe you any explanations.”

You and him had gotten into arguments countless times before. How could you not? That was the obvious result of mixing his temper with your stubbornness. But you had never seen him that angry at you. He looked at you in the same way that he would look at any other human, as if you were nothing but an annoyance to him. It broke your heart to realize that, but you weren’t going to give up just because of that. You were there to try and find out what had made him upset to the point of blowing up his own planet, you weren’t leaving unless you found the answers you were looking for.

“You don’t have to tell me about Gallifrey if you don’t want to.” You assured him, keeping a considerable distance between the two of you. “I’m just worried about you.”

Looking at him, you thought you saw him break for a second, the look in his eyes softening for a moment and making him seem vulnerable, afraid. You barely could notice it since he immediately put on his usual front up again.

“Don’t lie to me.” He spat, anger poisoning his words. He tried to mask his emotions by smirking sarcastically at you. “Why would you care about me?”

“Because I do. I always have.” You reminded him. Did he seriously not remember how you had been there for him after Missy died, how you had taken care of him during his regeneration sickness? “That’s why I abandoned The Doctor to be with you.”

When The Master heard his best enemy’s name his façade fell once again. You weren’t sure what had happened, but now you were sure it had something to do with the other Time Lord.

“That’s bullshit.” He insisted. “You’ve always judged me. You’ve always tried to change me. You always thought that you could ‘fix me’.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked in confusion, your eyes on his as you tried to understand what he was really trying to say.

“You never understood me. Not really.” The Master took a step towards you. “You just followed me around like a lost puppy, judging silently everything I did. Thinking you knew better. Do you think I didn’t notice that look of disgust in your face whenever you watched me kill someone, love?” His eyes were burning as he spoke. “I thought that maybe, if you knew what it felt like to take a life you would finally understand… But you think you’re so superior, don’t you? Just like The Doctor. You didn’t understand any of it then, and you won’t do it now.”

Hearing his words you felt tears starting to form in your eyes. That was the real reason why he had abandoned you? Because he thought you wouldn’t understand him unless you killed someone too? You felt your heart breaking inside your chest. How could he think any of that? You had always admired him for his brilliance, his persistence. Why in the world would he think that you would ever consider yourself better than him?

“I’ve never judged you.” You claimed, doing your best to prevent your voice from breaking. “I’ve never asked you to change. I knew who you were before I ever set a foot on this TARDIS and if I had been in any way disgusted by you, I would have never started travelling with you in the first place.” As tears finally started to run through your cheeks, you watched the look on his face softening. “I may not always understand your motives or why you do some of the things you do, but I’ve always been on your side. And if you didn’t believe that, you wouldn’t have come here looking for me.”

The Master cupped your face in between the palms of his hands, cleaning away your tears with the gentle touch of his thumbs. Grabbing both of his hands, you put them away from your face to examine the wounds on them. Even if he was a Time Lord and his biological healing process was faster than yours, he would still need some kind of treatment.

“Let me clean that for you.” You softly offered yourself to help him.

You made your way to the medical bay of the TARDIS to grab some medical supplies before going back to the console room. It was funny how even though the corridors constantly changed and turned themselves into an impossible maze, you always found your way to get where you wanted. This had been your home after all, and The Master’s TARDIS had always liked you for some reason. Yet, on your way back to the console room you found that the TARDIS was guiding you somewhere else: To The Master’s bedroom.

Standing right in front of the closed door you weren’t sure if you should get inside, but you finally made your mind with a reassuring hum of the TARDIS. Inside of the room was The Master, taking off his purple coat. Watching you get in, he sat on the foot of the bed, leaving you some space for you to sit beside him. Taking the place he had made for you, you silently started to wash the blood of his hands and disinfect the wounds of his knuckles. For a second it almost felt as if nothing had ever changed. As if this was just the end of another day of travelling space and living adventures.

“They lied to us.” The Master hissed, clenching his jaw at the burning sensation on his skin. “Everything we were told as children was a lie.”

You didn’t need to ask to know he was talking about Gallifrey. While you kept taking care of his wounds, you heard his explanation about what he had found. About the lie of the Timeless Child and everything the Time Lords had done, why he had decided to destroy his home planet and every living being on it.

Hearing his story, you finally understood why he seemed so broken, why he had felt the need to come back for you after all the time apart. It was too much to bear on his own, but he didn’t have to because he had you. You had spent so much time convincing yourself that you didn’t need The Master when in reality it was him the one who had needed you all along.

“And what are you going to do now?” You asked him after hearing his whole explanation, your body curled up by his side on the bed, your head lying on his chest as you listened the rhythmic beating of his hearts.

“The Doctor needs to know about this.” He mumbled as he caressed the exposed skin of your arm. He interlocked his stare with yours as the thoughts rambled though his head “I have a plan. And there’s a part for you in it, if you want to help.”

Caressing the growing stubble on his cheek, you placed a gentle kiss on his lips before showing him a playful smile.

“Just like the old days.”

[rayarmat]

A Guide to Outpatient COVID Treatment: Step-By-Step Doctors’ Plan That Could Save Your Life

Recently, Dr. Peter McCullough, MD, of Baylor University Medical Center in Dallas testified to Texas Senate HHS Committee  about how mass media and even some government agencies are silencing clinical outpatient evidence for effective treatment of COVID19 and instead push vaccines only (video shown below).

Treatments like those mentioned by Dr. McCullough can be found in sites like https://c19early.com/ but specifically, McCullough refers to the following Appendix to a document published by Association of American Physicians and Surgeons (AAPSonline.org) as an educational resource. It is based on a paper published in American Journal of Medicine (link), by Dr. Peter McCullough and 22 other clinicians (MDs) and researchers (PhDs).

“Seek early treatment and be your own advocate. All of the physicians contributing to this booklet are  on the frontlines treating outpatients at the first signs of COVID illness. Studies in the US and many other  countries clearly show that patients who are treated within the first 5 days of symptoms have better  outcomes using the combination of medications in the algorithm below.”

COVID-19 hospitalizations and death can be reduced with outpatient treatment.

Principles of COVID-19 outpatient care include: 1) reduction of reinoculation, 2) combination antiviral therapy, 3) immunomodulation, 4) antiplatelet/antithrombotic therapy 5) administration of oxygen, monitoring, and telemedicine.

“For the ambulatory patient with recognized early signs and symptoms of COVID-19, often with nasal real-time reverse transcription or oral antigen testing pending, the following 4 principles could be deployed in a layered and escalating manner depending on clinical manifestations of COVID-19-like illness and confirmed infection: 1) reduction of reinoculation, 2) combination antiviral therapy, 3) immunomodulation, and 4) antiplatelet/antithrombotic therapy. Because the results of testing could take up to a week to return, treatment can be started before the results are known. For patients with cardinal features of the syndrome (ie, fever, body aches, nasal congestion, loss of taste and smell, etc.) and suspected false-negative testing, treatment can be the same as those with confirmed COVID-19. Future randomized trials are expected to confirm, reject, refine, and expand these principles. In this article, they are set forth in emergency response to the growing pandemic as shown in Figure 1 .

Treatment algorithm for COVID-19-like and confirmed COVID-19 illness in ambulatory patients at home in self-quarantine. BMI = body mass index; CKD = chronic kidney disease; CVD = cardiovascular disease; DM = diabetes mellitus; Dz = disease; HCQ = hydroxychloroquine; Mgt = management; O2 = oxygen; Ox = oximetry; Yr = year.

The basic groups of prescription medicines and other therapies used in COVID-19: 

▪ Combination anti-viral medicines started as soon as symptoms occur ▪ Medicines to decrease inflammation, such as corticosteroids (called  immunomodulators) 

▪ Anticoagulant therapy to prevent blood-clots that can cause strokes, heart attacks,  kidney shut-down, and death. 

▪ Non-prescription supportive treatments with zinc, vitamin D, vitamin C, electrolyte  drinks such as Pedialyte, and others. 

▪ Home-based oxygen support, such as with an oxygen concentrator. These machines  are available by physician prescription from home health medical supply businesses and are covered on most medical insurance plans. 

I. Antiviral Agents:  

These must be started quickly at STAGE I (Days 1-5):  

Symptoms include sore throat, nasal stuffiness, fatigue, headaches, body aches, loss of  taste and/or smell, loss of appetite, nausea, diarrhea, fever.  

These medicines stop the virus from (1) entering the cells and (2) from multiplying once  inside the cells, and they reduce bacterial invasion in the sinuses and lung: 

▪ *Hydroxychloroquine (HCQ) with azithromycin (AZM) or doxycycline 

OR 

▪ Ivermectin with azithromycin (AZM) or doxycycline 

Either combination above must also include zinc sulfate or gluconate, plus supplemental vitamin D, and vitamin C. Some doctors also recommend adding a B complex vitamin. 

Zinc is critical. It helps block the virus from multiplying.  

Hydroxychloroquine is the carrier taking zinc INTO the cells to do its job.

An educational resource from The Association of American Physicians and Surgeons (AAPSonline.org) 16 

II. Anti-inflammatory Agents - Corticosteroids (“steroids”): Oral and Nebulized. 

These are started at STAGE II (Days 3-14) to reduce inflammation, the cause of added  damage to the lungs and critical organs. Symptoms include worsening cough, difficulty  breathing, chest heaviness/tightness or chest pain.  

As inflammation damages the airways interfering with normal oxygen-carbon dioxide  exchange, blood oxygen levels drop and people experience loss of focus, drowsiness, confusion, difficulty concentrating, low energy and severe fatigue.  

The exaggerated Inflammation response in COVID further increases the risk of blood clots. 

Prescription medicines and other support added now to Stage I medicines are: ▪ nebulized budesonide to help penetrate the lungs and reduce inflammation ▪ oral prednisone, methylprednisolone, dexamethasone 

▪ colchicine – may also be added to reduce inflammation 

▪ full strength adult aspirin 325 mg to reduce inflammation and risk of blood clots ▪ home oxygen concentrator may be needed to improve oxygen levels (requires  physician prescription) 

III. Prescription Anticoagulants (“blood thinners”):

STAGE III (Day 7 and beyond): Symptoms seen in Stage II intensify. Difficulty breathing becomes extreme, oxygen levels  drop sharply, risk of heart attack or stroke increases. At this point, people are critically ill.  

The medicines to be added to Stage I and II medicines now include: 

▪ Aspirin 325 mg unless told not to take by your doctors 

▪ And/or low molecular weight heparin injections (e.g. enoxaparin [Lovenox]) OR 

▪ apixaban (Eliquis), or rivaroxaban (Xarelto), or dabigatran (Pradaxa) or 

edoxaban (Savaysa) in standard doses for 5 to 30 days 

If these added steps do not lead to improvement, or the patient becomes unstable, a 911  call is warranted for ER evaluation and hospital admission so that more aggressive IV  medications (such as remdesivir, Regeneron, and others) may be considered, and more  intensive ventilation regimens are possible in ICU settings. 

IV. Vitamins, Supplements, and Oxygen.  

▪ Zinc sulfate, gluconate or citrate. These forms are available in pharmacies, health  food stores, and sold online. Zinc sulfate 220 mg provides 50 mg elemental zinc, the  recommended anti-viral dose. Zinc in the form of zinc picolinate form is not  recommended following reports of liver damage and tumors from studies about 20  years ago. Following these reports, the German Commission E that regulates  supplements used in medical practice in Germany banned this form of zinc. 

An educational resource from The Association of American Physicians and Surgeons (AAPSonline.org) 17 

▪ Vitamin D3, preferable in oil in capsules for better absorption. Recommended doses  for anti-viral benefit vary from 5000 IU or more for 5-30 days 

▪ Vitamin C with bioflavonoids for antioxidant, anti-inflammatory effects. Dose  

recommendations from our contributors vary from 1000 mg (1 gram) once or twice  a day up to 4 or more times a day. 

▪ A word about quercetin. Some physicians are recommending this supplement to  reduce viral illnesses because quercetin acts as a zinc ionophore to improve zinc  

uptake into cells. It is much less potent than HCQ as a zinc transporter, and it does  

not reach high concentrations in lung cells that HCQ does. Quercetin may help  

reduce risk of viral illness if you are basically healthy. But it is not potent enough to  replace HCQ for treatment of COVID once you have symptoms, and it does not  

adequately get into lung tissue unless you take massive doses (3-5 grams a day),  

which cause significant GI side effects such as diarrhea.

Control of Contagion

A major goal of self-quarantine is the control of contagion. Many sources of information suggest the main place of viral transmission occurs in the home. Facial covering for all contacts within the home as well as frequent use of hand sanitizer and hand washing is mandatory. Sterilizing surfaces such as countertops, door handles, phones, and other devices is advised. When possible, other close contacts can move out of the domicile and temporarily stay with others not ill with SARS-CoV-2. Findings from multiple studies indicate that policies concerning control of the spread of SARS-CoV-2 are effective and extension into the home as the most frequent site of viral transfer is paramount.

Reduction of Self-Reinoculation

It is well-recognized that COVID-19 exists outside the human body in a bioaerosol of airborne particles and droplets. Because exhaled air in an infected person is considered to be “loaded” with inoculum, each exhalation and inhalation is effectively reinoculation. In patients who are hospitalized, negative pressure is applied to the room air largely to reduce spread outside of the room. We propose that fresh air could reduce reinoculation and potentially reduce the severity of illness and possibly reduce household spread during quarantine. This calls for open windows, fans for aeration, or spending long periods of time outdoors away from others with no face covering to disperse and not reinhale the viral bioaerosol.

Combination Antiviral Therapy

Rapid and amplified viral replication is the hallmark of most acute viral infections. By reducing the rate, quantity, or duration of viral replication, the degree of direct viral injury to the respiratory epithelium, vasculature, and organs may be lessened. Additionally, secondary processes that depend on viral stimulation, including the activation of inflammatory cells, cytokines, and coagulation, could potentially be lessened if viral replication is attenuated. Because no form of readily available medication has been designed specifically to inhibit SARS-CoV-2 replication, 2 or more of the nonspecific agents listed here can be entertained. None of the approaches listed have specific regulatory approved advertising labels for their manufacturers; thus all would be appropriately considered acceptable “off-label” use.

Zinc Lozenges and Zinc Sulfate

Zinc is a known inhibitor of coronavirus replication. Clinical trials of zinc lozenges in the common cold have demonstrated modest reductions in the duration and or severity of symptoms. By extension, this readily available nontoxic therapy could be deployed at the first signs of COVID-19. Zinc lozenges can be administered 5 times a day for up to 5 days and extended if needed if symptoms persist. The amount of elemental zinc lozenges is <25% of that in a single 220-mg zinc sulfate daily tablet. This dose of zinc sulfate has been effectively used in combination with antimalarials in early treatment of high-risk outpatients with COVID-19.

Antimalarials

Hydroxychloroquine (HCQ) is an antimalarial/anti-inflammatory drug that impairs endosomal transfer of virions within human cells. HCQ is also a zinc ionophore that conveys zinc intracellularly to block the SARS-CoV-2 RNA-dependent RNA polymerase, which is the core enzyme of the virus replication. The currently completed retrospective studies and randomized trials have generally shown these findings: 1) when started late in the hospital course and for short durations of time, antimalarials appear to be ineffective, 2) when started earlier in the hospital course, for progressively longer durations and in outpatients, antimalarials may reduce the progression of disease, prevent hospitalization, and are associated with reduced mortality. In a retrospective inpatient study of 2541 patients hospitalized with COVID-19, therapy associated with an adjusted reduction in mortality was HCQ alone (hazard ratio [HR] = 0.34, 95% confidence interval [CI] 0.25-0.46, P <0.001) and HCQ with azithromycin (HR = 0.29, 95% CI 0.22-0.40, P <0.001). HCQ was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration in 1955, has been used by hundreds of millions of people worldwide since then, is sold over the counter in many countries, and has a well-characterized safety profile that should not raise undue alarm. Although asymptomatic QT prolongation is a well-recognized and infrequent (<1%) complication of HCQ, it is possible that in the setting of acute illness symptomatic arrhythmias could develop. Data safety and monitoring boards have not declared safety concerns in any clinical trial published to date. Rare patients with a personal or family history of prolonged QT syndrome and those on additional QT prolonging, contraindicated drugs (eg, dofetilide, sotalol) should be treated with caution and a plan to monitor the QTc in the ambulatory setting. A typical HCQ regimen is 200 mg bid for 5 days and extended to 30 days for continued symptoms. A minimal sufficient dose of HCQ should be used, because in excessive doses the drug can interfere with early immune response to the virus.

Azithromycin

Azithromycin is a commonly used macrolide antibiotic that has antiviral properties mainly attributed to reduced endosomal transfer of virions as well as established anti-inflammatory effects. It has been commonly used in COVID-19 studies initially based on French reports demonstrating markedly reduced durations of viral shedding, fewer hospitalizations, and reduced mortality combination with HCQ as compared to those untreated. In the large inpatient study (n = 2451) discussed previously, those who received azithromycin alone had an adjusted HR for mortality of 1.05, 95% CI 0.68-1.62, and P = 0.83.23 The combination of HCQ and azithromycin has been used as standard of care in other contexts as a standard of care in more than 300,000 older adults with multiple comorbidities. This agent is well-tolerated and like HCQ can prolong the QTc in <1% of patients. The same safety precautions for HCQ listed previously could be extended to azithromycin with or without HCQ. Azithromycin provides additional coverage of bacterial upper respiratory pathogens that could potentially play a role in concurrent or secondary infection. Thus, this agent can serve as a safety net for patients with COVID-19 against clinical failure of the bacterial component of community-acquired pneumonia. The same safety precautions for HCQ could be extended to azithromycin with or without HCQ. Because both HCQ and azithromycin have small but potentially additive risks of QTc prolongation, patients with known or suspected arrhythmias or taking contraindicated medications or should have more thorough workup (eg, review of baseline electrocardiogram, imaging studies, etc.) before receiving these 2 together. One of many dosing schemes is 250 mg po bid for 5 days and may extend to 30 days for persistent symptoms or evidence of bacterial superinfection.

Doxycycline

Doxycycline is another common antibiotic with multiple intracellular effects that may reduce viral replication, cellular damage, and expression of inflammatory factors. This drug has no effect on cardiac conduction and has the main caveat of gastrointestinal upset and esophagitis. As with azithromycin, doxycycline has the advantage of offering antibacterial coverage for superimposed bacterial infection in the upper respiratory tract. Doxycycline has a high degree of activity against many common respiratory pathogens including Streptococcus pneumoniae, Haemophilus influenzae, Moraxella catarrhalis, anaerobes such as Bacteroides and anaerobic/microaerophilic streptococci and atypical agents like Legionella, Mycoplasma pneumoniae, and Chlamydia pneumoniae. One of many dosing schemes is 200 mg po followed by 100 mg po bid for 5 days and may extend to 30 days for persistent symptoms or evidence of bacterial superinfection. Doxycycline may be useful with HCQ for patients in whom the HCQ-azithromycin combination is not desired.

Favipiravir

Favipiravir, an oral selective inhibitor of RNA-dependent RNA polymerase, is approved for ambulatory use in COVID-19 in Russia, India, and other countries outside of the United States.35 It has been previously used for treatment of some life-threatening infections such as Ebola virus, Lassa virus, and rabies. Its therapeutic efficacy has been proven in these diseases. Like, the antimalarials and antibiotics, favipiravir has no large-scale randomized trials completed at this time, given the short time frame of the pandemic. A dose administration could be 1600 mg po bid on day 1, following by 600 mg po bid for 14 days.

Immunomodulators

The manifestations of COVID-19 that prompt hospitalization and that may well lead to multiorgan system failure are attributed to a cytokine storm. The characteristic profile of a patient acutely ill with COVID-19 includes leukocytosis with a relative neutropenia. These patients have higher serum level of cytokines (ie, TNF-α, IFN-γ, IL-1β, IL-2, IL-4, IL-6, and IL-10) and C-reactive protein than control individuals. Among patients with COVID-19, serum IL-6 and IL-10 levels appear even more elevated in the critically ill. As with any acute inflammatory state, early treatment with immunomodulators is expected to impart greater benefit. In COVID-19, some of the first respiratory findings are nasal congestion, cough, and wheezing. These features are due to excess inflammation and cytokine activation. Early use of corticosteroids is a rational intervention for patients with COVID-19 with these features as they would be in acute asthma or reactive airways disease. The RECOVERY trial randomized 6425 hospitalized patients with COVID-19 in a 2:1 ratio to dexamethasone 6 mg po/IV daily for up to 10 days and found dexamethasone reduced mortality (HR = 0.65, 95% CI 0.51-0.82, P <0.001). One potential dosing scheme for outpatients starting on day 5 or the onset of respiratory symptoms is prednisone 1 mg/kg given daily for 5 days with or without a subsequent taper.

Colchicine

Colchicine is a nonsteroidal antimitotic drug that blocks metaphase by binding to the ends of microtubules to prevent the elongation of the microtubule polymer. This agent has proven useful in gout and idiopathic recurrent pericarditis. The GRECCO-19 randomized open-label trial in 105 hospitalized patients with COVID-19 found that colchicine was associated with a reduction in D-dimer levels and improved clinical outcomes. The clinical primary end point (2-point change in World Health Organization ordinal scale) occurred in 14.0% in the control group (7 of 50 patients) and 1.8% in the colchicine group (1 of 55 patients) (odds ratio, 0.11; 95% CI, 0.01-0.96; P = 0.02). Because the short-term safety profile is well understood, it is reasonable to consider this agent along with corticosteroids in an attempt to reduce the effects of cytokine storm. A dosing scheme of 1.2 mg po, followed by 0.6 mg po bid for 3 weeks can be considered.

Antiplatelet Agents and Antithrombotics

Multiple studies have described increased rates of pathological macro- and micro-thrombosis. Patients with COVID-19 have described chest heaviness associated with desaturation that suggests the possibility of pulmonary thrombosis. Multiple reports have described elevated D-dimer levels in acutely ill patients with COVID-19, which has been consistently associated with increased risk of deep venous thrombosis and pulmonary embolism. Necropsy studies have described pulmonary microthrombosis in COVID-19. These observations support the notion that endothelial injury and thrombosis play a role oxygen desaturation, a cardinal reason for hospitalization and supportive care. Based on this pathophysiologic rationale, aspirin 81 mg daily can be administered as an initial antiplatelet and anti-inflammatory agent. Ambulatory patients can be additionally treated with subcutaneous low-molecular-weight heparin or with short-acting novel anticoagulant drugs in dosing schemes similar to those use in outpatient thromboprophylaxis. In a retrospective study of 2773 inpatients with COVID-19, 28% received anticoagulant therapy within 2 days of admission, and despite being used in more severe cases, anticoagulant administration was associated with a reduction in mortality (HR = 0.86 per day of therapy, 95% CI: 0.82-0.89; P <0.001). Additional supportive data on the use anticoagulants reducing mortality has been reported in hospitalized patients with elevated D-dimer levels and higher comorbidity scores.53 Many acutely ill outpatients also have general indications for venous thromboembolism prophylaxis applicable to COVID-19.

Delivery of Oxygen and Monitoring

Because ambulatory centers and clinics have been reticent to have face-to-face visits with patients with COVID-19, telemedicine is a reasonable platform for monitoring. Clinical impressions can be gained with audio and video interviews by the physician with the patient. Supplemental information, including vital signs and symptoms, will be important to guide the physician. A significant component of safe outpatient management is maintenance of arterial oxygen saturation on room air or prescribed home oxygen under direct supervision by daily telemedicine with escalation to hospitalization for assisted ventilation if needed. Self-proning could be entertained for confident patients with good at-home monitoring.

Many of the measures discussed in this article could be extended to seniors in COVID-19 treatment units in nursing homes and other nonhospital settings. This would leave the purposes of hospitalization to the administration of intravenous fluid and parenteral medication, assisted pressure or mechanical ventilation, and advanced mechanical circulatory support.”

This is the group’s statement on vaccines:

“Vaccines in Development: 

Several vaccine models are being investigated for SARS-CoV-2 (COVID-19) including DNA and RNA  vaccines. These vaccines take genetic information from other sources that is introduced into the cells. This  information includes instructions to produce a SARS2-like viral antigen itself, and the immune system then  reacts to it to develop immunity to the virus.  

The most important consideration before approving a vaccine for human use is to make sure that the  vaccine is safe and effective. Developing safe and controlled infection models for humans normally takes many  years of phased testing in the lab and then in humans. Many physicians and scientists have been concerned  that vaccine manufacturers, with government support, are speeding up this process in ways that are not  allowing adequate time for the usual phased testing leading up to human clinical trials. Two vaccine  manufacturers already have voluntarily paused their clinical trials in people due to serious adverse events. 

Currently, there are no RNA-based vaccines approved for human use so it would seem prudent to take  the time needed to ensure safety. Vaccines for RNA viruses are notoriously challenging and difficult to  develop. We still, after all these years since AIDS emerged in the 1980s, do not have a vaccine for the AIDS  virus, or the SARS-1 coronavirus that emerged in 2002-2003, and both are RNA viruses.  

Several attempts have been made to create vaccines for coronavirus and other respiratory viruses but  none of the vaccines have survived the testing phases. The vaccine trials for SARS-1 from 2003, for example,  was shut down because it produced autoimmune hypersensitivity reactions when exposed to the natural virus  after immunization in animal studies.  

Another problem is that the SARS-2 virus has already shown many mutations. Viruses adapt to the  environment to survive. Like the flu virus, it is difficult to predict what mutations will occur and circulate  around the world each season. A new vaccine must be reformulated to adjust to the changing genetic makeup  of the SARS-2 virus.  

Even the best vaccines for flu are only about 30-60% effective. Compare that with an effectiveness for  improvement ranging from 64% to more than 90% in more than 100 new studies showing early, outpatient  treatment with our existing medications described in chapters.  

As research on the vaccine continues, safety and effectiveness are of primary concern. The good news  is there are very safe and effective early treatments already available as we described in Chapter 3. Clearly,  early, home-based treatment has now been so successful and offers so much hope, there is less urgency to  have a vaccine.”

You can sign up to receive the full protocol here: https://aapsonline.org/covidpatientguide/  or find the research paper here: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7410805/

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 7

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary:  Leo and Calypso start opening up to each other.

A/N: A Caleo centered chapter! This is a short one but I think it's important to show a casual conversation between them (smth RR doesn't do enough in his books tbh).

Thanks to Cris for betaing!! Without a further ado, please enjoy and remember that even the shortest comment can make me happy!

Characters in this ch: Leo, Calypso

Words: 1275

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / next chapter / AO3

...

“Where are you going with all those things?” Calypso looked at Leo curiously a couple of days after the makeover incident. He was carrying several bags full of various machines, his safety goggles that were often on him even when he wasn’t working resting on his curly hair and a determined expression on his face. “That looks heavy. Can I help you?”

Leo had learned to carry heavy loads through the years but he was still thankful for the offer. “I guess you can, before one of these bad boys fall.” Calypso took one bag and was surprised by how heavy it was, yet Leo had still tried to carry all 3 on his own.

“As for your question, I’m going home for the weekend again. I can do a lot of the smaller projects here but Jo has a way better space and way better machines to do this work,” Leo explained.

“Who is Jo?” Calypso asked, not remembering Leo mentioning that name before.

“She’s one of my adoptive mothers,” Leo said nonchalantly like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Calypso furrowed her eyebrows slightly. “You were adopted? By two mothers?”

“Yep, I was. Got a problem with that?” Leo asked, putting the bags down and crossing his arms.

“Oh, no, no!” Calypso shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that! I was just surprised because… I don’t know, when you said ‘home’, I pictured you, um, with your biological family. You’ve never mentioned being adopted before. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“You never asked,” Leo said, his face remaining neutral. Calypso couldn’t help but wonder if he was still feeling uncomfortable because of what happened the other day. “But my current family is still more normal than any of the other families I’ve seen so far.”

“I see. Uh, I hope I’m not crossing some boundary but… what happened to your biological family?” she asked, but quickly added: “If you feel comfortable telling.”

Leo sighed, taking the bags from the floor again before answering. “Dad left mom when he found out she was pregnant, mom died, my dear aunt made sure no one else in the family wanted me… End of story.”

“Sorry, I had no idea… That’s a lot to go through for anyone…” Calypso wanted to touch his shoulder or do something else to gesture that she was there if he wanted to talk, but some emotional barrier stopped her from doing that.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like pity. It is what it is. Shit happened but I’ve gained a lot too. Jo and Emmie are honestly some of the best people I’ve ever met and Georgie is like a sister to me.” Leo could have continued that rant longer, wanting to say how they had basically saved his life and how he had felt he belonged somewhere for the first time in seven years when they had adopted him, but the mood had already gotten weird enough.

“If it makes you feel any better, I know a lot about unstable families too,” Calypso said then, stopping Leo’s track of thoughts. “My parents aren’t exactly the nicest of people. Especially my father. Sometimes… sometimes I wish that I didn’t know them.”

Leo sensed the hurt in her voice, and he didn’t ask more. Instead, he decided they had been moping long enough now and attempted to lighten the mood in his own way.

“I hope you don’t think that way about Uncle Leo, though,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin. “Would be pretty awkward to be flatmates otherwise.”

“You’re weird,” Calypso said but looked down to avoid eye contact with Leo. “Why do you call yourself uncle?”

“Just for fun! Besides, my weirdness is growing on you, isn’t it?”

“Nah,” she said, but Leo noticed her mouth was tugged slightly upwards.

“It so is,” he teased.

“Whatever, Uncle Leo.” Calypso said with the most sarcastic voice she could muster.

“When you say it like that, it sounds pretty bad,” Leo protested, making Calypso smile even wider.

“That was the purpose!” she announced.

“Ouch! That hurt.” He clutched his chest.

Calypso just laughed at him. The joke seemed to have helped in lightening the mood and the rest of the way down to Leo’s car went in a comfortable silence. Calypso was focusing on the road in front of them so Leo got an opportunity to observe her for a moment, making a mental note to make her smile and laugh more often. Somehow, it seemed to be contagious because suddenly Leo felt like laughing too.

“Hey. Thanks for opening up about your past,” Calypso said when they stopped in front of Leo’s car, a red Opel from the 1990ies that he himself had fixed. “I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me that.”

“No hay problema!“ Leo exclaimed as she lifted the bags into the back of his car. “I figured you’d hear it from Piper at some point anyway because she can be a blabbermouth… And I guess you two are friends now?”

Calypso considered the question. “Yeah, I think so! I mean, err… this may sound weird but I’ve never really had close friends so I’m not 100% sure how all of this works, I’m still figuring it out… But I would probably call us friends.”

Leo wanted to say: “running away from your foster homes and living on the streets doesn’t exactly gain you friends either” but with the new found peace they had reached he didn’t want to break that. “I know the feeling. Before I met Jason and some others here, Festus was my best friend.”

Suddenly Calypso felt bad about getting so mad at Festus (and Leo) about her desk.

“That reminds me, when you see him, could you apologize to him? For me yelling when we first met?”

“So, you’re more ready to apologize to a dog than me?” Leo asked, but not seriously. “Where’s my apology?”

Calypso had an urge to roll her eyes. “Oh you big baby, you don’t deserve one. After all, you’re the one who was responsible for him.”

“Har har.”

Calypso’s voice softened. “I do still appreciate you fixing it. It looks nice now.”

“Did you just compliment me?” Leo asked with amusement. “Super sized McShizzle must have done something right, then!”

“Watch out for your head, it might not fit into the car,” Calypso said, this time only making Leo laugh.

“Looks like I’ve managed to bring out a whole new side of you. Or are you always this sassy?”

“No, definitely just with you,” Calypso stuck her tongue out at him.

“Well, I’m honored. But now I should get going, Georgie is probably already staring from the window waiting for me.” Leo sat down in his car, tapping the wheel impatiently but leaving the door open so they could hear each other.

“Aww, a doting big brother too! I’m learning a whole lot about Leo Valdez today,” Calypso said with a teasing tone.

“Laugh all you want, I’m proud to be her brother!”

“It’s fine,” Calypso said, knowing something about being a sibling herself. “When will you be back?” she asked before Leo closed the door.

“Whenever Argo II decides it’s time to return,” Leo said mysteriously.

“Argo? Don’t tell me you named your car after that ship in Greek mythology?”

“I might have. Well, see ya!” Leo said, leaving Calypso baffled. She wouldn’t have thought Leo knew the myths that well. So full of mysteries, that one. Calypso couldn’t help but think that even though she knew a bit more about Leo now, she felt even more confused than before.

[mwolf0epsilon]

B lea se, pblea se give us a full continuation of the Cameraman comic I beg 😔🙏

Summary: After accidentally growing to the size of a giant, Cameraman makes some poor decisions that lead him into colossal trouble.

A written continuation of my one page Cameraman comic!

---

[[MORE]]

     It wasn't uncommon for the Society for the Shellacking of Souper Boris's HQ to suffer considerable damage on occasion, especially since there were three villains living there. Plotting their next big hit with varying degrees of ingenuity and force, which often left things quite the mess in general.

But nothing that the big burly wolf with the volatile temper, or even the twisted demoness with sharp tongue and coiled arms ever did, could come so close as to compare with the absolute madness of Cameraman's more, shall we say, cinematic plots…

It was true that he was the least aggressive and troublesome of the trio when working with them in causing mischief. More often than not he even opted for the easier things in their plans, like petty thievery and slight vandalism, while the Brute and Miss Twisted handled the flashier things that really got the cops angry with them. 

When he did things solo however… Well he'd wanted to make it big as a movie director once, and it showed.

His one-man plans were convoluted and honestly quite ambitious.

They also ended with him wrecking the base with whatever invention he came up with that week.

Never on purpose really! He was just a little clumsy.

Although, at this very moment, he was anything but little...

     By his reasoning, the plan would have been flawless. Finish calibrating his shrink ray that took him weeks to construct, use one of the Society's inconspicuous vehicles to cart it all the way to the city, and then use it to shrink Steven Spigberg's annoyance of a studio all the way down to miniature size. Knock it down to its actual level, since it did nothing but hash out the same stale unnecessary sequel plots over and over again.

A spectacular lesson in humility, or at least Cameraman had envisioned it as such.

He hadn't accounted for accidentally bumping and reversing the controls, causing his machine to zap him instead of the test subject he'd been placing upon a little pedestal (just to see if he didn't accidentally disintegrate his target), and ending up in a completely avoidable colossal sized mishap instead.

But then he supposed he could still make part of the plan work. After all, the idea was that he'd be able to fit the studio in his hand… 

  "Oof… My head…" he could really do without the aches, but then again he'd just grown a whole lot in mere seconds. The fact he hadn't simply exploded should be more than reason to overlook the growing pains. Patting his own head carefully to check if he hadn't cracked his casing, he felt his pinky brush against something odd and that should be there. "Hm?"

Feeling over it with his index finger, Cameraman carefully searched for some manner of grip before carefully pinching the unknown object between two fingers and bringing it over to his lens to inspect it.

To his great surprise it was the Society's base. Mostly intact, although missing a large part of the bottom from him outgrowing it. The upper floor looked intact enough, albeit the horn fixture he was holding onto was now bent from him gripping it.

  "My goodness it's so small… or rather, I'm the one who's quite big…" he squinted, shutter zooming in on the damaged windows. He could sort of see his two roommates staring out at him with expressions he couldn't quite make out. "Oh! Hello there, sorry for the state of the base. Things took quite the unexpected turn as you can see..."

Rather than get a reply, both of his partners in crime seemed to huddle up in a corner and cower.

That was odd… Missy and Brute weren't the type to be intimidated. Especially not by him. Maybe it was the heights.

  "Right… I'll set you down now. I've much to do still, even if not everything has gone according to plan." He carefully set the damaged base back onto the swamp grounds, being mindful of the shallows so his two friends didn't end up sinking and drowning. "It's as they say. The show must go on!"

Once the base was safely on the ground, Cameraman began standing up. He was surprised by the sensation of vertigo as he did, groaning as nausea hit him.

He felt… Heavy. Stumbled a bit as he righted himself, and nearly toppled all over again. Had gravity increased on him? Probably… his feet were sinking into the marshy ground as well, so his new height and weight were not any easier to handle on such unstable terrain.

  "Walk it off, it'll be fine you worrywart… Just a matter of getting used to this." he shook his head and took a few tentative steps forward. His shutters clicked in annoyance as he kicked up the murky water as he moved. "My poor socks are going to be soaked through… I hope to dry up once I've reached the city. It wouldn't do to enact revenge while drenched… I might catch a cold."

He kept on walking, finding it steadily easier to move as long as he kept himself going. Just a matter of getting used to it as he'd thought.

Luckily his growth hadn't just brought unpleasant side effects. It had greatly improved his perspective as well!

He could just about see the big city in the distance and he was quite excited to look it over up close.

The once-little camera toon had seen the rooftops plenty of times (mostly from being either thrown by his partners in crime or from being carried by that no-show lupine interloper, and then a chowder enthusiast of an angel), but never at this scale. He assumed it would likely be like looking down at an impressive maquette, a much more detailed one than the miniatures he'd whittled out for the base's planning room (which had been reduced to rubble he was sure). More detailed. More deserving of more than a slight glance.

Wouldn't hurt to take a few photos before he took what he wanted.

-

     Bouillonburg wasn't the largest of the cities in the country, but it was still considered a major location in of itself. It was home to several hundreds of toons, had multiple quaint businesses, and at least two very nice parks to fill in the picturesque idea of an urban zone. 

The perfect place for a myriad of Pluto's youngest legions to prove their worth through acts of both evil and mischief.

Today however, trouble presented itself not in a grinning imp with a head shaped like a half-moon, but in something tremendously massive lumbering towards the unsuspecting city at a slow but long-reaching pace.

The first warning was a slight tremor spaced out like rhythmic thumping. The kind that caused liquids to ripple in their containers. 

Then the intensity of the shaking gradually climbed, and people began to grow nervous when objects began to fall off shelves, or when the glass windows began to creak and shake against their frames.

When the shadow of what could only be considered a colossal sized monster fell upon the city, that's when folks really started to panic.

Crowd dispersal went as you'd usually see on a disaster flick, with lots of screaming and running as several hundreds of toons attempted to flee the giant's humongous steps. Not that Cameraman noticed this. 

He was much too distracted staring at all the buildings he was so used to look up at, rather than examining from up and above.

  "This is all so very adorable!" He marveled as he peered into an office building, squinting at the many workers in their little cubicles. "I wish I could make miniatures as detailed as the real deal…"

He reached over to poke one of the windows, and winced when his finger went through.

  "Oops…" he withdrew his finger and stared down at the many shards of glass embedded in it. It didn't hurt, the fabric had kept it from piercing skin, but it had still startled him. He was so focused on it he didn't see the toons inside running for the stairs and elevators in pure terror. "That's a lot more fragile than I thought… I should refrain from touching glass."

     Shaking off the shock, Cameraman's gaze went downwards and his attention was caught by a phone booth. 

Crouching down he peered at it with his curious lens.

At his regular size he needed his portable step ladder to reach the phone (yes he was quite short, so what?), but at this height he was more than capable of reaching over the rooftops of the tallest buildings.

  "Well it's not like I need to make a call right now either way… But it sure looks charming." He focused on it and took a picture. His flash went off with a loud crackle, all around him more toons fled from the noise and bright light that hurt their eyes.

With more effort than should be necessary, Cameraman got back onto his feet and carried on his merry way. He stopped on occasion to take more photos of the many buildings and tiny structures.

Completely oblivious to the damage he was causing as he trekked forward.

His footsteps caused the ground to quake violently, the sound of his reverberating voice made glass crack and ears ring, and his weight was splitting concrete apart as if it were made of styrofoam.

To him this was all in good fun. Good harmless fun, because he wasn't antagonizing anyone. 

Just seeing the sights and appreciating his new perspective on life.

This quickly changed when he reached his destination.

  "Right… There it is." The object-headed toon rubbed his hands together eagerly as he caught sight of his target. Steven Spigberg's studio. That fat swine's precious little cash grab factory was about to get literally uprooted by the very toon that horrid film director scoffed at and turned away. "Let's see who's insignificant when I'm the one owning your precious little studio…"

Sights set Cameraman walked on, not once looking where he was treading and his thick shoes making quick work of benches and parked cars (and really anything else) that were unfortunately in his path. It didn't occur to him that he should be watching his step.

     The studio was nestled between another office building and a coffee shop that also serviced object and object-head toons (a rarity since most others disliked non-food based smells near their pastries and beverages of choice). It had the best hydroquinone and nicest rolls of film he'd ever had, so it was a shame such a blight ruined it for him.

He wondered briefly what they'd build on the soon to be vacant spot. Hopefully a book store to compliment the aesthetic of the coffee shop.

  "Let's see… there's going to be pipework in there, so best to go down and up, like carefully picking a flower, roots and all." He rested the back of his hand on the ground and pressed his fingers against the very bottom of the studio and then, in one swift motion, he dug his fingers under and pulled up. He expected the building to just pop out of the ground with ease, not for his hand to pass through like it was made of sand. "O-oh!"

Startled by the destruction of the building he'd planned to steal, Cameraman pulled his arm back abruptly. Swinging it to the right and crashing right through a section of the office building.

Yelping in fright he moved back, his left foot coming down on top of the coffee shop and crushing it as if he'd stepped on a cardboard box. Bringing his hands up in horror Cameraman stepped back once more in a panic. He stared down at the rubble in dismay.

  "Oh goodness… I… I didn't mean to do that!" He knelt down hoping to find a way to correct his mistake, but as soon as he grabbed hold of any solid looking debris they crumbled in his grasp into fine dust. "F-fiddlesticks…"

He was too big to fix what he broke.

Looking back at the slightly damaged office building, Cameraman stood back onto his feet and peered inside. The stairs and elevators were blocked by rubble and there were several people trying to unblock the way out.

  "Oh… wait I can help you down!" He reached in, hoping that helping these people would compensate for ruining their workspace but, as soon as the toons saw his hand they began scrambling away, their high pitched shrieks barely registering in his audio receptors. The fear in their movements however… "You don't need to be afraid. That was an accident I swear!"

He tried to reach the group, leaning forward just a little bit more. Then gravity caught up with him and the camera toon's shutter widened as he realized too late that his balance was way off. He tumbled forward, taking out the rest of the building with him.

  "AUGH!!!" He hit his head hard on the ground, a sharp pain in his shoulder causing him to instinctively prime his laser and blast the nearest "threat".

Except there wasn't a threatening foe causing him any harm. Just the helpless cityscape.

Taking a second to sit up and shake his aching head Cameraman looked down at his shoulder, wincing when he saw a long metal bean stabbing through it.

His gaze then locked on with the damage he'd caused up ahead.

There was fire, a lot of it, and just now he could make out the terrified city folk scrambling all around like scared ants.

Glancing around at the path he'd taken, the object-headed toon noticed all the destruction he'd caused while having his silly little fun.

  "Oh no…" he was a villain, that much he accepted. But he'd never really done something so terrible that it hurt several hundred people on such a scale.

He'd never killed anyone before, or dreamt of doing such a thing.

Looking down at the three buildings he'd crushed, and the ones currently ablaze, he doubted that was true anymore. "This wasn't what I wanted…"

He needed to get out of the city, before he destroyed something or hurt anyone else.

Looking around once more however… well easier said than done.

     The path ahead was on fire, the way back was already in quite the state, and the only other exit he could see looked a little narrow. Still it was worth risking considering all the people heading towards where he'd come from in the hopes of escaping. Escaping, as if he were doing this on purpose…

Narrow streets it is. He'd just have to suck in his belly and keep his arms up for however long it took to get past this new hurdle. Hopefully his arms wouldn't tire before he was clear.

Taking a deep breath, Cameraman stepped forward, now very aware of just how cramped the tiny sidewalks and roads were.

  "Oof…" he winced as his heel just about crushed the front of a parked car "I hope that was insured…" 

His knee caught the side of a tree, snapping it like a twig, and he pulled his hand away from the way of a power line as he tried to maneuver through the streets.

Sideways should do the trick…He sucked in his gut and began side-stepping through the cramped pathway he'd picked.

What was it with apartment complexes and tiny balconies that faced alleyways?

The escape ladders he could understand, but why the balconies?

The camera toon groaned as his chest and back got poked and scratched by hard edges and sharp rails.

His aching shoulder was already bothering him enough.

  "Just stay calm and you'll be through in no time…" he told himself as he kept on moving. And then he gulped nervously as he felt the alley narrow further. "... Oh this is a problem."

Against his better judgement he continued… And immediately stopped as he felt his hips jammed against two buildings.

Trying to push or pull away made both buildings shake dangerously.

  "... Come on…" his arms were starting to tire. He needed to figure out how to get away without breaking anything else. Glancing down to see if there was a safer way to unwedge himself, his shutters fell upon one of the balconies of the building ahead of him. He focused on a tiny lady surrounded by several flowers that was staring up at him with wide eyes. "... Uh… hello?"

The lady shrieked and immediately started throwing her potted plants at him.

He winced and kept his lens well away from her range. Impressive that she thought a few hits with a few vases would save her from something more than twice her own size, but also quite annoying.

  "Please stop." If he tried anything he might just hurt her, and honestly that wasn't really his style. Taking punishment like this was also not his style. "If I could I'd be out of your hair already."

He leaned back from another hit and yelped as he felt his back bump against the other building. The pressure suddenly giving away and sending him tumbling back like a house of cards falling in on itself. Kicking up dust and debris up into the air around him.

Once the cloud settled he sighed. 

Great, at this rate he'd be known as Klutzzilla, destroyer of private property...

Blinking his shutters he looked back up at the lady with a glare. She seemed to get the hint and fled back inside of her apartment.

  "Right…" he went back to the laborious chore of getting back on his feet. He was really starting to get tired of this repetitive charade.

If it weren't the guilt keeping him from bashing through the city to get back home he would have already done it. "No, no that's not the correct way to do this, don't let this get to your head… the Society only needs one big brute…"

He wondered what his two friends might be doing. Likely fixing up the base and waiting to chew him out for making a mess of things.

They might want to wait for him to tell them how to rebuild his shrink ray so that he'll be easier to scold, rather than both yelling up at him.

     Back up and at it again, Cameraman left what remained of the alleyway and began to tiptoe over the various urban obstacles. Phone booths, more parked cars, benches, the occasional straggler running by and performing an impressive Wilhelm impression, and even a kiosk or two (the first one he couldn't help snap a picture of, despite the circumstances everything still looked gosh darned cute to him!). It was a little like being a child all over again, playing hopscotch. 

Only someone had strewn legos and other toys all over the rectangles.

He was also not particularly good at hopscotch, and jumping around with an injured shoulder was really not a good experience.

The people and infrastructures were also not liking the impact of each jump.

Cameraman winced when several clothes lines and other miscellaneous objects began to fall from the sides of buildings.

  "And they say misfortune only doubles on Friday the 13th, the moment I gained a few feet I've been nothing if not plagued by bad luck!" He poked the metal bean protruding from his shoulder and fought back the urge to scream. "I hope this doesn't get infected. I'd be very upset with myself if that happened… or worse, what if I get tetanus?! My shots aren't due until Thursday!"

Well if the clinic he frequented hadn't yet given out and collapsed from all his mucking around that is…

  "Ok Cameraman, don't freak yourself out like this... Think of home." Yes, home, away from this poor city. Back with his friends who'd no doubt take pity on him as soon as they saw him hurt.

Villains or not, they weren't heartless spawns of evil… err, well at least two of them. But even Missy had a heart. They weren't monsters. "Yes home. Home…. The swamp is that way, just avoid stepping on anyone."

Renewed vigor carried him forward, only stopping to make sure fleeing citizens weren't accidentally crushed underfoot. 

He really did not want murder to be added to his criminal records.

Although he was pretty sure involuntary manslaughter would end up there somewhere after this ordeal was dealt with.

  "There we go, nice and easy. No more tomfoolery." He was pleased with how the streets were opening up. The smoke back there was getting pretty thick in the air though... Was the wind blowing his way or was he imagining it?

It was irritating his ventilation system for sure. Irritating it quite a bit actually.

  "Gosh darn soothy smoke!" He scrubbed at the discrete vents irritably, almost like someone scratching their nose.

He shook his head vigorously, finding it difficult to see now that his shutter and lens were welling up with lubricant, trying to dislodge the sooth filtering in through the seams. "Oh it itches!"

Helplessly scrubbing at both the leaking lens and his ventilation system, Cameraman was suddenly overcome by the enormous need to sneeze.

Uh-oh.

  "Do not sneeze, you know what happens when you sneeze!" His desperate scrubbing and scratching increased in intensity as he tried to prevent the inevitable. The moment the mechanism to prime his laser sight clicked on, he immediately looked up as a way to prevent further devastation. "A-ah… Aah...AACHOO!!!!"

The laser shot out of his lens as he stumbled back, zooming upwards at high speed and hitting a previously unnoticed news blimp that had been flying overhead. The object-headed toon said nothing as he watched the darn thing fall out of the sky like a swatted fly, and collide with another building further away before bursting into flames.

He covered his face and groaned in frustration. Was there anything in this city he hadn't broken yet?!

  "Dang it…" If not take pity on his physical injuries, then surely Missy and Brute would take pity on his bruised ego instead.

-

It took far too long to get out of the (ruined) city. No matter how careful he'd tried to be, Cameraman had simply brought tremendous devastation with each tentative step towards being home free.

If he stopped to think about it, it made perfectly logical sense.

He was used to his actual stature and weight, so suddenly becoming some sort of titan had completely tipped the scales for him.

His regular clumsiness cranked up tenfold as he tried to navigate a world that was suddenly more fragile than he was accustomed to.

Of course in his current state he didn't really have the time to sit around for a moment of introspection, nor to contemplate on the fact he'd been an idiot and gone through with an idea that was doomed from the start.

From the moment he'd bumped the controls to this very moment in time, where he was tiredly stumbling back to the Society's HQ.

The metal beam stuck in his shoulder yet to be pulled out, since every instinct told him that doing that right now wouldn't be good for him. He needed to be sure he had help to deal with that.

And, as that thought entered his mind, something slowly clicked.

Stopping in his tracks Cameraman looked around in confusion.

Where… where was the base?

He was sure as all heck that he'd placed it in the shallows, and that was right there, next to that rotten log wedged by that one rock that looked like a hippo.

"Where…?" He scratched his flash's connection point in confusion as he glanced around. "I could have sworn I placed it here…"

He squinted, focusing on the murky water before crouching down to try to look for the distinct devil shaped building.

He even went so far as turning on his light, but it didn't pierce deep into the filthy water's depths.

Racking his memory to be sure he wasn't mistaken, he recalled placing the base right there and leaving.

He'd stumbled a bit, but he hadn't moved anywhere near the base, just splashed up a little water over his boots and… and…

His building sized boots…

Horror struck him as it suddenly dawned on him that what he'd perceived as little splashes were likely waves several feet in height, with the crashing force of a freightliner colliding with a steam boat…

"Oh no…" he carefully placed his hands in the water and began to feel around for the base, dragging himself forward and searching desperately not just for home, but for his friends as well. "Please be ok!! Please be ok!!!"

All that came up was random junk people had carelessly thrown in the swamp. The SSSB's base was nowhere to be found, and neither were Cameraman's only two friends for the matter… likely washed out into the deepest part of the swamp.

Likely… likely dead, from being trapped in a sinking base, because their friend was an incompetent fool.

"Oh goodness… no, I… I didn't…" the combination of the pain on his shoulder and exhaustion made him stop his fruitless search. As realization sunk in deeper, grief took hold. "I didn't mean to…"

Sniffling loudly, the camera toon hid his leaking lens in his hands and began to cry.

He'd ruined everything because of some stupid vendetta against a film studio! And now he'd be stuck as a klutz of a giant, alone and cold forever!

Sobbing loudly into his hands, Cameraman didn't notice the sounds of even splashes as someone rowed towards him, and was too caught up in his own sadness to register something beginning to tap against his knee.

He thought it was probably just flotsam that he'd loosened during his desperate rummaging.

When the tapping was replaced with a sharp jab, however, he did pull his hands away and rub at his lens to clear up the tears.

Staring up at him looking a complete tired mess, were Miss Twisted and Brute, both standing atop their base which they'd strapped to some sort of bizarre makeshift raft they'd fashioned up of logs, branches and whatever they could find that could make it as buoyant as possible.

The rows they'd improvised were also just several sticks tied together, and Missy had used the gripping end of hers to poke him to get his attention.

He was so dumbstruck he didn't say anything, which seemed to annoy the demoness.

"CAM YOU BETTER BE READY FOR A WALLOPING BECAUSE ONCE WE FIX UP THIS MESS I'M GONNA BEAT YOU SO HARD OVER THE HEAD YOU'LL BECOME AN INSTANT CAMERA INSTEAD!" He could just barely make out her high pitched screeching, but lord if it wasn't the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard! Shutters welling up all over again, the object-headed toon carefully scooped up the base from beneath the water and carefully brought it closer.

"HEY PUT US DOWN! WE'RE NOT A TOY YOU BIG… Big… Cammy are you crying?" The embers of Miss Twisted's ire were quickly extinguished by concern as she caught sight of the big fat tears dripping out of his lens.

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE BOTH DEAD!" He cried out, choking back another sob as he watched them both flinch and grab at their ears in pain. "P-pardon my outburst… I'm just so relieved I… I thought I'd drowned you both accidentally!"

"No, but that almost happened! Cam what were you thinking, making yourself into some big behemoth? How's that gonna help you at all?!" She tapped her foot impatiently. "Take it from a demon pal, the bigger they are, the harder they fall! I've seen archdemons topple like dominoes because they thought bigger was better… it's a stupid macho sentiment that ends in tears and humiliation."

"This wasn't what I was going for, believe me… I err… I merely miscalculated the calibration of my machine and this sort of… Ended up being the result." He looked as sheepish as one could without an actual face.

"You messed up and tried to save face uh?" She deadpanned as she dropped her arms again at her sides. Brute merely watching the exchange.

"Yes…" he admitted hesitantly as he glanced back towards the city. He could still see the smoke. "In hindsight, I should have realized that was foolish of me… Where's the fun in being a villain if there's no city left to practice villainy upon?"

"Cameraman destroy whole city?!" Brute gawked up at him in dismay.

"Not ALL of it… just err… 75%?" An explosion in the distance made him flinch. "Make that 95%..."

"I'll say… there's also something frigging stuck to your arm!" Missy pointed out, grimacing at the sight of the embedded metal beam currently still on his person.

"I know… I didn't want to touch it until I knew for sure I could have it looked at… which I can't right now." He also didn't want to touch it again. It really did hurt quite a bit when he poked it!

"Uh… how do fix Cameraman?" Brute asked. "Me no think lab ok…"

"No, no it's not. Cammy crushed it with his big fat butt." Missy groaned. "Please tell me you know how to rebuild your machine so we can revert this…"

"I do recall how to recreate it, yes. However, at this size I can't do so myself…" he carefully set down the base onto his knees so that he could rest his arm a bit. Making sure to stabilize it, he brought his knees closer to himself and leaned his head down so that now his lens was overing close to his two friends.

His shutter clicked shut as both reached up to pat the rim lightly in an attempt to comfort him. "I know you've likely gone through an ordeal already due to my carelessness… but could you perhaps build it for me? I really don't think it'd be wise for me to ruin any of the building materials."

"So needy, you big dumbo…" the demoness chuckled "Fine, we'll clean up your mess. But you're so doing our chores for the next month."

"And help with Brute's and Miss's plans!" The beefy wolf added.

"Deal." He held out his pinky so they could shake on it. Once both the smaller toons grabbed it with their little (cute) mitts, he carefully raised it up and down.

"Right! Off to work we go!"

-

It ended up being more of a one girl job to build a replica of the ray gun that Cameraman had created, so while Miss Twisted busied herself with that particular task, Brute had gone ahead and repaired the base. He was used to doing it by now, with just how often it got wrecked.

It was only natural he was picking up a few tricks on how to fix it up nice and quickly, without sacrificing stability and comfort.

He thought it was nice to have a home for a change, rather than some dingy alleyway or a prison cell, so he made sure to maintain it when needed. He was sure his two friends appreciated that tender act on his part. His way of showing a softer less thuggish side while still getting to show off his impressive musculature.

Call him a meathead all you wanted, he liked showing off what got him somewhere in life (through his own effort).

Once done, Brute nodded to himself in satisfaction before going to check in on the others. He came out just in time to see the metal beam once piercing through his friend's shoulder crashing down into the water, and then the femme fatale of the group firing a well aimed energy beam at the wounded object-head looming over her.

Brute covered his one eye to avoid looking at the bright light, and then uncovered it once the world dimmed back to its normal lighting. Not that there was that much sunlight left anymore, the sun was setting pretty quick as it was late in the afternoon.

Still he could just about make out a familiar tiny figure just hovering up in the air for a few brief seconds, before gravity caught up and brought him back down and crashing into the freezing water.

"10 points for that spectacular belly flop! What's your score, big guy?" Missy grinned impishly as she watched their friend resurface and splutter a bit from the shock of getting drenched by the swamp's murky embrace.

"Meh… Brute gives it an 8. Brute has seen better." The lumbering wolf shrugged as he moved over to pick up the trembling toon that was barely able to lift his arm. The wound looked very nasty and needed to be disinfected asap now that it had come into contact with a direct source of filth and bacteria "Cameraman need nurse Brute now. Fix up arm real good!"

"T-thank you big fella… I do f-feel a little woozy…"

"You boys go on ahead, I'm getting rid of this hunk of metal… More trouble than it's worth." She pointed at the ray gun "From now on, no mucking around with sizes!"

"Yes ma'am" both replied at the same time before Brute carried the injured Cameraman inside.

Missy watched them go before simply reaching over to the main panel and ripping out the wiring, disabling the miserable piece of mechanical junk for good. Once that was done, she simply kicked the ray gun into the water and dusted herself.

Satisfied with the deed, she briefly glanced towards the thick smoke in the distance and shook her head.

"What a shame... But hey, at least Cammy brought some scrap metal back…" she glanced at the half submerged beam. It was stained by whatever chemicals the little guy had to pass for blood, but it was an easy enough thing to clean off "Should get to stripping that before it gets too rusty…"

She went inside looking for that one big saw she'd gotten as a reward from Papa Pluto, for ruining some rich snob's party by dumping laxatives into the punch.

That had been a fun night, and that saw could cut through almost everything including solid metal.

On her way back out, she peered into the Society's shared bedroom and nodded at Brute who had just walked out holding the first aid kit.

"How's that shoulder of his?" She asked.

"Cameraman will live. Him asleep now, like little baby." He stepped aside to show her this and, sure enough, there was the shorter of the three curled up in his drawer bed. Tucked in and capped lens tucked under his uninjured arm. It was kind of cute watching him sleep so peacefully after such a rough day.

"Aww… poor little guy tuckered himself out. Must have had a pretty long day playing in the city."

"Ah-yuh." Brute nodded in agreement as he set the kit aside. He looked back at her almost curiously "What do Brute and Missy do now?"

"Well I was gonna strip that beam for scrap, but that'll be noisy… Cammy needs his rest, so why don't we go to the city and loot some goodies while everyone is too busy to stop us?"

"Me like plan!"

"Knew you would, big guy! Come along then!" She made sure to carefully close the bedroom door, but not before looking at the sleeping camera toon one more time. Yeah, he'd earned his rest. "Sweet dreams, you little weirdo…"

And with that done, off they went to cause some more trouble.

All the while their friend dreamt of the simpler things in life, like causing minor mischief with his two (and only) greatest pals in the whole world.

No more dreaming too big, he'd stick with the small-fry stuff thank you very much!

[yutaya]

Iron Fist Rewatch 1x02: Shadow Hawk Takes Flight

These doctors seem very nonchalant about how close this dude just got to murdering Danny with a fork. No reassurance or apology - just pour drugs down his throat so they can hose him down. What a picture of The System.

Negative stereotype that has roots in truth - there ARE places like this and worse, but it's true that we very rarely see the good kind of facility represented in TV too. Sucks for them to always be portrayed as the bad guy, and probably harmful too if people really could benefit from them but are wary.

"Let's say [he IS Danny]. That would mean he somehow, miraculously, [1] survived a plane crash, [2] in the Himalayas, and that [3] for some unknown reason he waited fifteen years to come back, with [4] no shoes and a tendency toward violence." - Ward, reciting all the reasons he's been repeating to himself ever since the parking lot not to start thinking this might be Danny, frog and freezer stories or no.

"We're doing the right thing. We could have just had him arrested." Why DIDN'T you have him arrested, Ward? Oh right, HAROLD. ugh.

AU where Danny gets arrested instead. Unfortunately I THINK none of the other Defenders timelines work out so this would be a good time for them to meet him early, though... 🤔

Again with this bird. I completely forgot about this symbol theme.

Danny: "I was meditating." Doctor: "Oh!" Danny: "Yeah, I was trying to focus my chi so I could get out of here." Doctor: "Oh..."

Doctor's like: Oh, wow, this is an interesting level of specificity for a made up story...

I forgot how much I like this doctor. He's legit trying to help. I forget what happened to him...

Colleen is putting so much effort into insulting her students LOL. Also: Darryl's shoes are too big. Bc Colleen runs a struggling dojo in an underprivileged part of city as a safe haven for these kids and to help "teach them how to perform in the real world"

Parts of this conversation that will weigh on Colleen: "You saw me being attacked; you KNOW there's something weird going on." "One of the richest families in New York have a problem with you." "No, I don't have anyone else I can ask for help: you're the only one."

Ward: Ok, good, I'm hearing reasons why this guy can't be telling the truth and therefore cannot be Danny. That's good. I still feel kind of off though... but that's probably just the thing where Harold put cameras in the hospital. Yeah.

Poor Kyle.

Ward: "We can lobotomize him!" Me: "asdfghjkl WARD."

This shot of Harold's "smile" when he tells Ward  "You ARE one of my guys! One of my most trusted guys!" is SO CREEPY

You can see Colleen FREEZE when Ward introduces himself. Harold and Ward shooting themselves in the foot with this: they're lending credence to Danny's story from the phone convo.

Ward, one of the richest people in the city: "Lie to the authorities about that homeless dude being violent for my own personal benefit. Here's a blatant bribe."

Harold yelling at the spy footage like he's throwing popcorn at a movie.

POOR KYLE.

This is deeply uncomfortable for me on a personal level.

Joy: Hmmmmm. What possible reason... could "Danny's" doctor have... for asking that very specific question.... unless.........?

Ok but "tiny Danny wanted to be an acrobat and was always jumping around on things" makes it SO MUCH EASIER for canon-divergent AUs where Danny isn't in the plane crash to still include ninja warrior Danny I-

Harold, a known dead man, looming ominously in the shadows of Danny's mental hospital room: "Here's a message about how you have to come find me and help me. It's not very subtle so you'll probably get it." Danny: "Oh shit, maybe I am crazy...?"

Danny: "I was a warrior. Only in the middle of a fight did I fully come alive. The harder someone hit me, the more everything came into focus." Harold: "Hm. Note taken." Me: *crying emoji*

Show: "oooh, ominous, Harold's under the Hand's thumb. Maybe there's more to him, maybe he's sympathetic...?" Fans: "lol, nice try. We all clocked that creep-o the moment we saw him."

I've talked about Colleen's first impressions of the Meachums in general and Ward in specific before but. Dude. Dude.

Danny, thinking that his very last tentative hope (Colleen) has fallen through, receives a communication from Joy. ;____;

Had. Had Joy already opened the bag of m&ms. It was sealed when she pulled it out of her desk drawer so wh- OH. The hospital opened Danny's mail, including the candy bag, to inspect it before giving it to him. Hahaha *sob*

If Colleen hadn't come to see Danny here, their paths might have diverged. As far as he's concerned, Colleen has made it clear that she's not going to help him and that they're just two strangers in a big city. Turning the corner and seeing her come to visit him boosts that flame of hope that Joy's package rekindled even further. He thought he had no one, and now the amount of people he has is growing.

Ok but, in an AU where Colleen doesn't go see Danny / Danny doesn't know Colleen came to see him, that isn't necessarily the end of their relationship. On Colleen's side, she's still suspicious of this entire Meachum mess - it RADIATES corruption and Colleen is very much entrenched in the downworld of NYC, where the rich powerful elite hurt the most. Plus, Danny doesn't give up on people easily and honestly, he kind of sucks at taking a hint - if he went off to some Rand business with the in with Joy, he would still end up in all the Harold mess, and probably at some point be on the run (maybe with another person - oooh, would love to see that AU - Joy or Ward or both in tow with Danny on the streets, fleeing trouble, Danny saying "I know a place") and showing up at Colleen's door, like "I know you don't want any part of this, and I don't mean to bring trouble to your door, but there's nowhere else to go," and Colleen being like "get in, quick," with her windows already half shuttered and supplies on the table because she was already investigating herself - (it could turn into a whole thing, with Colleen having connections that she thinks she can trust to help them against the big bad Harold/Meachum conspiracy, but then it's the Hand, and-!)

Danny: "The Meachum family might think I'm a threat to them." Colleen: "And why would they think that?" Danny: "Because I'm Danny Rand and I own more than half the company." Me: "And also because you stalked Joy, broke into her house and their offices, terrified and almost killed Ward???"

But anyway this is only gonna fuel Colleen's narrative that this is all greedy corporate machinations and bloody rich people politics. (Literally bloody. Literally murder people in a "problem solving" way kind of bloody.)

GODDDD Colleen is so hot in this scene when she walks into Joy's office with her pushed up sleeves on her chinese bomber jacket and her shirt tucked into her rolled up pants and - her hands in her pockets and that black bracelet and the belt - !

This argument between Joy and Ward is so emotionally charged - Ward's now in a desperate position because Joy has no way of knowing that she has just become an obstacle to something that he can't allow to happen - because Harold can not allow it to happen, and he's pulling Ward's strings, and then - ! "What are you so afraid of, Ward?" It's Harold, he's afraid of Harold. "You should be more like Dad." Ugh. ugh! Shot through the heart! "Grow some balls." I'm crying. They've both learned such terrible things from their father.

GDI DANNY the doctor BELIEVED you and then you had to go start talking about alternate planes of existence and the Iron Fist UGH he thinks you're just trying to cope with the trauma I - UGH.

This doctor is honestly trying to help but he's confirming all of Danny's fears from what Simon told him about how this place operates.

Ward regularly has to come up with ways to convince an entire board to do weird things that Harold asks - like purchase some random warehouses in Brooklyn - without even knowing why

Ward: "'Danny' is a threat to us, to our family, to our business, and the smartest solution - the one YOU taught me - is to get rid of the problem as expediently as possible!" Harold: "No, protect him." Ward: "WHY?! I am asking you why. Explain it to me! Because from where I'm standing, protecting him is dangerous, and getting rid of him is safe!" Harold: "Because I said so, that's why. Now heel." Honestly, of COURSE Ward takes this into his own hands.

Ah, yes, our first glimpse at Ward's drug addiction.

What is their plan????? Just beat him to death!? Can't make it quick - why?? Are they trying to make it look like a simple altercation between inmates???

"Ward Meachum sends his regards." God, that's so heartbreaking. The idea that not only does Ward believe Danny is an imposter and a threat, enough to try to kill him and then to send him to a mental institution - but that once he's there, out of harm's way, if he IS a mentally unstable imposter - OR once proof is starting to trickle to the Meachums (in colorful chocolate form) that he actually IS their old friend Danny - that Big Brother Ward would go out of his way to strike a deal with some "low life mental hospital thugs" to beat Danny to death?? This moment, to Danny, must feel like a bigger betrayal to Danny by Ward than anything else so far.

Danny, on all fours, looks up at the full moon outside the window, at the hawk silhouette streaking across it, and smiles. Hawk as Danny's spirit guide AU cont., but ALSO: WEREWOLF AU WEREWOLF AU WEREWOLF AU

Danny. Danny. Please run. Busting a huge hole in the wall made a very loud noise, please stop just standing there and giving people time to catch up.

[andtails]

A Prelude to Chaos Control - Chapter 5: A Recovering Hero

Click here to start from the beginning. You can also read this story on FanFiction.Net or Archive of Our Own.

*****

Chapter 5: A Recovering Hero

“Tails!” Sonic screamed, anger burning inside him as he witnessed his younger brother fall out of consciousness, his small body dangling from the side of the bus. Dropping to his knees, the blue hedgehog slammed a fist against the cement below. “Dammit!”

Sonic’s heavy breathing slowed as his anger was overtaken with a sense of dread and sadness, tears welling up in his eyes as his outstretched arms kept his body from completely falling over.

“How…how could you, Eggman…” Sonic struggled to produce coherent words as his vision was obscured by the tears enveloping his eyes, dripping down his face, and falling to his hands. “I…couldn’t save my little bro…”

Knuckles, meanwhile, approached the orange kitsune, placing a gloved hand on his neck, just above the ice that encrusted the rest of his body. He felt a faint pulse.

“Hey Sonic,” Knuckles said, turning around to see the hedgehog still crying on the ground. “Tails is alive but barely holding on.”

“Really?” Sonic dried the moisture from his eyes with his left arm as he jumped back up, running toward his little brother. He placed his palm below his nose to confirm the presence of light breathing coming out of the fox’s nose. “He really is alive!” His tears of sadness were replaced with tears of joy.

“If we don’t get him out soon, he’ll freeze to death,” Knuckles said. He looked down at the water dripping from the ice, melting in the mid-afternoon sun. “Even at the speed the ice is melting, Tails’ll suffer from hypothermia if we don’t do something.”

“Right.” Sonic collected his wits as he dried the fresh round of tears from his face. “Knuckles, you pry him out with your fists.” Sonic jumped up and grabbed the dummy ring bomb still dangling around Tails’ wrist. “I have some unfinished business.”

As Sonic snagged the bomb, he heard the sound of retracting metal from behind. Spinning around, he watched as an outstretched, metallic claw from the Elemental Egg Eagle’s chest plucked the green Chaos Emerald from the pavement and deposited it into what remained of its gullet, gulping as if it were a real bird swallowing a worm.

“Wooahhooohoohooo, now I have three Chaos Emeralds! Only four more until I have achieved complete, global domination!” The evil doctor’s voice bellowed out of the eagle’s speakers, reaching Team Sonic as the bird readied itself for an escape.

“Oh no you don’t!” Sonic yelled, running toward the raptor at intense speed. “I’ll make you pay for what you did to Tails!”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, you meddlesome hedgehog! Now that I’ve accomplished my objective, I think it’s time I make like an egg…and scram.”

With one flap of its wings, cracking the pavement below, the eagle lifted itself from the ground, hovering in place.

“Hah! You’re too slow!” Sonic jumped into the hole that once housed the machine’s beak, entering his spherical form to ensure the utmost precision as he crashed against the remaining elemental weapon housed in its throat. Sonic’s sharp quills made quick work of the weapon, destroying it upon impact. The blue hedgehog unwrapped himself from his ball, falling to his knees, unable to get his footing on the unstable surface.

The eagle screeched as if in pain, almost deafening Sonic as he placed his hands against his triangular ears. It was at this point that he remembered the dummy ring bomb around his wrist. Finding the will to remove his hands from his ringing ears, the hedgehog allowed the bomb to fall into his right hand. He pressed a button on the outside of the ring, causing it to glow.

“This one’s for you, Tails.” Sonic lifted his right arm back, as if preparing to pitch a baseball, and threw it down the bird’s throat before launching himself out of the eagle’s mouth, landing firmly on his feet, hardly giving himself the time to run away fast enough to escape the explosion.

The blue hedgehog dodged pieces of shrapnel as flames covered the pile of debris that remained of the metallic raptor. Instead of admiring his handywork, though, he ran back to the bus, relieved to find his little brother lying on the ground, no longer covered in ice. The kitsune shivered in his uneasy sleep, his face tightening up as if in pain.

“Tails…” Sonic dropped to his knees once more, holding his cold hands as tears fell from his face. “How could I let this happen! Why’d you break our pinkie promise?” The blue hedgehog sobbed as he aimlessly shifted from blaming himself to unintentionally blaming his adoptive brother, his tears coating the fox’s gloved hands.

As Sonic wept alongside his unconscious companion, Knuckles heard a rustling from the debris Sonic abandoned.

“What the…” Knuckles squinted, placing a hand over his brow. He witnessed a spherical shape appear out of the fiery mess, a pod with an indestructible, transparent cover that protected the maniacal doctor from the explosion’s impact.

“Well, my furry little friends, you may’ve won the battle,” Eggman began as he showed off the green Chaos Emerald for Knuckles to see, “but you lost the war!” The doctor laughed as he floated away in his Egg Mobile, attempting to flee the damaged downtown area.

“You’re not going to escape that easily, Eggman!” Knuckles ran to the nearest building just off the interstate, climbing it by punching against the hard surface of the structure, creating dented fist holds as he maneuvered his way upward. Reaching the top in no time, he leapt off the building and glided toward the evil doctor, who was now at a slightly lower altitude than the red echidna.

“Huh? What!” Eggman yelled, turning around in his Egg Mobile to see Knuckles clasping onto its side. Using his control stick, Robotnik jerked his flying pod in all directions, causing the red echidna’s grasp to slip. “Just drop, you annoying little pest!”

Knuckles held on, sweat dripping from his brow as he clenched his teeth, unable to establish a clear handhold on Eggman’s impenetrable Egg Mobile. With one final jerk to the side, the red echidna lost his grip, falling to the world below before regaining his gliding posture, safely maneuvering near the site of the smoldering Elemental Egg Eagle.

Eggman laughed at the sight of Knuckles falling to the streets. “That’ll teach him to mess with the power of the Eggman Empire!” The evil doctor flew away into the sunset, leaving the damaged downtown behind.

Knuckles landed near Sonic and Tails, slamming a fist against the concrete in anger, causing it to crack. “Damn that Eggman! He got away with the Chaos Emerald.”

“Now’s not the time to worry about your stupid rock collection,” Sonic said, his voice cracking as he continued kneeling beside the unconscious fox. “We need to get Tails medical attention fast.”

As if on cue, an ambulance arrived at the scene, emergency responders pulling a stretcher from the back of the vehicle. Without thinking or blinking, the blue blur picked Tails up, ran him to the stretcher, and gently set him down.

“Can I come along for the ride?” Sonic asked one of the masked medics.

“Of course!” she replied as her team placed the stretcher back in the ambulance. Knuckles waved at the blue hedgehog as he leapt in, the doors closing shut as the emergency vehicle sped away from the scene.  

Sonic looked down in surprise as he witnessed the young fox trying to open his eyes, his face tensing up as the bright lights of the ambulance’s interior crept through his eyelids.

“Tails?” Sonic reached down and lightly grabbed the kitsune’s hands as he looked into his eyes.

“S..S…Sonic…di…did we…win?”

Sonic hesitated, looking at the injured fox as he struggled to maintain eye contact. “Yes Tails…yes we did.” Tears began to well up in Sonic’s eyes once more.  

“H…hooray.” This was all the young fox could say before closing his eyes and falling back asleep.

A medic ordered the blue hedgehog to move, which he did without a moment’s thought, maneuvering to the corner of the cramped vehicle as medics got to work evaluating the unconscious fox.

“Hang in there, little buddy.” Sonic crossed his arms and lowered his head.

Hang in there…for me.

*****

Slipping out of a restless sleep, Sonic awoke to find himself in a small chair sitting next to Tails’ hospital bed. The tired hedgehog had repeated this routine for the last 48 hours, stepping out of the room whenever the medical staff needed to check the kitsune’s vitals. Tails had been slipping in and out of consciousness since passing out on the battlefield, unable to coherently communicate before returning to his slumber. The blue blur, who had eaten little since arriving to the hospital, still felt sick to his stomach, lacking any appetite as he sat by Tails’ side.

“How could I have let this happen, Tails?” Sonic put his hands to his face to block the morning light streaming through the window of the hospital room. “I’m your best friend, your older brother…I swore to protect you, and look at you now.” He gestured to the unconscious fox. “How can I call myself a hero when I let this happen, huh?” He sat motionless for several minutes, his face still buried in his hands, until his trance was cut short by the beeping noises coming from the beside medical computer. He looked over at the accompanying monitor to see a line graph beginning to bop up and down as the speed of the beeping grew faster. Sonic turned his attention away from the computer and to his younger brother, whose eyes slowly opened.

“T…Tails?” Sonic slowly approached the orange kitsune, placing a gloved hand on his cheek.

“S…Sonic?” Tails turned his head in Sonic’s direction. He was sore from the fight and the long stay in bed, and the cables covering his body restricted his movement.

“I’m here, little buddy.” Sonic was relieved beyond all measure to see his younger brother wake up, but he didn’t want to frighten the little fox either, so he mustered the will to keep his voice at a reasonable volume, almost failing and crying out in excitement.

Tails pulled himself up, leaning his back against the end of the bed as he attempted to collect his bearings. He looked at himself, staring at the cables and suction cups attached to his arms, legs, and chest. As he was about to observe his hands, though, his vision started to blur, his head bobbing a bit before putting his hands down to secure himself.

“Ohh Sonic, I don’t feel so good.”

Sonic could see the young kitsune beginning to sweat from his brow as his face tensed up, holding one hand to his stomach as he breathed deeply with his eyes closed. The blue hedgehog grabbed an emesis bag from the corner of the room and opened it, using his fingers to expand the hole at the top. He was just in time, as his younger brother vomited mere seconds later, the blue hedgehog steadily holding the bag below the young kitsune’s mouth. Once Tails’ vomiting concluded, Sonic placed the sickness bag in the garbage and pressed a red button on the bedside table to request assistance from a nurse.

Tails leaned back as he breathed a sigh of relief, putting his head up and taking fresh breaths. He still felt dizzy, but not nearly as bad as before.

Sonic observed his younger brother, his breathing returning to normal as he kept his eyes closed, when he noticed excess goo on his muzzle. Without a second thought, he grabbed a moist towelette from the bedside table and cleaned the mess from his face, rubbing the wipe gently while keeping the fox’s head secure with his other hand.

“Feelin’ better, little guy?”

“Yeah…I think so.” Tails stared at Sonic, noticing the rings around his eyes, the worry in his face, and the streaks of dry tears across his muzzle.

I’ve never seen Sonic like this before…

The orange fox blankly stared at Sonic in silence.

“Why the long face, lil’ bro?” As if by magic, Sonic put on a smile, and life seemed to return to his face as he rubbed Tails’ back.

Heh…I thought I was the only one who could so easily fake happiness.

“Why’d I do it, Sonic?”

“Huh?” Sonic pulled his hand back as he tried to understand Tails’ question.

“You made me promise not to put myself in harm’s way. I even gave you a solemn oath.” He raised an outstretched hand and wiggled his pinkie finger before putting his arm back down. “And yet…I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. I couldn’t just let my friends fight alone. And…” Tails’ eyes began to well up as he finished his thoughts. “…and I just didn’t want to feel useless.”

“Hey bro,” Sonic replied, his face loosening up as he approached the orange kitsune from the side of the bed, patting his left leg in reassurance. “If it weren’t for your genius idea to blow up the eagle thing with a dummy ring bomb, Knuckles and I would’ve had a much harder time defeating Eggman. And plus…” he paused, looking into the young fox’s eyes. “…you have a spirit of a true hero.”

“W…what do you mean?” Tails asked, his voice cracking as he attempted to parse what felt like unwarranted praise.

“A true hero doesn’t stop when told not to run into action. You knew that we needed your help, and it was your hero’s intuition that made you break your pinkie promise.” Sonic stood up and rustled Tails’ hair. “And for that…I forgive you.”

“S…Sonic…I don’t know what to say…” Tails was caught off-guard by his older brother’s genuine praise, slightly blushing in embarrassment at the thought of being a hero, not merely a sidekick.

Before the brothers could talk further, a nurse entered the room, a young squirrel with a bushy tail, brown fur, and a medical mask and scrubs covering her face and body, respectively. She held a tablet computer as she approached the bed.

“Ah yes, Mr. Prower,” she began. “How are you feeling?”

“Well…” Tails replied, looking over at the waste basket. “I woke up kinda dizzy, but I think I’m feeling better now.”

“As to be expected,” she replied, taking the garbage can away for the medical team to analyze later. She sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the bed, Sonic and Tails watching as she opened the patient’s chart on her tablet.

“Thankfully, your injuries were not severe. Your fur and gloves protected you from frostbite, but the force of your impact with the school bus gave you a mild concussion. Miraculously, brain scans taken over the past 48 hours have shown a remarkable rate of recovery, and you did not sustain any permanent brain damage, but you did experience a fever following your arrival to the hospital. The physical toll caused by the battle, and the resulting fever and concussion, is what likely caused you to stay unconscious for most of the last two days.” The nurse set her tablet on her lap and gave the young kitsune a once over before concluding. “To be safe, we are advising that you limit your physical activity and screen time for the next five days, and if recovery continues going well, we can discharge you.”

Tails groaned. He knew the medical advice was sound, but he couldn’t stand the thought of lying in bed for the next several days, both for his own sanity and because any time spent in recovery meant more time for Eggman to plot his next move.

“The nursing staff will periodically check on you, but feel free to press the button on the bedside table if you need anything.”

“Thanks, miss!” Sonic said, waving at the nurse as she left the room. As she closed the door behind her, the young kitsune closed his eyes and laid back in bed.

“I know it isn’t ideal,” Sonic said, watching as his younger brother yawned, “but it’ll be for your own good. Once you are fully recovered, we can go stop Eggman together, but in the meantime, I’ll be here for every step of your recovery.”

“Thanks Sonic,” Tails replied, “but you should really stop home for a bit.”

“What? Why?”

“Because…you stink.”

“Excuse me?” Sonic asked, not expecting this answer from the young fox.

“Seriously,” Tails continued, chuckling under his breath before pinching his nose, “it’s like you haven’t showered in weeks.”

“Hey!” Sonic sniffed under his armpits as the fox, who appeared tired mere moments ago, burst into a fit of laughter, rolling slightly from side to side, movement still limited from the cables around his body. “I don’t smell that bad you know!”

Sonic crossed his arms and looked away, unable to hide the smirk on his face. “Well geez, that’s the last time I spend days watching over you in a hospital.” The two brothers laughed a bit more. As their giggling subsided, Sonic saw the smile radiating from Tails’ face, making the blue hedgehog both happy and relieved, a weight falling from his shoulders as he was able to breathe easily for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

Tails will be okay.

*****

Tails was lying in his hospital bed, the third day of recovery since waking up. He felt significantly better than he did when he first entered the hospital, and the cables placed throughout his body had since been removed.

The fox continuously made swiping motions with his right hand, browsing the internet on his smartwatch, projecting the image over his wrist, to kill time.

I know I should be resting, but I can’t just sit around and do nothing.

Against the advice of his nurse, the fox began his recovery by analyzing the data he collected from his experiment on the Master Emerald, looking at the numbers and graphs which depicted the frequency of the energy given off by the mystical gem. He was attempting to come up with a way to program his Chaos Emerald detector to locate objects around Mobius that emitted the same energy frequencies as the Master Emerald, but he was simply unable to focus on such a complex task while recovering from his last skirmish. At this point, even thinking about the string of numbers, let alone looking at them on his smartwatch, made his head dizzy.

Tails looked away from the projected image and peered down at the Chaos Emerald detector lying beside him, a screwdriver sitting next to it. He intended to take it apart once again, hoping to use the opportunity afforded to him in recovery to program new code that could potentially work with the data collected from the experiment. Ultimately, though, he decided that he needed a little more time to heal before performing such a cognitively strenuous task.

Mindlessly sifting through low quality memes that made him chuckle on occasion, he couldn’t help but feel that he was wasting time. Nevertheless, he knew that he couldn’t really be of use right now anyway, so he remained in bed, lying down as his half-opened eyes consumed every image, text post, and video that his social media feed had to offer.  

While Tails was browsing, Sonic stepped through the door carrying a duffle bag. The orange kitsune turned off the projector and pulled himself up, excited for his blue companion to rip him away from utter boredom.

“Hiya Sonic!”

“Hey Tails, I think you’re gonna like what I brought from home.” The hedgehog placed the bag on the bed. “I would’ve brought more, but I can only carry so much!” Running to and from the Mystic Ruins wasn’t a challenge for the blue blur, but he couldn’t carry more than one bag full of goods on his back at a time.

“That’s fine,” Tails replied, a smile on his face. “I heard from the shop that the Tornado 2 will be repaired soon anyway, just in time for my discharge!”

The blue hedgehog poured the contents of the bag onto the bed, which piled up by the orange fox’s knees. Tails sifted through the contents to find much to keep him busy for the next several days. A small chess set was the first thing he noticed. The orange kitsune glanced at Sonic, who was sitting next to him on the side of the bed.

“You know I always beat you, right?” Tails asked.

“Well yeah, but it isn’t about winning or losing…it’s about having fun, right?”

“Hehe, I suppose.” Tails placed a gloved hand on the back of his head as the friends chuckled to each other. He continued exploring the pile at his feet to reveal some board games, a few unopened boxes of Mobian Scout™ mint chocolate cookies, some books he’d been meaning to read, and, to the young fox’s surprise, some components, cables, and one of his laptops. Tails studied the disposable bag that housed the components before showing it to the blue hedgehog.

“Why’d you sneak in contraband? The medical staff won’t like this one bit.”  

“That hasn’t stop you from tinkering with your detector and messing around on your watch, has it?”

“I guess not.” Tails laughed again.

“Besides,” Sonic continued, putting his legs up on the bed, wrapping his arms around them for support. “It’s not like a little concussion is gonna stop my bro from working!”

Tails continued looking through the pile. “How did ya know which parts to grab, though?”

“Let’s just say I took a lucky guess,” Sonic replied, giving his younger brother a thumbs up. “I figured the stuff on that workbench you were at before had what you needed, so I grabbed what I could.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Tails replied, placing a gloved finger to his chin.

“I even managed to take a quick shower!” Sonic said before taking a whiff of his armpits. “See! No B.O.” The blue hedgehog pushed his armpit close to his young brother’s face as if to prove his cleanliness.

“No, no, get away!” The orange kitsune chuckled as he pushed the blue blur back, Sonic falling backwards to the opposite side of the bed. Unhurt from the soft landing, Sonic joined the laughter.

Sonic always manages to put a smile on my face.

“So…wanna play some chess?” Sonic asked, looking through the pile to find the chessboard.

“Umm…no thank you,” Tails replied. “I don’t want to strain my mind too hard right now.”

“Not that you would need to in order to defeat me,” Sonic shot back, Tails giggling in response.

“True, but I’d rather just…” Tails stopped to yawn into his left hand. “…relax a bit.” He turned his watch back on, the projected image of his social media feed materializing above his wrist once more.

“Here, I’ll join ya,” Sonic replied, approaching the opposite side of the bed. He placed the Chaos Emerald detector and screwdriver on the bedside table, pushed the pile of stuff back into the duffle bag, and got in, snuggling against his little brother as he continued swiping through new social media posts. Sonic looked up to get a good view of the projected image, the two chuckling from time to time as the orange kitsune stumbled across the occasional funny post in his feed.

An hour later, Tails’ nurse stepped into his room to check on his recovery. She stopped, however, when she saw Sonic and Tails napping peacefully in bed, Sonic sleeping against his younger brother and Tails’ namesakes wrapped around them. A half-eaten box of cookies was left open on the bed, and small, black crumbs covered their muzzles. The nurse giggled to herself as she quietly pulled a blanket over the two brothers, both still snuggling soundly together, before leaving them to their slumber.

“Tails is lucky to have such a caring friend,” she said to herself as she walked down the hallway, on her way to check on her next patient.

*****

A week since Eggman escaped from Seaside City, the evil doctor was scheming his next move. That, and bragging about his past accomplishments.

“Wooahhooohoohooo,” Robotnik bellowed, much to the displeasure of Decoe and Bocoe, who were working diligently on improving the energy amplifier. Bocoe set his wrench down and turned to his mechanical brother.

“I bet Eggman is going to say, ‘Those foolish rodents fell right into my trap!’ again.”

“How much you want to bet?”

“Hmmm…let’s go with 20 dollars.”

“You’re on.” The robot companions shook their hands to solidify the deal, out of sight of the evil mastermind who was about to turn to them once more.

“Those foolish rodents fell right into my trap!” Bocoe pulled a small wad of cash out of a compartment on his side and gave it to Decoe as he audibly sighed. “Remind me to never gamble with you again.”

“Quiet, you deficient dunces!” Eggman barked as Decoe slipped his reward away, the oblivious doctor unaware of their bet. “Now, as I was saying, those meddlesome furballs fell for my trick bigtime!”

The two robots continued their work, attempting to drown out this variation of the same speech they’d heard multiple times since Robotnik came back from his successful Seaside City mission.

“Even with Tails’ intelligence and deductive reasoning, he never figured out why I attacked the city in the first place. I don’t mind causing a bit of mayhem every once in a while, but the damage my Elemental Egg Eagle caused was small fish compared to the real prize!” Eggman pulled the green Chaos Emerald from his jacket pocket, glistening in the artificial light that permeated the laboratory, laughing maniacally as he approached a large monitor near the corner of the room. A world map appeared on the screen, complete with seven dots. Three of the dots were hovering over one area while the remaining four were scattered across the rest of Mobius.

“Those lazy brats have been taking it easy while I’ve been hard at work finding a way to locate the Chaos Emeralds without having to rely on that meddlesome hedgehog to do it for me.” As Robotnik was about to continue his speech, he heard the sound of clanging metal from above. He looked up at the large, rectangular air duct that snaked its way across the ceiling of the lab.

“Meh…it was probably nothing,” Eggman said, looking back at his monitor. “My high-tech security system would’ve caught any interlopers anyway.”

That’s where you’re wrong.

A feminine bat peered through small vents in the airduct above the lab, cursing at herself for her uncharacteristic clumsiness.

I’ve gotta be more careful or else I’ll be spotted for sure.

The bat was none other than Rouge, a jewel thief who relished the thrill of stealing priceless gems. She wore blue eyeliner and long eyelash extensions, a purple chest piece, black leggings, and silk gloves that, unlike Sonic and friends, were more fashionable than practical.

Now I need to lay low until I can claim the right opportunity to snag the emeralds.

“Are you two finished with the upgrades to the amplifier yet?” Eggman yelled, his two mechanical minions standing at attention.

“Yes sir,” they said in unison. “The new enhancements will better contain the power of multiple Chaos Emeralds, keeping the lab sturdy and reducing the probability of any malfunctions,” Bocoe said.

“The energy amplifier should be able to handle the power of three Chaos Emeralds with ease,” Decoe added.

“Excellent,” Eggman replied, a grin on his face as he stroked his orange mustache. “All right, let’s test it out.” He placed the green Chaos Emerald into its designated slot next to the red and purple gems and pressed a button on the dashboard. The machine began to hum, increasing in volume as static formed around the tubular machine that stood at the center of the lab.

“See? When you’re not complaining all the time and actually doing your jobs, you’re succ—” Eggman’s backhanded compliment was cut short, however, as the floor beneath them began to shake, the amplifier getting louder as the static grew in intensity. Robotnik quickly shut it down, the machine’s humming gradually slowing as the shutdown protocols were initiated.

“Even when you’re doing your jobs, you still fail miserably!” Eggman yelled, approaching the robotic brothers as they stepped back in unison, their hands forward.

“Please sir, we just need to make a few adjustments,” Decoe begged.

“Yeah, we can fix the problem in no time at all,” Bocoe added. “Just give us some more time.” The two robots knelt before the evil scientist, pleading to be given another chance.

“…very well.” Robotnik calmed down, folding his arms as he looked down at the groveling machines at his feet. “But I’ll be working alongside you. This project is simply too important to be left to my underlings.”  

“Now come,” Eggman continued as he left the lab, “I need you two to prepare my lunch while I take an eggzzellent bath. Can’t exercise my brilliant mind without proper self-care, after all!” As Robotnik marched out of the sliding doors, Decoe picked himself up from the ground.

“Geez, that schtick works every time,” Decoe said, helping his brother up.

“He wouldn’t get rid of us anyway,” Bocoe replied. “He’s too lazy to do all the grunt work we handle, let alone build new robots with intricate AI from scratch!” The duo chuckled to themselves as they followed Eggman out of the lab, activating the room’s security features before they stepped through the sliding doors.

Rouge watched as the lights went out, replaced with various red lasers scattered all around the lab that provided enough illumination for her to see.

“Pllleeeze, this is elementary, my dear Eggman!” Rouge opened the vent and placed the lid to her side before allowing herself to dangle from the opening with her feet. Twisting around, using her eyes and large ears to assess her surroundings, she traced the perfect path to reach the three Chaos Emeralds in her mind.

“Perfect.” She reached her arms up, allowing her feet to fall as she grabbed onto the edge of the air duct opening with her hands. This was followed by a graceful fall to the floor below, landing without making a sound.

Rouge effortlessly maneuvered around the red lasers, as if she were an acrobat bending her limbs at impossible angles, until she arrived at the center console, the three Chaos Emeralds within reach. She opened a small drawstring bag attached to her waist and slowly approached the shimmering emeralds.

“Hmmm…which one shall I choose first?” After about a minute of deliberation, the gem thief selected the green emerald. The moment she placed her gloved hand on the gem, though, an alarm began to blare, and the cylindrical machine at the center of the lab retracted into the ground. Rouge only had the opportunity to grab the single emerald before the others disappeared into the floor.

“Dammit!” Rouge placed the emerald in the small bag and looked around, assessing the situation. Lights were going off everywhere, and the laser turrets scattered along the walls were trained on her location. “I don’t have time to fly back into the air duct, so I’ll just have to break out the old-fashioned way!”

Rouge ran for her life, narrowly dodging the laser shots as she headed for the door. She launched herself feet first and spun her body like a tornado, blasting the double doors off their foundations as she entered the relative safety of the hallway beyond.

“My screw kick always does the trick!” She continued running until she reached the control room. The bat stared out the large windows of the command center as she planned to break through them to make her escape.

“Not so fast, my thieving little friend,” came a voice from behind. Rouge turned to find Dr. Eggman wearing a bath robe. “How dare you try to steal my emeralds, and when I’m trying to get some R n’ R, no less! Your insolence knows no bounds.”

“Whatever, Eggy,” Rouge replied, brushing off Robotnik’s comments. “I’m through here.” She ran for the window, charging her screw kick as she collided with the hard glass. To the astonishment of the bat, though, the window didn’t break at all; it remained unscratched, let alone cracked, her body ricocheting to the floor below.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” Eggman condescendingly waved his finger at the jewel thief. “My windows are made of a transparent alloy that not even you can break!” He entered into a bout of maniacal laughter as his robotic servants entered the control center.

“Dr. Eggman,” Bocoe began, carrying a large sub sandwich on an even larger plate. “Your lunch is ready.”

“I’ll have you know,” Decoe added, “that we both crafted this sandwich together, so we should get equal credit.”

“Fascinating,” Eggman replied, shooing the two robots away, grabbing the sandwich off the plate in the process. “Now go summon my army of robots to capture this bat!” The mechanical brothers looked forward to find Rouge, who had since recovered from her attempt to break through the window.

“An intruder!” Decoe exclaimed.

“We’ll request help right away!” Bocoe added. Dropping the sandwich plate, they took their places at separate consoles and rapidly input some commands.

“A group of robots are coming to apprehend the intruder as we speak,” Bocoe said, turning around to face the doctor.

“And the rest of your army is keeping security tight within and around the base just in case,” Decoe added.

“Wooahhooohoohooo.” Eggman’s laugh echoed throughout the command center before turning his attention back to the jewel thief. “You see, even if you take down a few of my minions, there is absolutely no way you’ll be able to escape.” The doctor sat at the central command chair while taking a few bites out of his sandwich, the sound of robots approaching from the hallway. “Ahh, just in time!” Eggman exclaimed between another bite. “Rouge, consider yourself eggzzterminated!”

Rouge ignored the maniacal laughter coming from the evil doctor, instead focusing her attention on the hallway as dozens of robots entered the circular room, Eggman, Decoe, and Bocoe sitting on the sidelines as they prepared to witness an entertaining show.

“Apprehend this interloper, by any means necessary!” Eggman commanded.

Well…shoot.

*****

Chapter 6 can be found here. 

[liquor-and-intellect]

DEAD TO ME- SNEAK PEEK

In which Rhea is a trained soldier in a dystopian society and lives with the haunting memory of losing the love of her life, Harry, on a deadly mission. But now, he’s suddenly back-- and not dead like she thought-- and she has to learn how to work with the ghost of the man she loves. 

Here’s a story I’ve been working on for a while. It’s a bit different than anything I’ve ever done, so hopefully you guys will like it :)

The air was cold.

It wrapped itself around my arms, leaving raised goosebumps of chills in its wake. I was used to the uncomfortable of the unstable weather-- having trained my body to be conditioned to the dropping and raising of temperatures--  so I rolled my shoulders back and kept walking. The cacophony of footsteps of my team in front of me, with an echo of those following closely behind me. 

They called us operatives. And while we had an abundance of qualities separating us, the one trait we did have in common is we had all been orphaned. Abandoned at birth, we were all raised in an boys and girls homes, some in the city, some in other divisions-- but all faced with the same choice when we turned eighteen: commit to the Operation or find your own way in this dystopian society through the poverty of the slums that took so many lives. 

Joining the Operation was simple-- or so Headquarters liked you to believe. Give your body to the cause and it will direct your path. I wasn’t exactly sure how it worked and my body still aches thinking of the day I turned eighteen and succumbed to the binding machine. Laying in it bare, the fluorescent of the lights were bright enough to make my pupils feel like they would pop like balloons. Every tendon and ligament in my body groaned in response to the scanning of the machine, bending and sliding in place as everything in my world changed from that moment out. The needle had drug across my skin, carving out five stars-- five people of a team-- into my collarbone, the third from the highest being filled in.

After the excruciating pain of hours in the machine, you became a soldier, destined for a team of five. I never understood how the machine chose us, but it bound our minds together, blending our emotions. Headquarters claimed we worked better together when we had community to lean on, so no operative was ever allowed to go out alone, we always needed a partner or back-up…

I thought of the days before our team of five was complete. When it was just me and my two-higher ranking operatives. I thought of the occasions that headquarters would bend the rules, they would let him and I go out on missions together… because although they swore the machine knew best, I knew they all wondered why it had not destined us for one another. How did two people work so well together yet they weren’t chosen for one another?

I thought of the gunshots that still haunted my memories of that fatal day. The blood. The room full of children I was now responsible… and Harry-- 

I shook my head. I couldn’t think of it. Not now. Not when we had a mission to complete. 

Currently, our team was on its way to perform a high-risk mission. Headquarters told us we were to partner with another team from a further district who had better insight of the area. There would be two-days of scoping out the building and 4 hours to complete the actual mission. If we could get out in any less than four hours, a victory. Any more… well, we’d most likely be dead. 

As we approached the scheduled meeting point, I sighed under my breath at the bickering of my teammates, Lana and Asher. Being our newest-- and youngest-- recruits, they were always in a constant state of squabble. Today, they were continuing to go back and forth over who could beat the other in a fight without weapons. 

Lana stomped her foot. “You know you are no good without the knife thing of yours!” She was spice and fire and a touch of a fresh squeezed lemon. 

Asher and Lana were still fairly new to the team, being the remaining two out of our five and completing our team so we could actually participate in missions. Eros and I had bets as to when they would give it up and sleep together. At this point, they needed to just get it over with. 

Asher spun on his heel, fast enough to come nose to nose with her as she skidded to a halt in front of him. 

“Knife thing?” he exclaimed, his voice higher pitched and offended. “This is a century old, katana-“

“Stop it you two!”

My head jerked up at the whip crack of Felix’s voice. He didn’t pause a step as his towering frame continued walking into the abandoned building. He knew the intimidation he leaked. The number one star etched on my skin pulsed as our team leader trudged on. 

“We are about to work with another team in a highly dangerous mission,” Felix’s voice boomed over us as we walked, commanding my attention and stealing any breath I might have had from my lungs. “the last thing we need is for them to think we aren’t united because of the ignorance of both of you. If they have one sliver of doubt that this could cost them their lives, they’ll back out in an instant and then we’re stuck explaining it to headquarters.” Felix was intimidating… and an asshole half the time. But he genuinely cared for the four of us and if it came down to the team or him, he’d take the bullet for anyone of us without a heartbeat. He was a fearless leader, having trained longer than any of us before our team was complete. Headquarters poured every ounce of wisdom they had into him-- and Felix soaked it all up. 

Eros, our second recruit and my friend, sighed beside me, our steps in sync as we both shook our heads at the two youngest recruits behind us. We had grown up in the same orphanage together. Being of the same wave of abandoned babies, we were both named after lesser greek gods-- I assume the orphanage workers were bored the week we both arrived. 

“It’s up here,” I mumbled to Felix, pointing towards the staircase that led up to a higher level. My boots crunched on broken glass as I followed his suit, Eros flanking behind me. 

“We were wondering when you would show,” a voice, I assumed from the other team, echoed down the stairwell as Felix approached the top. 

His broad shoulders blocked my view of them as he said with his trademark annoyance, “We still have ten minutes until meeting time.”

I stepped onto the top floor, a small breeze blowing my hair across my face from the open window. The rest of my team stepped beside me, facing the others. 

I was scanning my eyes across them when my whole body froze in an ice that chilled its way through my veins. 

A lump rose in my throat- no hands were gripping my throat- no it was just anxiety choking me from the inside, threatening to cut off all oxygen. 

He stood in front of me. A ghost. One that haunted my dreams and controlled my panic attacks. A beautiful ghost that was the reason I rolled out of bed everyday, the reason I kept his picture in my back pocket. He was murdered, he had been murdered. There had been blood-- and I still see that crimson stain every time I close my eyes.

His body tensed when we made eye contact. His team sensing- whatever he was feeling- and snapping their heads in unison to him. 

“Rhea.”

The voice I had longed to hear for so many months. The voices that echoed through my nightmares.

Harry’s eyes held me in my place. They used to be my favorite color, the green of spring time that would ignite a fire in my bones. After his death, I threw out every plant in my room. Because no matter what shade of green it had been, I could see his irises in anything that resembled growth.

How was he alive?

“Oh, shit. Is that-“ Asher started and stopped. 

“I’m not doing this,” I managed through suffocating lungs and turned around to run down the staircase. My heart was pumping in my ears as I felt the familiar hands of anxiety snake their way up my throat and over my nostrils. 

“Wait, please let me explain.” His footsteps padded like a snare drum behind me. Echoing through the stairwell. And his voice-- God, his voice-- was still low and silky like I remembered. 

I stopped. “You’re supposed to be dead.” My voice caught on that last word. A word that took me months to say after seeing him get shot. After fleeing from the broken down building and running back to the kids who were still stuck, praying and hoping to God that it wasn’t a trap to distract us. 

I spun around him. Surprising him so much that his foot faltered on the steps above me. He gripped the railing, his eyes tracing my face. He probably wondered why it looked so different. Why my soft cheeks and features have turned to rigged stone. Stone that cut under gazes. It was a formation that takes trauma and pain with barbed wire around your soul to create. 

“I was- basically… I mean almost,” Harry stumbled over his words. “My team sensed me. They found me and saved my life.”

I remember when I saved his life once. 

I could feel the flicker of worry emanating through the bond tethering me to my five teammates up the stairs. I tried to slow my heart rate. Taking deep breaths so they wouldn’t feel the panic that was escalating through my core. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I pushed through my teeth. “Why didn’t you come for me? I’ve lived thinking you died there. I had to go back and get those kids out myself. I had to get shot-“

“You got shot?” His voice was quiet and fragile. 

“You just used me to survive. How low of you,” I spit at him, dragging the venom through my words. 

He shook his head. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. Took a deep breath that lifted his chest. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Everything okay down there?”

I glanced behind Harry’s curly brown hair to see Eros leaning over the rails. His concerned eyes danced through the stairwell until they found my own. I gave him a single nod. 

“I’ll do this mission,” I told Harry, not making eye contact but instead focusing on the space on his forehead. “But you don’t talk to me.” With those words, I pushed past him and up the stairs to where Eros waited and the others all watched in anticipation.

I always dreamed of seeing him again. Of running into his arms and the stone cracking off my exterior as I smiled and fell into his embrace. I’ve dreamed the dream a thousand times. Now that he was here in front of me. Alive. Healthy. Alive… Anger that sounded like red alarms in my head took over my vision. I went through months of hell. I couldn’t be on the field until I was healed and even then my mental exam was not cleared until I learned to stonify myself. To conceal the long term damage. And he has the audacity to tell me I wouldn’t understand- 

I had loved him.

“Rhea,” Eros whispered, placing a hesitant hand to my spine. I was flaring red through our bond. 

I took a deep breath, compartmentalizing all of my emotions into the small wooden box in my head. I locked it and shoved it under a shelf. I would deal with that later. Like I did with everything else. 

I could feel the gaze of Asher and Lana. They weren’t used to the intense wave of emotions I had regarding Harry. It was raw and angry and scratched at the edges. Felix and Enzo had sense enough to act like they did not feel it. 

“Think of the greater good,” Felix’s voice caressed the walls of my consciousness. “Deep breaths. We need you fully here with us without distractions.”

I gave him a solid nod without making eye contact. 

“Well, now that that’s settled.”

talk to me about it!

[mister-maiden]

Outlast 1: Oh dear

Rating: 8/10                    Genre: Adventure/Horror                  Difficulty: Medium

TIME SPENT COMPLETING: 4-5 hours

Dark clouds signal your arrival at the iron, rusted gates of what appears to be a psychiatric hospital. You check your precious camera and battery supply before reviewing the file that led you here. You slowly move out of your vehicle…and as you peer towards the towering windows above, you could swear you are being watched. Several abandoned cars lay in the lot, webs and rust collecting on the exteriors. With the eerie sound of wind accompanying you as you make your way inside through an open window, you can’t help but think you may have made a dire mistake. This is Outlast. Developed by Red Barrels and released in 2013.

You are Miles Upshur, an investigative journalist who received a lead from an anonymous source about experiments on patients and violence occurring within Mount Massive Asylum. Armed with only a camera, batteries, and a few bandages, you make your way inside to find the story of a lifetime, only to come face to face with the evil inside all men. You’ll make your way past some of the worst of humanity mankind has to offer. People burned to the muscle, nearly skinned men walking around, torture, sacrifice, and more. Full of mental instability rather than healing, Mount Massive Asylum holds the most unstable people imaginable, and the surroundings to match. Chunks of building have fallen from a lack of care. Blood and other bodily fluids smear the walls and ceiling with religious signs. In contrast to its purpose of healing, it has become a festering blister that’s ready to pop.

Outlast’s soundtrack is a thing of beauty. Rather than focusing on loud, sudden jump scare sounds, they choose the violin and fiddle as a way to slowly play the character into a false sense of security. In some cases the player may feel himself ease up to a simple, empty hallway due to the near religious harmony of the music’s instruments. Then in other cases the player will find their hearts pump out of their chest as the music becomes a blitz of fear and panic. It forces the player to never feel safe while inside the asylum. Making the player feel sane and safe before shoving him into an unsafe situation with clashing, fast paced instruments and horrifying events is what Outlast is all about.

The game’s game play takes a note from Amnesia by having your character unable to fight back against the denizens of the asylum. Not every person wishes to harm you which makes it worse when someone you walk by suddenly wishes to shove a knife into your back. As the lead said, most, if not all of the men inside of the hospital have been experimented on. Be it losing their eyes, their limbs, or their sanity. There is no defense against your attackers. The only defense you have is using your camera’s night-vision function, lose them within the darkness, and pray they won’t find your hiding spot. You’ll need to be crafty and have a sharp eye to find batteries laying around so your camera doesn’t die, or you will be the one traversing in the abyss without a light, (and it is not a fun experience having someone’s face pop onto the screen because you were walking forward without a light). Some rooms are entirely black and relies on the night-vision in your camera to traverse which becomes horrendous when the battery is low. Remember to search every area, otherwise you may find yourself in a dire situation.

It seems Outlast took another piece of game play from Amnesia and had much of its lore placed in notes around the asylum. You can choose to hunt and find these notes to discover the full extent of evil doings happening within Mount Massive, or you can focus on finding a way out. It’s your choice. Nothing will really change of course as you will still need to find a way to escape to publish your findings.

Rating: 8/10 Mental Asylums. Every character was memorable, every chase is a horror in its own, and the surroundings was just a wonderful place to have the game set in. Mental asylums are often thought of for the crazies and most unstable of minds. Outlast took advantage of this and played on the strings of horror to bring a nail biting escape through the hell that is Mount Massive Asylum. If it would have introduced some sort of different game mechanic rather than just sprinting down hallways and turning valves and finding keys, this could have been perfect; however, with too similar mechanics to Amnesia, I feel as though it can’t be a perfect score. It tried too hard to mimic the mechanics of a game that was successful in the past. Granted it brought new mechanics of a camera and made the horror more fast paced rather than slow, it still felt almost too similar.

----------------------------------SPOILERS----------------------------------

My experience with the game + Discussion

When I want to play a horror game, I obviously want to be scared. When Outlast came out, I was overly excited to try it and boy was I impressed.

To begin, the introduction to the asylum was absolutely beautiful. It was the best way to introduce a game’s setting to the character I have seen in a while without becoming ridiculously difficult to remember every detail. All the player knows is that you’re an investigative journalist looking into a story suggested to you. It’s best to leave much ambiguity to the game’s context to the player rather than telling them outright, “Oh, this game is about this and this.” Throughout your stay in the asylum, there is always this sense of the supernatural due to religious symbols being placed around and strange events happening; however, if you read all the notes found strewn around the hospital, you will find that everything can be explained and pointed down to scientists performing horrible experiments, and their new invention. The Walrider.

The Walrider is the primary antagonist of the story. It’s body is made entirely of small nano machines invisible to the human eye unless they are grouped together. All of the random movements, killings, and religious worship can be brought down to this single antagonist as it has spread its influence among the denizens as an experiment gone wrong. Mount Massive Asylum is just a front for a secret laboratory hidden deep within the earth, experimenting on the tormented minds of patients in order to find someone to become a host for this swarm of nano machines. Only someone who has seen or been through so much horrendous trauma can be strong enough to control it, and who would be a more perfect host than someone suffering from mental instability?

I thought this antagonist was an amazing twist to a villain because everyone expects horror these days to be all about the supernatural or some shape of demon, but instead it is a contrast and it is completely man made. In the beginning of the game, running away from an insane doctor and butcher twins, you never get the sense of the horrors of the asylum being man made and something supernatural must be occurring. I was absolutely shocked at the conclusion of the antagonist being made of thousands of tiny machines that have been desecrating the asylum from within and it took me ages to really twist my mind around the idea. In fact, the game is filled with characters I just can’t forget because of what they did to my character. For instance, the twins.

The twins are two characters who seem to appear at the worst of times, naked, with machetes. Their theme was all about silent killing which was horrifying because no other enemy in the game would walk silently and not talk at all. This completely changed the game once these characters were introduced. It went from constantly having to flee in a panic, opening doors quickly and sprinting inside, to planning what doors to open, sneaking about and hoping the other twin wasn’t at your throat already. They were patients gone mad at the hands of the Walrider and experimentation, with temptations of wanting to eat your tongue and liver. They are very loyal to Father Martin, the self proclaimed priest of the asylum who worships the Walrider like a god.

There are several other characters that are worth mentioning. Chris Walker, the giant man who simply wishes to kill you. Rudolf Wernicke who is one of the primary researchers behind the Walrider experiments. If you look deeply into the notes and find hints around the asylum, you will find that the true evil is a corporation called the Murkoff Corporation. All of this death and destruction is simply for their gain to learn more about the human mind. I thought this was a brilliant idea to have an entire corporation behind the evil rather than this being just one big accident from experimentation done within the Asylum because not only does it give the REAL antagonists a face and mysterious chain of command, it also helps make a story for the newer addition to the Outlast series, Outlast 2, which is set in the swamps...but that’s for another review.

The chase events in this game made my heart pound, some more than others. For instance, one chase I vividly remember had me drop out of a vent and into a room with a man strapped to a chair who suddenly begins to scream. The calm sound of air now changed to an adrenaline rush of violin and drums as the insane make their move and begin to try to destroy the wooden doors separating me from them. It was so sudden that I began to panic and look around before staring directly at an iron plate blocking a door. As soon as I moved it, the doors burst open and several men with bloodthirsty visages shuffled on inside. Once I locked the door behind me, I had to sprint into several new rooms, each having more revolting images than the next with no time to process what I was seeing. The adrenaline rushed while I continuously closed the doors behind me to slow my pursuers, trying to find any means of escape I could before crawling into vents, windows, all with the same music pounding in my ears and the sound of my character’s heavy breathing constantly on my mind. Every exit began to scream danger as the sounds of fists against the doors filled the hallways. The pursuers constantly screamed to get after me as I made my escape through a mini elevator helpfully provided by a rather friendly voice on the end of an intercom. With no time to react and judge whether this was a good idea or not, I had to choose to enter the elevator, only to find myself face to face with a man with wires in his arms, a surgical apron around his waist, and the same friendly voice saying “You made the right choice here, buddy” before suddenly being punched into submission and falling onto the floor.

If the developers wished to make a game that forces you to panic and make dumb decisions based on the information and time given to you, they damn well succeeded. I was horrified every second of my play through and would recommend this game for anyone to try. It often goes on sale with its counterpart Outlast 2 and is a fantastic example of a quicker paced, modern horror game.

VERDICT: I’d recommend getting this game on sale. It is worth the full price, but this game goes on sale alongside its sequel, Outlast 2 far too often to not be taken advantage of. Have fun you guys c;

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Outside Influences ch.1

Summary: Leaving after a late night cooking lesson, Edge stumbled across something unexpected. 

Tags:  Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Off-Screen Attempted Sexual Assault, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Aftermath of Violence, Pre-Spicyhoney, Blood and Injury, Injury Recovery

Notes: Ah, why does my writer’s brain do this to me.

I tagged this with a bunch of warnings but I’ll reiterate here. Off-screen attempted sexual assault is spoken about, nothing graphic is included in the story at all. There’s some blood and injury, not terribly so, but worth warning about. And hurt/comfort, awkward as it is.

If the warnings haven’t scared you off, come on in.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was much later than Edge would have normally left after a cooking lesson with Blue, but his companion in the culinary arts had seemed a bit desolate. It went without saying that the issue was his brother’s absence. Rus hadn’t been home all night. Out at Muffet’s, Blue said, with prim yet indulgent disapproval. No doubt he would wander in well past midnight to sleep off his drunkenness and be late to his job the next morning, but if Blue was willing to tolerate his brother’s irresponsible nature, it wasn’t any of Edge’s concern. Still, staying a little longer to chat in the warmth of Blue’s well-maintained home was no hardship and only made it more difficult to head back out into the snow before his own brother worried. Red tolerated the cooking lessons with amusement and appreciation of new dishes, but there would certainly be more than a few pointed words if Red ever had to make the effort to fetch him. He started down the path toward the basement. Something odd caught his attention and Edge paused. Out in the deeper drifts, he could see a pattern of dark stains on the snow. It was none of his concern, but curiosity got the best of him. He waded through the drifts, pulling off a glove as he crouched and touched it lightly. His fingertips came away smeared a deep crimson, deeper than his own magic. Not the blood of a fleshy creature but marrow. There were passing few Monsters in any Universe it could belong to. Hackles raised, Edge followed the path of both footsteps and marrow. The crimson droplets were easier to follow, a staggered trail leading back to the Underswap brothers’ garage. The doorknob held smeary fingerprints, already dried dull against the shiny metal. Edge took a moment to brace himself. He could guess at what he was going to find within. Underfell was nothing if not a brutally effective teacher.

But there was no question that he was better equipped to see it than Blue, and if there was nothing behind this door but a pile of dust, it would be better he saw it first. Carefully, Edge opened the door. Magic was thrumming in him, braced for anything, any possible attack.

There was nothing. The overhead lights were on, glaring down on the room. Two steps in, Edge paused. Around the corner, almost hidden within the cage Blue had lovingly created to hold a captured Human, was a figure curled up in a corner. A familiar hoodie was pulled up over their head, but the smears of marrow liberally decorating it were certainly new. Edge let out a slow breath. If it were too bad, he would already be dust. Very slowly, Edge approached him. He kept his steps deliberate, trying to warn of his presence. There was no sign that he was successful, not a twitch or movement and a lack of dusting aside, it was worrying. “Rus?” Edge said, low. Despite his efforts, Rus startled violently. There was an aborted flicker of a shortcut, a blur of space/time that fizzled and left Rus where he was. To Edge’s jaundiced gaze, it seemed he didn’t have enough magic to complete it. His skull was mostly obscured in the depths of his hood, but Edge could see the dimness of his eye lights, flared wide in panic. “Shh, it’s only me,” Edge tried. “It’s all right, you’re safe.” Soothing was not a skill familiar to him, shaping the words felt awkward. He couldn’t say if it was what he said or if Rus simply recognized his voice, but blind panic faded. Instead, Rus cringed away from him, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his face in them. “go away.” Muffled into the fabric. “You know that I can’t. What happened?” Edge asked, as gently as he could manage.

The scenario was a familiar one if not in this place; a snarling, bloodied ally, still too agitated to accept assistance. The Dogs in Underfell often bore the brunt of XP hunters and the LV-maddened Monsters who hid in the depths of the Snowdin woods. It had taken a great deal of effort and patience to earn their trust, years, and now it was inviolate, as much as any trust in Underfell could be.

There wasn’t time for that now, so he would have to make do. Checking him was automatic; he would have done the same if he found anyone this way. Rus’s HP was down a few decimals, not dangerously so. Rus only cringed harder, trying to flinch from the inescapable force of the Check. He lifted his skull from his knees and Edge was not the expert at reading faces that his brother was, but that expression was one he knew. That was the face of someone who was about to run, and he would only hurt himself worse trying it. Very carefully, Edge moved so he was in front of the door. If nothing else, it would let him catch Rus before he could escape. "Let me help you." “don’ need help,” Slurred and stubborn, and Edge tamped down viciously on his inner irritation. Yes, Rus could be an annoyance, but he was hurt and scared, hardly in his right mind. It would the height of cruelty to blame him for his reactions. “Your magic is low,” Edge told him. He kept his tone low, almost coaxing. “You need food.” To his surprise, panic lit again in his eye lights, and Rus shifted closer to the wall, cringing. “no, i can’t, my bro, he can’t, please!” Edge hesitated. Blue would likely never forgive him for keeping this from him. That was a unspoken rule between all the ‘verses; no matter the state of their relationship, interference with brothers was strictly verboten.

A flash of memory, a whimpering Dog, bloody scrapes across their muzzle, more smeared on their fur, and that fear was the same.

That decided him.

“All right, easy,” Edge soothed. “We don’t need to see your brother. Come back to Underfell with me.” Rus only looked at him distrustfully, “your bro is there.” “Yes, but Red knows how to keep his mouth shut.” Every thought was plainly visible on Rus’s battered face. All his normal barriers were shattered, his lazy indifference stolen from him, and Edge could read every emotion; fear, worry, yearning. “You can trust me.” It was a calculated risk; Edge had no idea if Rus trusted him or not. Since they’d met there was little between them but insults and glares of distaste. But the unspoken answer was a relief. After a painfully long pause, Rus untangled himself from his curled-up ball. He flinched when Edge reached for him and he stopped, outstretched hands falling.

Carefully, he asked, “Can I touch you?” A low, shaky exhale. “yeah, okay.” As gently as he could, Edge helped Rus to his feet. He let go when Rus tried to jerk free, instead keeping his hand positioned neutrally at Rus’s elbow, ready to catch him if his legs proved unstable. But Rus managed to limp outside. Even his sneakers were dappled with marrow, Edge saw, the trailing laces washed to faded pink by the snow.

The normally welcoming light from the windows seemed more like watchful eyes and Edge breathed easier when they made it to the side of the house, out of sight.

It didn’t take long for Rus’s determination to lag, and soon enough he grudgingly allowing Edge to lead them to the back of the house, down the stairs to the machine. It was slow going; from the Swap ‘verse to Underfell, then up the stairs from their basement. Edge helped Rus patiently along, silently cataloguing what he could. Rus was limping and favoring his right side, cracked ribs, perhaps? He could see smears of marrow on his face, trailing from his nasal aperture. Most of the marrow on his clothes was probably from that, hardly life-threatening but he knew from experience that a direct blow could cause a nasty bleed. There was a fine collection of bruises, but the little he could see of Rus’s skull gave no indication of breaks. Anything else was hidden beneath his clothes and would take persuasion to reveal, Edge was certain. They shuffled along, snow dampening his boots. Rus’s sneakers were soggy with it. “didn’ know where to go,” Rus mumbled. “not home, not ‘nough juice to go anywh’ else.” “Who did this?" Edge asked, quietly. The question was stark in the cold night air. He didn’t expect an honest answer and didn’t get one. Rus only offered a rusty laugh that broke off on a groan. “yeah, no, don' think so. know where that goes. you don' like me, but that don’ mean yer gonna let anyone hurt me. even the worst of us is one of yers an’ you ain’t getting dust on yer hands on my account.” There didn’t seem to be much of an answer he could give to that. But he couldn’t help but wonder at the unfamiliar Hotland accent to his words, similar to Red. Underswap had a few secrets, it seemed, and hid them well.

They stopped just before the stairs on the porch, Rus looking at them with muddy dismay. Only three, but after the two sets in the basements, there was no doubt Rus was reaching his limits. “Let me help you,” Edge said quietly. Rus gave a jerky nod, choking off a whimper as Edge lifted him into his arms, carrying him only to the top step before setting him back down. He made sure Rus caught his balance before letting go. The door swung open before Edge could begin on the row of locks lining the door jamb. Red stood outlined in the light of the living room, his eye lights cutting through the darkness, “’bout time you got home, boss…what the fuck?!” “Move,” Edge said curtly. For a wonder, Red obeyed instantly, holding open the door to allow Edge to guide Rus inside. At the sofa, Rus suddenly resist, almost panicked, until Edge allowed him to sit on the floor instead. Edge sat with him, flicking a glance at his brother, who vanished without a sound. He was back moments later, deftly carrying a bowl of hot water and several clean clothes. By the time Red returned, Rus was curled into himself again, his stained hands clenched fiercely in his lap. “Would you like to get cleaned up?” Edge asked. He waited patiently until Rus gave him a short nod, then lightly touched the back of Rus’s hand. Slowly, he unclenched it, allowing Edge to take it in both of his own. He studied that hand with narrowed sockets. It was filthy with marrow and one of his phalanges was out of joint, bent at an awkward angle. It was tempting to simply yank it into place without warning to keep Rus from tensing and making it worse, but that would likely break their fragile trust. Physical pain was probably better than emotional at this point. “I’m going to fix your finger,” Edge told him quietly. “I’ll try to make it quick.”

As expected, his hand tensed in Edge’s grip, but surprisingly, it relaxed again swiftly. Rus gave a short nod and Edge did not allow himself to overthink it. He took hold of the bent digit and pulled hard. “ah!” Rus whimpered as the joint snapped back into place. But he didn’t flinch as Edge carefully bandaged it with the supplies his brother silently handed him. "I’m sorry,” Edge said quietly. He focused on wrapping that wounded digit. “I can't heal. This may be sore for a few days.” "don’ worry, i can,” Rus laughed, not the deep, sardonic laugh that Edge knew from him, but a thin, coughing rasp. “would've already healed all this if i hadn't run outta juice.” He seemed to realize his mistake instantly and looked away. Edge's jaw tightened. That meant he'd already healed a lot of damage; he'd been hurt even worse than this. Edge said nothing, only worked carefully to clean the dried marrow out of the joints of his hands. When the water was dirtied, Red took it away and brought back fresh. Three bowls of water later, and Rus was nodding off, jerking back awake every time his chin brushed his sternum as he leaned against the side of the sofa he’d refused to sit on. His sockets flickered open as Edge washed his face, taking care not to push back his hood. Another quick Check showed his HP was holding steady, so whatever was beneath it would have to wait until tomorrow. Next to him, Red was silent, but even that spoke volumes. He was breathing in short, quick puffs through his nasal cavity, the red of his eyes burning hot. Edge set a hand briefly on his back in silent warning. Red shook him off, glaring, and Edge met his anger impassively. Now was not the time. Red spun on his heel, stalking to the kitchen. By the time Edge was finished cleaning what he could, Red returned with a tray of steaming cups. Perfectly reasonable, Rus needed to consume something to help restore his magic, but Edge knew better than to trust his brother’s altruism. “here. brought ya some tea,” Red didn’t have to crouch to offer Rus a cup, “an’ there’s plenty of honey in it, so don’t say i never do anything for ya. it’ll help ya sleep.” “prolly don’t need help,” Rus slurred out. He pushed back his hood a little with one fumbling hand, revealing a streak of marrow Edge missed, and he took a cup in his newly cleaned hands, downing half of it in one swallow. He didn’t seem to notice that Red didn’t offer Edge a similar cup and Edge was forced to swallow back his irritation with his brother.

But he didn’t stop Rus from finishing it. Help him sleep? Certainly, but Edge suspected the steeped leaves offered other properties with thick, sweet honey hiding the slightly bitter taste. If it was what he was thinking, it wouldn’t hurt him, but it would make Rus a touch more willing to answer a question or two, answers that they needed. Rus finished the cup with a sigh; already his eye lights were bleary, widening to nearly fill his sockets. Carefully, Edge took the cup from his lax fingers before it fell to the floor.

“so, what happened?” Red asked, lightly. “ya can tell us, can’t ya?”

Rus stirred, blinking owlishly, and he looked from Edge to Red as if he wasn’t quite sure who they were. When he finally spoke, that Hotland accent overshadowed his normal lazy drawl completely. “nuthin’,” Rus mumbled. “some peoples jes don’ like the word no.” It was interesting, Edge thought distantly, how LV could make the soul feel both burning cold and blazing heat, his fury flicking erratically between the two. Rus’s sockets sank closed, and there was marrow on his face, on his clothes, and someone had done this to him, hurt him badly for daring to turn them away.

He only noticed his fingertips were digging through his sleeves and into his arms when he felt a droplet of his own marrow, smearing wetly. “yeah, that sounds like a problem, sure,” Red said easily. He gave Edge a warning look, one that clearly told him to keep his mouth shut, then asked, “anything else we need to take care of? maybe ya want a shower, yeah?”

His fury was blinding at the thought, redness tinting his vision but Rus shook his head, “nah, ain’t like that. didn’ get that far,” Rus’s sockets slit opened, pale eye lights peeking out, “know what yer thinking, shoulda done better. shoulda.” His voice broke a little but Rus pushed through it, “an’ couldna go to my bro, not like this. he knows everyone, they love ‘im.” “Your brother loves you,” Edge retorted, ignoring Red’s hiss, “Do you think your brother would want to associate with anyone who would treat you like this?” The laughter obviously pained Rus, coughed out as he shook his head, “he wouldna understan’. thinks alllll people are good. an he knows i sleep around.” The very idea that simply because Rus indulged in casual sex would mean his brother would —what? Think he deserved this treatment?— was such a foul antithesis to what Edge thought he knew of Underswap that he was momentarily speechless. That any ‘verse wouldn’t be appalled by such treatment; even in Underfell rapists were severely punished.

Finally, Edge ground out, “That doesn’t give anyone the right to force you and I’m sure he’d agree.” “yeah, sure,” Rus sighed out. Curled up, he seemed smaller, fragile. Another time, another place, Edge would have been irritated at his doubt in Blue. But his dull certainty that his brother wouldn’t understand was something else.

The tea had done its job as well as it could and now the secondary effect was kicking in. Rus slumped in the corner formed by the wall and the sofa, snoring faintly. Crouched next to him, Edge sank back to sit on the floor, forcibly unclenching his hands that had unconsciously formed fists again. His sharpened fingertips had broken through the leather at the tips and through to his bony palms, tiny beads of redness welling.

Underswap was supposed to be safe, a flipped mirror to Underfell, a place where he did not need to spend any of his endless worrying on the occupants, on sweet, cheery Blue, delighting in his ‘training’…on Rus, who was always so antagonistic, ready to fire back insults and sarcasm at Edge despite the limitations of his HP. Lazy, perhaps, but comfortably confident in his ‘verse.

A worthy opponent.

He shouldn’t be this, shouldn’t be frightened and fragile, too afraid to go to his own home, afraid of upsetting his brother. He shouldn’t.

But Rus was more correct than he knew; once they’d shared food and hearth together, he was theirs, theirs to protect, and the urge to shake Rus awake and demand the names of who had done this was incredible. The heat of his anger was tainted with the fierce urge to buckle a collar on Rus, warn anyone away from hurting him on penalty of his wrath, so he never again had to seem so fragile, so lost—

…but Edge would no sooner force a collar on him than he would anything else.

“Sans,” Edge said, low. His brother stiffened, his eye lights darting around. Whatever his thoughts on this, they were surely no less than his own. But Red made a show of sighing, allowing a tangled mess of anger and frustration in that one breath. “yeah, boss, i know, gotta stay out of it—” As if Edge would ever believe that. “Find out whatever you can.”

Red stilled and the coldness in his wicked grin made Edge suppress a shiver. “you got it, bro.”

He was gone between one blink and the next, and when he returned, well, information was Red’s area. His was strategy, he had plans to make and at this moment, he wasn’t concerning himself with propriety. Collared or not, no one was hurting one of his without consequence. A soft whimper pulled him from darker thoughts. Rus’s face was twisted in his sleep; whatever dreams that came were haunting him.

Edge pulled the quilt from the back of his sofa, a gift from Blue, and very carefully tucked it around Rus. He sat back down next to him, not so close that a flailing leg or fist might accidentally strike. Rus snugged into the blanket automatically, but those soft, fearful whimpers didn’t stop. “You’re all right, you’re safe,” Edge murmured to him. Useless words, lies, but by all the fallen angels, Edge was going to make them true.

~~*~~

Read Chapter 2