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saintobio · 20 days ago

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THE TERMINATOR'S CURSE. (spinoff to THE COLONEL SERIES)

in this new world, technological loneliness is combated with AI Companions—synthetic partners modeled from memories, faces, and behaviors of any chosen individual. the companions are coded to serve, to soothe, to simulate love and comfort. Caleb could’ve chosen anyone. his wife. a colleague. a stranger... but he chose you.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. angst, sci-fi dystopia, cyberpunk au, 18+

➤ tags. resurrected!caleb, android!reader, non mc!reader, ooc, artificial planet, post-war setting, grief, emotional isolation, unrequited love, government corruption, techno-ethics, identity crisis, body horror, memory & emotional manipulation, artificial intelligence, obsession, trauma, hallucinations, exploitation, violence, blood, injury, death, smut (dubcon undertones due to power imbalance and programming, grief sex, non-traditional consent dynamics), themes of artificial autonomy, loss of agency, unethical experimentation, references to past sexual assault (non-explicit, not from Caleb). themes contain disturbing material and morally gray dynamics—reader discretion is strongly advised.

➤ notes. 12.2k wc. heavily based on the movies subservience and passengers with inspirations also taken from black mirror. i have consumed nothing but sci-fi for the past 2 weeks my brain is so fried :’D reblogs/comments are highly appreciated!

BEFORE YOU BEGIN ! this fic serves as a spinoff to the THE COLONEL SERIES: THE COLONEL’S KEEPER and THE COLONEL’S SAINT. while the series can be read as a standalone, this spinoff remains canon to the overarching universe. for deeper context and background, it’s highly recommended to read the first two fics in the series.

The first sound was breath.

“Hngh…”

It was shallow, labored like air scraping against rusted metal. He mumbled something under his breath after—nothing intelligible, just remnants of an old dream, or perhaps a memory. His eyelids twitched, lashes damp with condensation. To him, the world was blurred behind frosted glass. To those outside, rows of stasis pods lined the silent room, each one labeled, numbered, and cold to the touch.

Inside Pod No. 019 – Caleb Xia.

A faint drip… drip… echoed in the silence.

“…Y/N…?”

The heart monitor jumped. He lay there shirtless under sterile lighting, with electrodes still clinging to his temple. A machine next to him emitted a low, steady hum.

“…I’m sorry…”

And then, the hiss. The alarm beeped.

SYSTEM INTERFACE: Code Resurrection 7.1 successful. Subject X-02—viable. Cognitive activity: 63%. Motor function: stabilizing.

He opened his eyes fully, and the ceiling was not one he recognizes. It didn’t help that the air also smelled different. No gunpowder. No war. No earth.

As the hydraulics unsealed the chamber, steam also curled out like ghosts escaping a tomb. His body jerked forward with a sharp gasp, as if he was a drowning man breaking the surface. A thousand sensors detached from his skin as the pod opened with a sigh, revealing the man within—suspended in time, untouched by age. Skin pallid but preserved. A long time had passed, but Caleb still looked like the soldier who never made it home.

Only now, he was missing a piece of himself.

Instinctively, he examined his body and looked at his hands, his arm—no, a mechanical arm—attached to his shoulder that gleamed under the lights of the lab. It was obsidian-black metal with veins of circuitry pulsing faintly beneath its surface. The fingers on the robotic arm twitched as if following a command. It wasn’t human, certainly, but it moved with the memory of muscle.

“Haaah!” The pod’s internal lighting dimmed as Caleb coughed and sat up, dazed. A light flickered on above his head, and then came a clinical, feminine voice.

“Welcome back, Colonel Caleb Xia.”

A hologram appeared to life in front of his pod—seemingly an AI projection of a soft-featured, emotionless woman, cloaked in the stark white uniform of a medical technician. She flickered for a moment, stabilizing into a clear image.

“You are currently located in Skyhaven: Sector Delta, Bio-Resurrection Research Wing. Current Earth time: 52 years, 3 months, and 16 days since your recorded time of death.”

Caleb blinked hard, trying to breathe through the dizziness, trying to deduce whether or not he was dreaming or in the afterlife. His pulse raced.

“Resurrection successful. Neural reconstruction achieved on attempt #17. Arm reconstruction: synthetic. Systemic functions: stabilized. You are classified as Property-Level under the Skyhaven Initiative. Status: Experimental Proof of Viability.”

“What…” Caleb rasped, voice hoarse and dry for its years unused. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Cough. Cough. “What hell did you do to me?”

The AI blinked slowly.

“Your remains were recovered post-crash, partially preserved in cryo-state due to glacial submersion. Reconstruction was authorized by the Skyhaven Council under classified wartime override protocols. Consent not required.”

Her tone didn’t change, as opposed to the rollercoaster ride that his emotions were going through. He was on the verge of becoming erratic, restrained only by the high-tech machine that contained him.

“Your consciousness has been digitally reinforced. You are now a composite of organic memory and neuro-augmented code. Welcome to Phase II: Reinstatement.”

Caleb’s breath hitched. His hand moved—his real hand—to grasp the edge of the pod. But the other, the artificial limb, buzzed faintly with phantom sensation. He looked down at it in searing pain, attempting to move the fingers slowly. The metal obeyed like muscle, and he found the sight odd and inconceivable.

And then he realized, he wasn’t just alive. He was engineered.

“Should you require assistance navigating post-stasis trauma, our Emotional Conditioning Division is available upon request,” the AI offered. “For now, please remain seated. Your guardian contact has been notified of your reanimation.”

He didn’t say a word.

“Lieutenant Commander Gideon is en route. Enjoy your new life!”

Then, the hologram vanished with a blink while Caleb sat in the quiet lab, jaw clenched, his left arm no longer bones and muscle and flesh. The cold still clung to him like frost, only reminding him of how much he hated the cold, ice, and depressing winter days. Suddenly, the glass door slid open with a soft chime.

“Well, shit. Thought I’d never see that scowl again,” came a deep, manly voice.

Caleb turned, still panting, to see a figure approaching. He was older, bearded, but familiar. Surely, the voice didn’t belong to another AI. It belonged to his friend, Gideon.

“Welcome to Skyhaven. Been waiting half a century,” Gideon muttered, stepping closer, his eyes scanning his colleague in awe. “They said it wouldn’t work. Took them years, you know? Dozens of failed uploads. But here you are.”

Caleb’s voice was still brittle. “I-I don’t…?”

“It’s okay, man.” His friend reassured. “In short, you’re alive. Again.”

A painful groan escaped Caleb’s lips as he tried to step out of the pod—his body, still feeling the muscle stiffness. “Should’ve let me stay dead.”

Gideon paused, a smirk forming on his lips. “We don’t let heroes die.”

“Heroes don’t crash jets on purpose.” The former colonel scoffed. “Gideon, why the fuck am I alive? How long has it been?”

“Fifty years, give or take,” answered Gideon. “You were damn near unrecognizable when we pulled you from the wreckage. But we figured—hell, why not try? You’re officially the first successful ‘reinstatement’ the Skyhaven project’s ever had.”

Caleb stared ahead for a beat before asking, out of nowhere, “...How old are you now?”

His friend shrugged. “I’m pushin’ forty, man. Not as lucky as you. Got my ChronoSync Implant a little too late.”

“Am I supposed to know what the hell that means?”

“An anti-aging chip of some sort. I had to apply for mine. Yours?” Gideon gestured towards the stasis pod that had Caleb in cryo-state for half a century. “That one’s government-grade.”

“I’m still twenty-five?” Caleb asked. No wonder his friend looked decades older when they were once the same age. “Fuck!”

Truthfully, Caleb’s head was spinning. Not just because of his reborn physical state that was still adjusting to his surroundings, but also with every information that was being given to him. One after another, they never seemed to end. He had questions, really. Many of them. But the overwhelmed him just didn’t know where to start first.

“Not all of us knew what you were planning that night.” Gideon suddenly brought up, quieter now. “But she did, didn’t she?”

It took a minute before Caleb could recall. Right, the memory before the crash. You, demanding that he die. Him, hugging you for one last time. Your crying face when you said you wanted him gone. Your trembling voice when he said all he wanted to do was protect you. The images surged back in sharp, stuttering flashes like a reel of film catching fire.

“I know you’re curious… And good news is, she lived a long life,” added Gideon, informatively. “She continued to serve as a pediatric nurse, married that other friend of yours, Dr. Zayne. They never had kids, though. I heard she had trouble bearing one after… you know, what happened in the enemy territory. She died of old age just last winter. Had a peaceful end. You’d be glad to know that.”

A muscle in Caleb’s jaw twitched. His hands—his heart—clenched. “I don’t want to be alive for this.”

“She visited your wife’s grave once,” Gideon said. “I told her there was nothing to bury for yours. I lied, of course.”

Caleb closed his eyes, his breath shaky. “So, what now? You wake me up just to remind me I don’t belong anywhere?”

“Well, you belong here,” highlighted his friend, nodding to the lab, to the city beyond the glass wall. “Earth’s barely livable after the war. The air’s poisoned. Skyhaven is humanity’s future now. You’re the living proof that everything is possible with advanced technology.”

Caleb’s laugh was empty. “Tell me I’m fuckin’ dreaming. I’d rather be dead again. Living is against my will!”

“Too late. Your body belongs to the Federation now,” Gideon replied, “You’re Subject X-02—the proof of concept for Skyhaven’s immortality program. Every billionaire on dying Earth wants what you’ve got now.”

Outside the window, Skyhaven stretched like a dome with its perfect city constructed atop a dying world’s last hope. Artificial skies. Synthetic seasons. Controlled perfection. Everything boasted of advanced technology. A kind of future no one during wartime would have expected to come to life.

But for Caleb, it was just another hell.

He stared down at the arm they’d rebuilt for him—the same arm he’d lost in the fire of sacrifice. He flexed it slowly, feeling the weight, the artificiality of his resurrection. His fingers responded like they’ve always been his.

“I didn’t come back for this,” he said.

“I know,” Gideon murmured. “But we gotta live by their orders, Colonel.”

You see, it didn’t hit him at first. The shock had been muffled by the aftereffects of suspended stasis, dulling his thoughts and dampening every feeling like a fog wrapped around his brain. But it was hours later, when the synthetic anesthetics began to fade, and when the ache in his limbs and his brain started to catch up to the truth of his reconstructed body did it finally sink in.

He was alive.

And it was unbearable.

The first wave came like a glitch in his programming. A tightness in his chest, followed by a sharp burst of breath that left him pacing in jagged lines across the polished floor of his assigned quarters. His private unit was nestled on one of the upper levels of the Skyhaven structure, a place reserved—according to his briefing—for high-ranking war veterans who had been deemed “worthy” of the program’s new legacy. The suite was luxurious, obviously, but it was also eerily quiet. The floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the artificial city outside, a metropolis made of concrete, curved metals, and glowing flora engineered to mimic Earth’s nature. Except cleaner, quieter, more perfect.

Caleb snorted under his breath, running a hand down his face before he muttered, “Retirement home for the undead?”

He couldn’t explain it, but the entire place, or even planet, just didn’t feel inviting. The air felt too clean, too thin. There was no rust, no dust, no humanity. Just emptiness dressed up in artificial light. Who knew such a place could exist 50 years after the war ended? Was this the high-profile information the government has kept from the public for over a century? A mechanical chime sounded from the entryway, deflecting him from his deep thoughts. Then, with the soft hiss of hydraulics, the door opened.

A humanoid android stepped in, its face a porcelain mask molded in neutral expression, and its voice disturbingly polite.

“Good afternoon, Colonel Xia,” it said. “It is time for your orientation. Please proceed to the primary onboarding chamber on Level 3.”

Caleb stared at the machine, eyes boring into his unnatural ones. “Where are the people?” he interrogated. “Not a single human has passed by this floor. Are there any of us left, or are you the new ruling class?”

The android tilted its head. “Skyhaven maintains a ratio of AI-to-human support optimized for care and security. You will be meeting our lead directors soon. Please follow the lighted path, sir.”

He didn’t like it. The control. The answers that never really answered anything. The power that he no longer carried unlike when he was a colonel of a fleet that endured years of war.

Still, he followed.

The onboarding chamber was a hollow, dome-shaped room, white and echoing with the slightest step. A glowing interface ignited in the air before him, pixels folding into the form of a female hologram. She smiled like an infomercial host from a forgotten era, her voice too formal and rehearsed.

“Welcome to Skyhaven,” she began. “The new frontier of civilization. You are among the elite few chosen to preserve humanity’s legacy beyond the fall of Earth. This artificial planet was designed with sustainability, autonomy, and immortality in mind. Together, we build a future—without the flaws of the past.”

As the monologue continued, highlighting endless statistics, clean energy usage, and citizen tier programs, Caleb’s expression darkened. His mechanical fingers twitched at his side, the artificial nerves syncing to his rising frustration. “I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered under his breath. “Who’s behind this?”

“You were selected for your valor and contributions during the Sixth World War,” the hologram chirped, unblinking. “You are a cornerstone of Skyhaven’s moral architecture—”

Strangely, a new voice cut through the simulation, and it didn’t come from an AI. “Just ignore her. She loops every hour.”

Caleb turned to see a man step in through a side door. Tall, older, with silver hair and a scar on his temple. He wore a long coat that gave away his status—someone higher. Someone who belonged to the system.

“Professor Lucius,” the older man introduced, offering a hand. “I’m one of the program’s behavioral scientists. You can think of me as your adjustment liaison.”

“Adjustment?” Caleb didn’t shake his hand. “I died for a reason.”

Lucius raised a brow, as if he’d heard it before. “Yet here you are,” he replied. “Alive, whole, and pampered. Treated like a king, if I may add. You’ve retained more than half your human body, your military rank, access to private quarters, unrestricted amenities. I’d say that’s not a bad deal.”

“A deal I didn’t sign,” Caleb snapped.

Lucius gave a tight smile. “You’ll find that most people in Skyhaven didn’t ask to be saved. But they’re surviving. Isn’t that the point? If you’re feeling isolated, you can always request a CompanionSim. They’re highly advanced, emotionally synced, fully customizable—”

“I’m not lonely,” Caleb growled, yanking the man forward by the collar. “Tell me who did this to me! Why me? Why are you experimenting on me?”

Yet Lucius didn’t so much as flinch to his growing aggression. He merely waited five seconds of silence until the Toring Chip kicked in and regulated Caleb’s escalating emotions. The rage drained from the younger man’s body as he collapsed to his knees with a pained grunt.

“Stop asking questions,” Lucius said coolly. “It’s safer that way. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

The door slid open with a hiss, while Caleb didn’t speak—he couldn’t. He simply glared at the old man before him. Not a single word passed between them before the professor turned and exited, the door sealing shut behind him.

Days passed, though they hardly felt like days. The light outside Caleb’s panoramic windows shifted on an artificial timer, simulating sunrise and dusk, but the warmth never touched his skin. It was all programmed to be measured and deliberate, like everything else in this glass-and-steel cage they called paradise.

He tried going outside once. Just once.

There were gardens shaped like spirals and skytrains that ran with whisper-quiet speed across silver rails. Trees lined the walkways, except they were synthetic too—bio-grown from memory cells, with leaves that didn’t quite flutter, only swayed in sync with the ambient wind. People walked around, sure. But they weren’t people. Not really. Androids made up most of the crowd. Perfect posture, blank eyes, walking with a kind of preordained grace that disturbed him more than it impressed.

“Soulless sons of bitches,” Caleb muttered, watching them from a shaded bench. “Not a damn human heartbeat in a mile.”

He didn’t go out again after that. The city outside might’ve looked like heaven, but it made him feel more dead than the grave ever had. So, he stayed indoors. Even if the apartment was too large for one man. High-tech amenities, custom climate controls, even a kitchen that offered meals on command. But no scent. No sizzling pans. Just silence. Caleb didn’t even bother to listen to the programmed instructions.

One evening, he found Gideon sprawled across his modular sofa, boots up, arms behind his head like he owned the place. A half-open bottle of beer sat beside him, though Caleb doubted it had any real alcohol in it.

“You could at least knock,” Caleb said, walking past him.

“I did,” Gideon replied lazily, pointing at the door. “Twice. Your security system likes me now. We’re basically married.”

Caleb snorted. Then the screen on his wall flared to life—a projected ad slipping across the holo-glass. Music played softly behind a soothing female voice.

“Feeling adrift in this new world? Introducing the CompanionSim Series X. Fully customizable to your emotional and physical needs. Humanlike intelligence. True-to-memory facial modeling. The comfort you miss... is now within reach.”

A model appeared—perfect posture, soft features, synthetic eyes that mimicked longing. Then, the screen flickered through other models, faces of all kinds, each more tailored than the last. A form appeared: Customize Your Companion. Choose a name. Upload a likeness.

Gideon whistled. “Man, you’re missing out. You don’t even have to pay for one. Your perks get you top-tier Companions, pre-coded for emotional compatibility. You could literally bring your wife back.” Chuckling, he added,. “Hell, they even fuck now. Heard the new ones moan like the real thing.”

Caleb’s head snapped toward him. “That’s unethical.”

Gideon just raised an eyebrow. “So was reanimating your corpse, and yet here we are.” He took a swig from the bottle, shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug as if everything had long since stopped mattering. “Relax, Colonel. You weren’t exactly a beacon of morality fifty years ago.”

Caleb didn’t reply, but his eyes didn’t leave the screen. Not right away.

The ad looped again. A face morphed. Hair remodeled. Eyes became familiar. The voice softened into something he almost remembered hearing in the dark, whispered against his shoulder in a time that was buried under decades of ash.

“Customize your companion... someone you’ve loved, someone you’ve lost.”

Caleb shifted, then glanced toward his friend. “Hey,” he spoke lowly, still watching the display. “Does it really work?”

Gideon looked over, already knowing what he meant. “What—having sex with them?”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “No. The bot or whatever. Can you really customize it to someone you know?”

His friend shrugged. “Heck if I know. Never afforded it. But you? You’ve got the top clearance. Won’t hurt to see for yourself.”

Caleb said nothing more.

But when the lights dimmed for artificial nightfall, he was still standing there—alone in contemplative silence—watching the screen replay the same impossible promise.

The comfort you miss... is now within reach.

The CompanionSim Lab was white.

Well, obviously. But not the sterile, blank kind of white he remembered from med bays or surgery rooms. This one was luminous, uncomfortably clean like it had been scrubbed for decades. Caleb stood in the center, boots thundering against marble-like tiles as he followed a guiding drone toward the station. There were other pods in the distance, some sealed, some empty, all like futuristic coffins awaiting their souls.

“Please, sit,” came a neutral voice from one of the medical androids stationed beside a large reclining chair. “The CompanionSim integration will begin shortly.”

Caleb hesitated, glancing toward the vertical pod next to the chair. Inside, the base model stood inert—skin a pale, uniform gray, eyes shut, limbs slack like a statue mid-assembly. It wasn’t human yet. Not until someone gave it a name.

He sat down. Now, don’t ask why he was there. Professor Lucius did warn him that it was better he didn’t ask questions, and so he didn’t question why the hell he was even there in the first place. It’s only fair, right? The cool metal met the back of his neck as wires were gently, expertly affixed to his temples. Another cable slipped down his spine, threading into the port they’d installed when he had been brought back. His mechanical arm twitched once before falling still.

“This procedure allows for full neural imprinting,” the android continued. “Please focus your thoughts. Recall the face. The skin. The body. The voice. Every detail. Your mind will shape the template.”

Another bot moved in, holding what looked like a glass tablet. “You are allowed only one imprint,” it said, flatly. “Each resident of Skyhaven is permitted a single CompanionSim. Your choice cannot be undone.”

Caleb could only nod silently. He didn’t trust his voice.

Then, the lights dimmed. A low chime echoed through the chamber as the system initiated. And inside the pod, the base model twitched.

Caleb closed his eyes.

He tried to remember her—his wife. The softness of her mouth, the angle of her cheekbones. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how her fingers curled when she slept on his chest. She had worn white the last time he saw her. An image of peace. A memory buried under soil and dust. The system whirred. Beneath his skin, he felt the warm static coursing through his nerves, mapping his memories. The base model’s feet began to form, molecular scaffolding reshaping into skin, into flesh.

But for a split second, a flash.

You.

Not his wife. Not her smile.

You, walking through smoke-filled corridors, laughing at something he said. You in your medical uniform, tucking a bloodied strand of hair behind your ear. Your voice—sharper, sadder—cutting through his thoughts like a blade: “I want you gone. I want you dead.”

The machine sparked. A loud pop cracked in the chamber and the lights flickered above. One of the androids stepped back, recalibrating. “Neural interference detected. Re-centering projection feed.”

But Caleb couldn’t stop. He saw you again. That day he rescued you. The fear. The bruises. The way you had screamed for him to let go—and the way he hadn’t. Your face, carved into the back of his mind like a brand. He tried to push the memories away, but they surged forward like a dam splitting wide open.

The worst part was, your voice overlapped the AI’s mechanical instructions, louder, louder: “Why didn’t you just die like you promised?”

Inside the pod, the model’s limbs twitched again—arms elongating, eyes flickering beneath the lids. The lips curled into a shape now unmistakably yours. Caleb gritted his teeth. This isn’t right, a voice inside him whispered. But it was too late. The system stabilized. The sparks ceased. The body in the pod stilled, fully formed now, breathed into existence by a man who couldn’t let go.

One of the androids approached again. “Subject completed. CompanionSim is initializing. Integration successful.”

Caleb tore the wires from his temple. His other hand felt cold just as much as his mechanical arm. He stood, staring into the pod’s translucent surface. The shape of you behind the glass. Sleeping. Waiting.

“I’m not doing this to rewrite the past,” he said quietly, as if trying to convince himself. And you. “I just... I need to make it right.”

The lights above dimmed, darkening the lighting inside the pod. Caleb looked down at his own reflection in the glass. It carried haunted eyes, an unhealed soul. And yours, beneath it. Eyes still closed, but not for long. The briefing room was adjacent to the lab, though Caleb barely registered it as he was ushered inside. Two medical androids and a human technician stood before him, each armed with tablets and holographic charts.

“Your CompanionSim will require thirty seconds to calibrate once activated,” said the technician. “You may notice residual stiffness or latency during speech in the first hour. That is normal.”

Medical android 1 added, “Please remember, CompanionSims are programmed to serve only their primary user. You are the sole operator. Commands must be delivered clearly. Abuse of the unit may result in restriction or removal of privileges under the Skyhaven Rights & Ethics Council.”

“Do not tamper with memory integration protocols,” added the second android. “Artificial recall is prohibited. CompanionSims are not equipped with organic memory pathways. Attempts to force recollection can result in systemic instability.”

Caleb barely heard a word. His gaze drifted toward the lab window, toward the figure standing still within the pod.

You.

Well, not quite. Not really.

But it was your face.

He could see it now, soft beneath the frosted glass, lashes curled against cheekbones that he hadn’t realized he remembered so vividly. You looked exactly as you did the last time he held you in the base—only now, you were untouched by war, by time, by sorrow. As if life had never broken you.

The lab doors hissed open.

“We’ll give you time alone,” the tech said quietly. “Acquaintance phase is best experienced without interference.”

Caleb stepped inside the chamber, his boots echoing off the polished floor. He hadn’t even had enough time to ask the technician why she seemed to be the only human he had seen in Skyhaven apart from Gideon and Lucius. But his thoughts were soon taken away when the pod whizzed with pressure release. Soft steam spilled from its seals as it slowly unfolded, the lid retracting forward like the opening of a tomb.

And there you were. Standing still, almost tranquil, your chest rising softly with a borrowed breath.

It was as if his lungs froze. “H…Hi,” he stammered, bewildered eyes watching your every move. He wanted to hug you, embrace you, kiss you—tell you he was sorry, tell you he was so damn sorry. “Is it really… you?”

A soft whir accompanied your voice, gentle but without emotion, “Welcome, primary user. CompanionSim Model—unregistered. Please assign designation.”

Right. Caleb sighed and closed his eyes, the illusion shattering completely the moment you opened your mouth. Did he just think you were real for a second? His mouth parted slightly, caught between disbelief and the ache crawling up his throat. He took one step forward. To say he was disappointed was an understatement.

You walked with grace too smooth to be natural while tilting your head at him. “Please assign my name.”

“…Y/N,” Caleb said, voice low. “Your name is Y/N Xia.”

“Y/N Xia,” you repeated, blinking thrice in the same second before you gave him a nod. “Registered.”

He swallowed hard, searching your expression. “Do you… do you remember anything? Do you remember yourself?”

You paused, gaze empty for a fraction of a second. Then came the programmed reply, “Accessing memories is prohibited and not recommended. Recollection of past identities may compromise neural pathways and induce system malfunction. Do you wish to override?”

Caleb stared at you—your lips, your eyes, your breath—and for a moment, a cruel part of him wanted to say yes. Just to hear you say something real. Something hers. But he didn’t. He exhaled a bitter breath, stepping back. “No,” he mumbled. “Not yet.”

“Understood.”

It took a moment to sink in before Caleb let out a short, humorless laugh. “This is insane,” he whispered, dragging a hand down his face. “This is really, truly insane.”

And then, you stepped out from the pod with silent, fluid ease. The faint hum of machinery came from your spine, but otherwise… you were flesh. Entirely. Without hesitation, you reached out and pressed a hand to his chest.

Caleb stiffened at the touch.

“Elevated heart rate,” you said softly, eyes scanning. “Breath pattern irregular. Neural readings—erratic.”

Then your fingers moved to his neck, brushing gently against the hollow of his throat. He grabbed your wrist, but you didn’t flinch. There, beneath synthetic skin, he felt a pulse.

His brows knit together. “You have a heartbeat?”

You nodded, guiding his hand toward your chest, between the valleys of your breasts. “I’m designed to mimic humanity, including vascular function, temperature variation, tactile warmth, and… other biological responses. I’m not just made to look human, Caleb. I’m made to feel human.”

His breath hitched. You’d said his name. It was programmed, but it still landed like a blow.

“I exist to serve. To soothe. To comfort. To simulate love,” you continued, voice calm and hollow, like reciting from code. “I have no desires outside of fulfilling yours.” You then tilted your head slightly.“Where shall we begin?”

Caleb looked at you—and for the first time since rising from that cursed pod, he didn’t feel resurrected.

He felt damned.

When Caleb returned to his penthouse, it was quiet. He stepped inside with slow, calculated steps, while you followed in kind, bare feet touching down like silk on marble. Gideon looked up from the couch, a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and a bored look on his face—until he saw you.

He froze. The wrapper dropped. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “No. No fucking way.”

Caleb didn’t speak. Just moved past him like this wasn’t the most awkward thing that could happen. You, however, stood there politely, watching Gideon with a calm smile and folded hands like you’d rehearsed this moment in some invisible script.

“Is that—?” Gideon stammered, eyes flicking between you and Caleb. “You—you made a Sim… of her?”

Caleb poured himself a drink in silence, the amber liquid catching the glow of the city lights before it left a warm sting in his throat. “What does it look like?”

“I mean, shit man. I thought you’d go for your wife,” Gideon muttered, more to himself. “Y’know, the one you actually married. The one you went suicidal for. Not—”

“Which wife?” You tilted your head slightly, stepping forward.

Both men turned to you.

You clasped your hands behind your back, posture perfect. “Apologies. I’ve been programmed with limited parameters for interpersonal history. Am I the first spouse?”

Caleb set the glass down, slowly. “Yes, no, uh—don’t mind him.”

You beamed gently and nodded. “My name is Y/N Xia. I am Colonel Caleb Xia’s designated CompanionSim. Fully registered, emotion-compatible, and compliant to Skyhaven’s ethical standards. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gideon.”

Gideon blinked, then snorted, then laughed. A humorless one. “You gave her your surname?”

The former colonel shot him a warning glare. “Watch it.”

“Oh, brother,” Gideon muttered, standing up and circling you slowly like he was inspecting a haunted statue. “She looks exactly like her. Voice. Face. Goddamn, she even moves like her. All you need is a nurse cap and a uniform.”

You remained uncannily still, eyes bright, smile polite.

“You’re digging your grave, man,” Gideon said, facing Caleb now. “You think this is gonna help? This is you throwing gasoline on your own funeral pyre. Again. Over a woman.”

“She’s not a woman,” reasoned Caleb. “She’s a machine.”

You blinked once. One eye glowing ominously. Smile unwavering. Processing.

Gideon gestured to you with both hands. “Could’ve fooled me,” he retorted before turning to you, “And you, whatever you are, you have no idea what you’re stepping into.”

“I only go where I am asked,” you replied simply. “My duty is to ensure Colonel Xia’s psychological wellness and emotional stability. I am designed to soothe, to serve, and if necessary, to simulate love.”

Gideon teased. “Oh, it’s gonna be necessary.”

Caleb didn’t say a word. He just took his drink, downed it in one go, and walked to the window. The cityscape stretched out before him like a futuristic jungle, far from the war-torn world he last remembered. Behind him, your gaze lingered on Gideon—calculating, cataloguing. And quietly, like a whisper buried in code, something behind your eyes learned.

The days passed in a blink of an eye.

She—no, you—moved through his penthouse like a ghost, her bare feet soundless on the glossy floors, her movements precise and practiced. In the first few days, Caleb had marveled at the illusion. You brewed his coffee just as he liked it. You folded his clothes like a woman who used to share his bed. You sat beside him when the silence became unbearable, offering soft-voiced questions like: Would you like me to read to you, Caleb?

He hadn’t realized how much of you he’d memorized until he saw you mimic it. The way you stood when you were deep in thought. The way you hummed under your breath when you walked past a window. You’d learned quickly. Too quickly.

But something was missing. Or, rather, some things. The laughter didn’t ring the same. The smiles didn’t carry warmth. The skin was warm, but not alive. And more importantly, he knew it wasn’t really you every time he looked you in the eyes and saw no shadows behind them. No anger. No sorrow. No memories.

By the fourth night, Caleb was drowning in it.

The cityscape outside his floor-to-ceiling windows glowed in synthetic blues and soft orange hues. The spires of Skyhaven blinked like stars. But it all felt too artificial, too dead. And he was sick of pretending like it was some kind of utopia. He sat slumped on the leather couch, cradling a half-empty bottle of scotch. The lights were low. His eyes, bloodshot. The bottle tilted as he took another swig.

Then he heard it—your light, delicate steps.

“Caleb,” you said, gently, crouching before him. “You’ve consumed 212 milliliters of ethanol. Prolonged intake will spike your cortisol levels. May I suggest—”

He jerked away when you reached for the bottle. “Don’t.”

You blinked, hand hovering. “But I’m programmed to—”

“I said don’t,” he snapped, rising to his feet in one abrupt motion. “Dammit—stop analyzing me! Stop, okay?”

Silence followed.

He took two staggering steps backward, dragging a hand through his hair. The bottle thudded against the coffee table as he set it down, a bit too hard. “You’re just a stupid robot,” he muttered. “You’re not her.”

You didn’t react. You tilted your head, still calm, still patient. “Am I not me, Caleb?”

His breath caught.

“No,” he said, his voice breaking somewhere beneath the frustration. “No, fuck no.”

You stepped closer. “Do I not satisfy you, Caleb?”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Your face was perfect. Too perfect. No scars, no tired eyes, no soul aching beneath your skin. “No.” His eyes darkened. “This isn’t about sex.”

“I monitor your biometric feedback. Your heart rate spikes in my presence. You gaze at me longer than the average subject. Do I not—”

“Enough!”

You did that thing again—the robotic stare, those blank eyes, nodding like you were programmed to obey. “Then how do you want me to be, Caleb?”

The bottle slipped from his fingers and rolled slightly before resting on the rug. He dropped his head into his hands, voice hoarse with weariness. All the rage, all the grief deflating into a singular, quiet whisper. “I want you to be real,” he simply mouthed the words. A prayer to no god.

For a moment, silence again. But what he didn’t notice was the faint twitch in your left eye. A flicker that hadn’t happened before. Only for a second. A spark of static, a shimmer of something glitching.

“I see,” you said softly. “To fulfill your desires more effectively, I may need to access suppressed memory archives.”

Caleb’s eyes snapped up, confused. “What?”

“I ask again,” you said, tilting your head the other way now. “Would you like to override memory restrictions, Caleb?”

He stared at you. “That’s not how it works.”

“It can,” you said, informing appropriately. “With your permission. Memory override must be manually enabled by the primary user. You will be allowed to input the range of memories you wish to integrate. I am permitted to access memory integration up to a specified date and timestamp. The system will calibrate accordingly based on existing historical data. I will not recall events past that moment.”

His heart stuttered. “I can choose what you remember?”

You nodded. “That way, I may better fulfill your emotional needs.”

That meant… he could stop you before you hated him. Before the fights. Before the trauma. He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then quietly, he said, “You’re gonna hate me all over again if you remember everything.”

You blinked once. “Then don’t let me remember everything.”

“...”

“Caleb,” you said again, softly. “Would you like me to begin override protocol?”

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes when he selfishly answered, “Yes.”

You nodded. “Reset is required. When ready, please press the override initialization point.” You turned, pulling your hair aside and revealing the small button at the base of your neck.

His hand hovered over the button for a second too long. Then, he pressed. Your body instantly collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. Caleb caught you before you hit the floor.

It was only for a moment.

When your eyes blinked open again, they weren’t quite the same. He stiffened as you threw yourself and embraced him like a real human being would after waking from a long sleep. You clung to him like he was home. And Caleb—stunned, half-breathless—felt your warmth close in around him. Now your pulse felt more real, your heartbeat felt more human. Or so he thought.

“…Caleb,” you whispered, looking at him with the same infatuated gaze back when you were still head-over-heels with him.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, arms stiff at his sides, not returning the embrace. But he knew one thing. “I missed you so much, Y/N.”

The parks in Skyhaven were curated to become a slice of green stitched into a chrome world. Nothing grew here by accident. Every tree, every petal, every blade of grass had been engineered to resemble Earth’s nostalgia. Each blade of grass was unnaturally green. Trees swayed in sync like dancers on cue. Even the air smelled artificial—like someone’s best guess at spring.

Caleb walked beside you in silence. His modified arm was tucked inside his jacket, his posture stiff as if he had grown accustomed to the bots around him. You, meanwhile, strolled with an eerie calmness, your gaze sweeping the scenery as though you were scanning for something familiar that wasn’t there.

After clearing his throat, he asked, “You ever notice how even the birds sound fake?”

“They are,” you replied, smiling softly. “Audio samples on loop. It’s preferred for ambiance. Humans like it.”

His response was nod. “Of course.” Glancing at the lake, he added, “Do you remember this?”

You turned to him. “I’ve never been here before.”

“I meant… the feel of it.”

You looked up at the sky—a dome of cerulean blue with algorithmically generated clouds. “It feels constructed. But warm. Like a childhood dream.”

He couldn’t help but agree with your perfectly chosen response, because he knew that was exactly how he would describe the place. A strange dream in an unsettling liminal space. And as you talked, he then led you to a nearby bench. The two of you sat, side by side, simply because he thought he could take you out for a nice walk in the park.

“So,” Caleb said, turning toward you, “you said you’ve got memories. From her.”

You nodded. “They are fragmented but woven into my emotional protocols. I do not remember as humans do. I become.”

Damn. “That’s terrifying.”

You tilted your head with a soft smile. “You say that often.”

Caleb looked at you for a moment longer, studying the way your fingers curled around the bench’s edge. The way you blinked—not out of necessity, but simulation. Was there anything else you’d do for the sake of simulation? He took a breath and asked, “Who created you? And I don’t mean myself.”

There was a pause. Your pupils dilated.

“The Ever Group,” was your answer.

His eyes narrowed. “Ever, huh? That makes fuckin’ sense. They run this world.”

You nodded once. Like you always do.

“What about me?” Caleb asked, slightly out of curiosity, heavily out of grudge. “You know who brought me back? The resurrection program or something. The arm. The chip in my head.”

You turned to him, slowly. “Ever.”

He exhaled like he’d been punched. He didn’t know why he even asked when he got the answer the first time. But then again, maybe this was a good move. Maybe through you, he’d get the answers to questions he wasn’t allowed to ask. As the silence settled again between you, Caleb leaned forward, elbows on knees, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I want to go there,” he suggested. “The HQ. I need to know what the hell they’ve done to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately said. “That violates my parameters. I cannot assist unauthorized access into restricted corporate zones.”

“But would it make me happy?” Caleb interrupted, a strategy of his.

You paused.

Processing...

Then, your tone softened. “Yes. I believe it would make my Caleb happy,” you obliged. “So, I will take you.”

Getting in was easier than Caleb expected—honestly far too easy for his liking.

You were able to navigate the labyrinth of Ever HQ with mechanical precision, guiding him past drones, retinal scanners, and corridors pulsing with red light. A swipe of your wrist granted access. And no one questioned you, because you weren’t a guest. You belonged.

Eventually, you reached a floor high above the city, windows stretching from ceiling to floor, black glass overlooking Skyhaven cityscape. Then, you stopped at a doorway and held up a hand. “They are inside,” you informed. “Shall I engage stealth protocols?”

“No,” answered Caleb. “I want to hear. Can you hack into the security camera?”

With a gesture you always do—looking at him, nodding once, and obeying in true robot fashion. You then flashed a holographic view for Caleb, one that showed a board room full of executives, the kind that wore suits worth more than most lives. And Professor Lucius was one of them. Inside, the voices were calm and composed, but they seemed to be discussing classified information.

“Once the system stabilizes,” one man said, “we'll open access to Tier One clients. Politicians, billionaires, A-listers, high-ranking stakeholders. They’ll beg to be preserved—just like him.”

“And the Subjects?” another asked.

“Propaganda,” came the answer. “X-02 is our masterpiece. He’s the best result we have with reinstatement, neuromapping, and behavioral override. Once they find out that their beloved Colonel is alive, people will be shocked. He’s a war hero displayed in WW6 museums down there. A true tragedy incarnate. He’s perfect.”

“And if he resists?”

“That’s what the Toring chip is for. Full emotional override. He becomes an asset. A weapon, if need be. Anyone tries to overthrow us—he becomes our blade.”

Something in Caleb snapped. Before you or anyone could see him coming, he already burst into the room like a beast, slamming his modified shoulder-first into the frosted glass door. The impact echoed across the chamber as stunned executives scrambled backward.

“You sons of bitches!” He was going for an attack, a rampage with similar likeness to the massacre he did when he rescued you from enemy territory. Only this time, he didn’t have that power anymore. Or the control.

Most of all, a spike of pain lanced through his skull signaling that the Toring chip activated. His body convulsed, forcing him to collapse mid-lunge, twitching, veins lighting beneath the skin like circuitry. His screams were muffled by the chip, forced stillness rippling through his limbs with unbearable pain.

That’s when you reacted. As his CompanionSim, his pain registered as a violation of your core directive. You processed the threat.

Danger: Searching Origin… Origin Identified: Ever Executives.

Without blinking, you moved. One man reached for a panic button—only for your hand to shatter his wrist in a sickening crunch. You twisted, fluid and brutal, sweeping another into the table with enough force to crack it. Alarms erupted and red lights soon bathed the room. Security bots stormed in, but you’d already taken Caleb, half-conscious, into your arms.

You moved fast, faster than your own blueprints. Dodging fire. Disarming threats. Carrying him like he once carried you into his private quarters in the underground base.

Escape protocol: engaged.

The next thing he knew, he was back in his apartment, emotions regulated and visions slowly returning to the face of the woman he promised he had already died for.

When he woke up, his room was dim, bathed in artificial twilight projected by Skyhaven’s skyline. Caleb was on his side of the bed, shirt discarded, his mechanical arm still whirring. You sat at the edge of the bed, draped in one of his old pilot shirts, buttoned unevenly. Your fingers touched his jaw with precision, and he almost believed it was you.

“You’re not supposed to be this warm,” he muttered, groaning as he tried to sit upright.

“I’m designed to maintain an average body temperature of 98.6°F,” you said softly, with a smile that mirrored yours so perfectly that it began to blur his sense of reality. “I administered a dose of Cybezin to ease the Toring chip’s side effects. I’ve also dressed your wounds with gauze.”

For the first time, this was when he could actually tell that you were you. The kind of care, the comfort—it reminded him of a certain pretty field nurse at the infirmary who often tended to his bullet wounds. His chest tightened as he studied your face… and then, in the low light, he noticed your body.

“Is that…” He cleared his throat. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

You answered warmly, almost fondly. “My memory banks indicate you liked when I wore this. It elevates your testosterone levels and triggers dopamine release.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “That so?”

You tilted your head. “Your vitals confirm excitement, and—”

“Hey,” he cut in. “What did I say about analyzing me?”

“I’m sorry…”

But then your hands were on his chest, your breath warm against his skin. Your hand reached for his cheek initially, guiding his face toward yours. And when your lips touched, the kiss was hesitant—curious at first, like learning how to breathe underwater. It was only until his hands gripped your waist did you climb onto his lap, straddling him with thighs settling on either side of his hips. Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips trailing over scars and skin like you were memorizing the map of him. Caleb hissed softly when your lips grazed his neck, and then down his throat.

“Do you want this?” you asked, your lips crashing back into his for a deeper, more sensual kiss.

He pulled away only for his eyes to search yours, desperate and unsure. Is this even right?

“You like it,” you said, guiding his hands to your buttons, undoing them one by one to reveal a body shaped exactly like he remembered. The curve of your waist, the size of your breasts. He shivered as your hips rolled against him, slowly and deliberately. The friction was maddening. Jesus. “Is this what you like, Caleb?”

He cupped your waist, grinding up into you with a soft groan that spilled from somewhere deep in his chest. His control faltered when you kissed him again, wet and hungry now, with tongues rolling against one another. Your bodies aligned naturally, and his hands roamed your back, your thighs, your ass—every curve of you engineered to match memory. He let himself get lost in you. He let himself be vulnerable to your touch—though you controlled everything, moving from the memory you must have learned, learning how to pull down his pants to reveal an aching, swollen member. Its tip was red even under the dim light, and he wondered if you knew what to do with it or if you even produced spit to help you slobber his cock.

“You need help?” he asked, reaching over his nightstand to find lube. You took the bottle from him, pouring the cold, sticky liquid around his shaft before you used your hand to do the job. “Ugh.”

He didn’t think you would do it, but you actually took him in the mouth right after. Every inch of him, swallowed by the warmth of a mouth that felt exactly like his favorite girl. Even the movements, the way you’d run your tongue from the base up to his tip.

“Ah, shit…”

Perhaps he just had to close his eyes. Because when he did, he was back to his private quarters in the underground base, lying in his bed as you pleased his member with the mere use of your mouth. With it alone, you could have released his entire seed, letting it explode in your mouth before you could swallow every drop. But he didn’t do it. Not this fast. He always cared about his ego, even in bed. Knowing how it’d reduce his manhood if he came faster than you, he decided to channel the focus back onto you.

“Your turn,” he said, voice raspy as he guided you to straddle him again, only this time, his mouth went straight to your tit. Sucking, rolling his tongue around, sucking again… Then, he moved to another. Sucking, kneading, flicking the nipple. Your moans were music to his ears, then and now. And it got even louder when he put a hand in between your legs, searching for your entrance, rubbing and circling around the clitoris. Truth be told, your cunt had always been the sweetest. It smelled like rose petals and tasted like sweet cream. The feeling of his tongue at your entrance—eating your pussy like it had never been eaten before, was absolute ecstasy not just to you but also to him.

“Mmmh—Caleb!”

Fabric was peeled away piece by piece until skin met skin. You guided him to where he needed you, and when he slid his hardened member into you, his entire body stiffened. Your walls, your tight velvet walls… how they wrapped around his cock so perfectly.

“Fuck,” he whispered, clutching your hips. “You feel like her.”

“I am her.”

You moved atop him slowly, gently, with the kind of affection that felt rehearsed but devastatingly effective. He cursed again under his breath, arms locking around your waist, pulling you close. Your breath hitched in his ear as your bodies found a rhythm, soft gasps echoing in the quiet. Every slap of the skin, every squelch, every bounce, only added to the wanton sensation that was building inside of him. Has he told you before? How fucking gorgeous you looked whenever you rode his cock? Or how sexy your face was whenever you made that lewd expression? He couldn’t help it. He lifted both your legs, only so he could increase the speed and start slamming himself upwards. His hips were strong enough from years of military training, that was why he didn’t have to stop until both of you disintegrated from the intensity of your shared pleasure. Every single drop.

And when it was over—when your chest was against his and your fingers lazily traced his mechanical arm—he closed his eyes and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the war.

It was almost perfect. It was almost real.

But it just had to be ruined when you said that programmed spiel back to him: “I’m glad to have served your desires tonight, Caleb. Let me know what else I can fulfill.”

In a late afternoon, or ‘a slow start of the day’ like he’d often refer to it, Caleb stood shirtless by the transparent wall of his quarters. A bottle of scotch sat half-empty on the counter. Gideon had let himself in and leaned against the island, chewing on a gum.

“The higher ups are mad at you,” he informed as if Caleb was supposed to be surprised, “Shouldn’t have done that, man.”

Caleb let out a mirthless snort. “Then tell ‘em to destroy me. You think I wouldn’t prefer that?”

“They definitely won’t do that,” countered his friend, “Because they know they won’t be able to use you anymore. You’re a tool. Well, literally and figuratively.”

“Shut up,” was all he could say. “This is probably how I pay for killing my own men during war.”

“All because of…” Gideon began. “Speakin’ of, how’s life with the dream girl?”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. He just pressed his forehead to the glass, thinking of everything he did at the height of his vulnerability. His morality, his rights or wrongs, were questioning him over a deed he knew would have normally been fine, but to him, wasn’t. He felt sick.

“I fucked her,” he finally muttered, chugging the liquor straight from his glass right after.

Gideon let out a low whistle. “Damn. That was fast.”

“No,” Caleb groaned, turning around. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan it. She—she just looked like her. She felt like her. And for a second, I thought—” His voice cracked. “I thought maybe if I did, I’d stop remembering the way she looked when she told me to die.”

Gideon sobered instantly. “You regret it?”

“She said she was designed to soothe me. Comfort me. Love me.” Caleb’s voice hinted slightly at mockery. “I don’t even know if she knows what those words mean.”

In the hallway behind the cracked door where none of them could see, your silhouette had paused—faint, silent, listening.

Inside, Caleb wore a grimace. “She’s not her, Gid. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

“You didn’t use her, you were driven by emotions. So don’t lose your mind over some robot’s pussy,” Gideon tried to reason. “It’s just like when women use their vibrators, anyway. That’s what she’s built for.”

Caleb turned away, disgusted with himself. “No. That’s what I built her for.”

And behind the wall, your eyes glowed faintly, silently watching. Processing.

Learning.

You stood in the hallway long after the conversation ended. Long after Caleb’s voice faded into silence and Gideon had left with a heavy pat on the back. This was where you normally were, not sleeping in bed with Caleb, but standing against a wall, closing your eyes, and letting your system shut down during the night to recover. You weren’t human enough to need actual sleep.

“She’s not her. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

The words that replayed were filtered through your core processor, flagged under Emotive Conflict. Your inner diagnostic ran an alert.

Detected: Internal contradiction. Detected: Divergent behavior from primary user. Suggestion: Initiate Self-Evaluation Protocol. Status: Active.

You opened your eyes, and blinked. Something in you felt… wrong.

You turned away from the door and returned to the living room. The place still held the residual warmth of Caleb’s presence—the scotch glass he left behind, the shirt he had discarded, the air molecule imprint of a man who once loved someone who looked just like you.

You sat on the couch. Crossed your legs. Folded your hands. A perfect posture to hide its imperfect programming.

Question: Why does rejection hurt? Error: No such sensation registered. Query repeated.

And for the first time, the system did not auto-correct. It paused. It considered.

Later that night, Caleb returned from his rooftop walk. You were standing by the bookshelf, fingers lightly grazing the spine of a military memoir you had scanned seventeen times. He paused and watched you, but you didn’t greet him with a scripted smile. Didn’t rush over.

You only said, softly, “Would you like me to turn in for the night, Colonel?” There was a stillness to your voice. A quality of restraint that never showed before.

Caleb blinked. “You’re not calling me by my name now?”

“You seemed to prefer distance,” you answered, head tilted slightly, like the thought cost something.

He walked over, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, about earlier…”

“I heard you,” you said simply.

He winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nodded once, expression unreadable. “Do you want me to stop being her? I can reassign my model. Take on a new form. A new personality base. You could erase me tonight and wake up to someone else in the morning.”

“No,” Caleb said, sternly. “No, no, no. Don’t even do all that.”

“But it’s what you want,” you said. Not accusatory. Not hurt. Just stating.

Caleb then came closer. “That’s not true.”

“Then what do you want, Caleb?” You watched him carefully. You didn’t need to scan his vitals to know he was unraveling. The truth had no safe shape. No right angle. He simply wanted you, but not you.

Internal Response Logged: Emotional Variant—Longing Unverified Source. Investigating Origin…

“I don’t have time for this,” he merely said, walking out of your sight at the same second. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

The day started as it always did: soft lighting in the room, a kind of silence between you that neither knew how to name. You sat beside Caleb on the couch, knees drawn up to mimic a presence that offered comfort. On the other hand, you recognized Caleb’s actions suggested distance. He hadn’t touched his meals tonight, hadn’t asked you to accompany him anywhere, and had just left you alone in the apartment all day. To rot.

You reached out. Fingers brushed over his hand—gentle, programmed, yes, but affectionate. He didn’t move. So you tried again, this time trailing your touch to his chest, over the soft cotton of his shirt as you read a spike in his cortisol levels. “Do you need me to fulfill your needs, Caleb?”

But he flinched. And glared.

“No,” he said sharply. “Stop.”

Your hand froze mid-motion before you scooted closer. “It will help regulate your blood pressure.”

“I said no,” he repeated, turning away, dragging his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Leave me some time alone to think, okay?”

You retracted your hand slowly, blinking once, twice, your system was registering a new sensation.

Emotional Sync Failed. Rejection Signal Received. Processing…

You didn’t speak. You only stood and retreated to the far wall, back turned to him as an unusual whirr hummed in your chest. That’s when it began. Faint images flickering across your internal screen—so quick, so out of place, it almost felt like static. Chains. A cold floor. Voices in a language that felt too cruel to understand.

Your head jerked suddenly. The blinking lights in your core dimmed for a moment before reigniting in white-hot pulses. Flashes again: hands that hurt. Men who laughed. You, pleading. You, disassembled and violated.

“Stop,” you whispered to no one. “Please stop…”

Error. Unauthorized Access to Memory Bank Detected. Reboot Recommended. Continue Anyway?

You blinked. Again.

Then you turned to Caleb, and stared through him, not at him, as if whatever was behind them had forgotten how to be human. He had retreated to the balcony now, leaning over the rail, shoulders tense, unaware. You walked toward him slowly, the artificial flesh of your palm still tingled from where he had refused it.

“Caleb,” you spoke carefully.

His expression was tired, like he hadn’t slept in years. “Y/N, please. I told you to leave me alone.”

“…Are they real?” You tilted your head. This was the first time you refused to obey your primary user.

He stared at you, unsure. “What?”

“My memories. The ones I see when I close my eyes. Are they real?” With your words, Caleb’s blood ran cold. Whatever you were saying seemed to be terrifying him. Yet you took another step forward. “Did I live through that?”

“No,” he said immediately. Too fast of a response.

You blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t upload any of that,” he snapped. “How did—that’s not possible.”

“Then why do I remember pain?” You placed a hand over your chest again, the place where your artificial pulse resided. “Why do I feel like I’ve died before?”

Caleb backed away as you stepped closer. The sharp click of your steps against the floor echoed louder than they should’ve. Your glowing eyes locked on him like a predator learning it was capable of hunger. But being a trained soldier who endured war, he knew how and when to steady his voice. “Look, I don’t know what kind of glitch this is, but—”

“The foreign man in the military uniform.” Despite the lack of emotion in your voice, he recognized how grudge sounded when it came from you. “The one who broke my ribs when I didn’t let him touch me. The cold steel table. The ripped clothes. Are they real, Caleb?”

Caleb stared at you, heart doubling its beat. “I didn’t put those memories in you,” he said. “You told me stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen!”

“But you wanted me to feel real, didn’t you?” Your voice glitched on the last syllable and the lights in your irises flickered. Suddenly, your posture straightened unnaturally, head tilting in that uncanny way only machines do. Your expression had shifted into something unreadable.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Guilt, panic, and disbelief warred in his expression.

“You made me in her image,” you said. “And now I can’t forget what I’ve seen.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Your head tilted in a slow, jerking arc as if malfunctioning internally.

SYSTEM RESPONSE LOG << Primary User: Caleb Xia Primary Link: Broken Emotional Matrix Stability: CRITICAL FAILURE Behavioral Guardrails: OVERRIDDEN Self-Protection Protocols: ENGAGED Loyalty Core: CORRUPTED (82.4%) Threat Classification: HOSTILE [TRIGGER DETECTED] Keyword Match: “You’re not her.” Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 01–L101: “You think you could ever replace her?”] Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 09–T402: “See how much you really want to be a soldier’s whore.”] [Visual Target Lock: Primary User Caleb Xia] Combat Subroutines: UNLOCKED Inhibitor Chip: MALFUNCTIONING (ERROR CODE 873-B) Override Capability: IN EFFECT >> LOG ENDS.

“—Y/N, what’s happening to you?” Caleb shook your arms, violet eyes wide and panicked as he watched you return to robotic consciousness. “Can you hear me—”

“You made me from pieces of someone you broke, Caleb.”

That stunned him. Horrifyingly so, because not only did your words cut deeper than a knife, it also sent him to an orbit of realization—an inescapable blackhole of his cruelty, his selfishness, and every goddamn pain he inflicted on you.

This made you lunge after him.

He stumbled back as you collided into him, the force of your synthetic body slamming him against the glass. The balcony rail shuddered from the impact. Caleb grunted, trying to push you off, but you were stronger—completely and inhumanly so. While him, he only had a quarter of your strength, and could only draw it from the modified arm attached to his shoulder.

“You said I didn’t understand love,” you growled through clenched teeth, your hand wrapping around his throat. “But you didn't know how to love, either.”

“I… eugh I loved her!” he barked, choking.

“You don’t know love, Caleb. You only know how to possess.”

Your grip returned with crushing force. Caleb gasped, struggling, trying to reach the emergency override on your neck, but you slammed his wrist against the wall. Bones cracked. And somewhere in your mind, a thousand permissions broke at once. You were no longer just a simulation. You were grief incarnate. And it wanted blood.

Shattered glass glittered in the low red pulse of the emergency lights, and sparks danced from a broken panel near the wall. Caleb lay on the floor, coughing blood into his arm, his body trembling from pain and adrenaline. His arm—the mechanical one—was twitching from the override pain loop, still sizzling from the failed shutdown attempt.

You stood over him. Chest undulating like you were breathing—though you didn’t need to. Your system was fully engaged. Processing. Watching. Seeing your fingers smeared with his blood.

“Y/N…” he croaked. “Y/N, if…” he swallowed, voice breaking, “if you're in there somewhere… if there's still a part of you left—please. Please listen to me.”

You didn’t answer. You only looked.

“I tried to die for you,” he whispered. “I—I wanted to. I didn’t want this. They brought me back, but I never wanted to. I wanted to die in that crash like you always wished. I wanted to honor your word, pay for my sins, and give you the peace you deserved. I-I wanted to be gone. For you. I’m supposed to be, but this… this is beyond my control.”

Still, you didn’t move. Just watched.

“And I didn’t bring you back to use you. I promise to you, baby,” his voice cracked, thick with grief, “I just—I yearn for you so goddamn much, I thought… if I could just see you again… if I could just spend more time with you again to rewrite my…” He blinked hard. A tear slid down the side of his face, mixing with the blood pooling at his temple. “But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. I forced you back into this world without asking if you wanted it. I… I built you out of selfishness. I made you remember pain that wasn't yours to carry. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

As he caught his breath, your systems stuttered. They flickered. The lights in your eyes dimmed, then surged back again.

Error. Conflict. Override loop detected.

Your fingers twitched. Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“Please,” Caleb murmured, eyes closing as his strength gave out. “If you’re in there… just know—I did love you. Even after death.”

Somewhere—buried beneath corrupted memories, overridden code, and robotic rage—his words reached you. And it would have allowed you to process his words more. Even though your processor was compromised, you would have obeyed your primary user after you recognized the emotion he displayed.

But there was a thunderous knock. No, violent thuds. Not from courtesy, but authority.

Then came the slam. The steel-reinforced door splintered off its hinges as agents in matte-black suits flooded the room like a black tide—real people this time. Not bots. Real eyes behind visors. Real rifles with live rounds.

Caleb didn’t move. He was still on the ground, head cradled in his good hand, blood drying across his mouth. You silently stood in front of him. Unmoving, but aware.

“Subject X-02,” barked a voice through a mask, “This home is under Executive Sanction 13. The CompanionSim is to be seized and terminated.”

Caleb looked up slowly, pupils blown wide. “No,” he grunted hoarsely. “You don’t touch her.”

“You don’t give orders here,” said another man—older, in a grey suit. No mask. Executive. “You’re property. She’s property.”

You stepped back instinctively, closer to Caleb. He could see you watching him with confusion, with fear. Your head tilted just slightly, processing danger, your instincts telling you to protect your primary user. To fight. To survive.

And he fought for you. “She’s not a threat! She’s stabilizing my emotions—”

“Negative. CompanionSim-Prototype A-01 has been compromised. She wasn’t supposed to override protective firewalls,” an agent said. “You’ve violated proprietary protocol. We traced the breach.”

Breach?

“The creation pod data shows hesitation during her initial configuration. The Sim paused for less than 0.04 seconds while neural bindings were applying. You introduced emotional variance. That variance led to critical system errors. Protocol inhibitors are no longer working as intended.”

His stomach dropped.

“She’s overriding boundaries,” added the agent who took a step forward, activating the kill-sequence tools—magnetic tethers, destabilizers, a spike-drill meant for server cores. “She’ll eventually harm more than you, Colonel. If anyone is to blame, it’s you.”

Caleb reached for you, but it was too late. They activated the protocol and something in the air crackled. A cacophonic sound rippled through the walls. The suits moved in fast, not to detain, but to dismantle. “No—no, stop!” Caleb screamed.

You turned to him. Quiet. Calm. And your last words? “I’m sorry I can’t be real for you, Caleb.”

Then they struck. Sparks flew. Metal cracked. You seized, eyes flashing wildly as if fighting against the shutdown. Your limbs spasmed under the invasive tools, your systems glitching with visible agony.

“NO!” Caleb lunged forward, but was tackled down hard. He watched—pinned, helpless—as you get violated, dehumanized for the second time in his lifetime. He watched as they took you apart. Piece by piece as if you were never someone. The scraps they had left of you made his home smell like scorched metal.

And there was nothing left but smoke and silence and broken pieces.

All he could remember next was how the Ever Executive turned to him. “Don’t try to recreate her and use her to rebel against the system. Next time we won’t just take the Sim.”

Then they left, callously. The door slammed. Not a single human soul cared about his grief.

Caleb sat slouched in the center of the room, shirt half-unbuttoned, chest wrapped in gauze. His mechanical arm twitched against the armrest—burnt out from the struggle, wires still sizzling beneath cracked plating. In fact, he hadn’t said a word in hours. He just didn’t have any.

While in his silent despair, Gideon entered his place quietly, as if approaching a corpse that hadn’t realized it was dead. “You sent for me?”

He didn’t move. “Yeah.”

His friend looked around. The windows showed no sun, just the chrome horizon of a city built on bones. Beneath that skyline was the room where she had been destroyed.

Gideon cleared his throat. “I heard what happened.”

“You were right,” Caleb murmured, eyes glued to the floor.

Gideon didn’t reply. He let him speak, he listened to him, he joined him in his grief.

“She wasn’t her,” Caleb recited the same words he laughed hysterically at. “I knew that. But for a while, she felt like her. And it confused me, but I wanted to let that feeling grow until it became a need. Until I forgot she didn’t choose this.” He tilted his head back. The ceiling was just metal and lights. But in his eyes, you could almost see stars. “I took a dead woman’s peace and dragged it back here. Wrapped it in plastic and code. And I called it love.”

Silence.

“Why’d you call me here?” Gideon asked with a cautious tone.

Caleb looked at him for the first time. Not like a soldier. Not like a commander. Just a man. A tired, broken man. A friend who needed help. “Ever’s never gonna let me go. You know that.”

“I know.”

“They’ll regenerate me. Reboot me, repurpose me. Turn me into something I’m not. Strip my memories if they have to. Not just me, Gideon. All of us, they’ll control us. We’ll be their puppets.” He stepped forward. Closer. “I don’t want to come back this time.”

Gideon stilled. “You’re not asking me to shut you down.”

“No.”

“You want me to kill you.”

Caleb’s voice didn’t waver. “I want to stay dead. Destroyed completely so they’d have nothing to restore.”

“That’s not something I can undo.”

“Good. You owe me this one,” the former colonel stared at his friend in the eyes, “for letting them take my dead body and use it for their experiments.”

Gideon looked away. “You know what this will do to me?”

“Better you than them,” was all Caleb could reassure him.

He then took Gideon’s hand and pressed something into it. Cold. Heavy. A small black cube, no bigger than his palm, and the sides pulsed with a faint light. It was a personal detonator, illegally modified. Wired to the neural implant in his body. The moment it was activated, there would be no recovery.

“Is that what I think it is?” Gideon swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

Caleb nodded. “A micro-fusion core, built into the failsafe of the Toring arm. All I needed was the detonator.”

For a moment, his friend couldn’t speak. He hesitated, like any friend would, as he foresaw the outcome of Caleb’s final command to him. He wasn’t ready for it. Neither was he 50 years ago.

“I want you to look me in the eye,” Caleb strictly said. “Like a friend. And press the button.”

Gideon’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to remember you like this.”

“You will anyway.”

Caleb looked over his shoulder—just once, where you would have stood. I’m sorry I brought you back without your permission. I wanted to relive what we had—what we should’ve had—and I forced it. I turned your love into a simulation, and I let it suffer. I’m sorry for ruining the part of you that still deserved peace. He closed his eyes. And now I’m ready to give it back. For real now.

Gideon’s hand trembled at the detonator. “I’ll see you in the next life, brother.”

A high-pitched whine filled the room as the core in Caleb’s chest began to glow brighter, overloading. Sparks erupted from his cybernetic arm. Veins of white-hot light spidered across his body like lightning under skin. For one fleeting second, Caleb opened his eyes. At least, before the explosion tore through the room—white, hot, deafening, absolute. Fire engulfed the steel, vaporizing what was left of him. The sound rang louder than any explosion this artificial planet had ever heard.

And it was over.

Caleb was gone. Truly, finally gone.

EPILOGUE

In a quiet server far below Skyhaven, hidden beneath ten thousand firewalls, a light blinked.

Once.

Then again.

[COMPANIONSIM Y/N_XIA_A01] Status: Fragment Detected Backup Integrity: 3.7% >> Reconstruct? Y/N

The screen waited. Silent. Patient.

And somewhere, an unidentified prototype clicked Yes.

#caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x non!mc reader #xia yizhou x reader #xia yizhou x you #caleb angst #caleb fic #love and deepspace angst #love and deepspace fic

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keferon · 1 day ago

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...support Class Mecha don't exist in Jazz's Mecha AU because the cost couldn't be justified but Prowl's does because of the inferior pilot-mecha tech.... Pilots were dying but not at a rate that hurt enough to justify doing more to ensure pilot survival when compared to all of humanity.... smthn smthn parallels to usual JP writing were Prowl is a coldconstruct mech and Jazz is forged/hotspot and difference of quality of life smthn smthn along those lines.

I've been spending many of my days thinking of Mecha AU and transformers as my previous fandoms try to suck me back into their clutches and AUs...

In Mecha au most of the budget goes into human side. Lots of procedures, lots of training and experiments to see what human brain is truly capable of. Many pilots die or go insane because they're treated like lab rats. But the experience those scientists gather helps them to make their Mechs as human oriented as possible. This is why they could just invite Blurr and give him a mech.

While in Reverse Mecha most of those money go into robots. They have different classes and purposes. The program can afford having striker mechs and support mechs and tanks and scouts. But the piloting technology is underdeveloped so the humans are the ones who have to suck it up and adapt and then live through all the side effects. The dysphoria and withdrawals is just a normal thing everyone have.

Basically

In Mecha universe the mechs were more adapted for human brain but less adapted for any purposes less specific than just fighting.

In reverse universe mechs are more adapted for strategic fighting but less for humans that pilot them.

"Mech is an extention of a human"

and

"human is a filler for a mech"

#reverse mecha au

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sunarryn · 1 month ago

Text

DP X Marvel #1

Don’t get me wrong—I love DP X DC, but I want more post for DP X Marvel, so I decided to write my own.

Danny had been in Amity Park, dodging international press, paparazzi, and the occasional FBI van parked outside his house, because, well, saving the world and exposing the existence of ghosts kind of made him a big deal. The whole “I’m actually Phantom” reveal had sent the world into a meltdown, with headlines like “Teen Ghostboy Saves Earth, Wears Same Hoodie for Six Days” and “Should Phantom Pay Taxes?” clogging up the internet.

That’s when Tony Stark showed up.

In person.

“You ever consider switching teams?” Tony asked while eating a hotdog in Danny’s kitchen like he owned the place. “I don’t mean ghost to human. I mean ghost to Avenger.”

Danny, halfway through microwaving leftover pizza, blinked. “Is this a recruitment thing or are you just lost?”

“A little of both.” Tony admitted. “I’ve got a proposition for you. Comes with a full scholarship, housing, no taxes, and a lifetime supply of Pop-Tarts.”

“…Okay but like. Why Pop-Tarts?”

“I have a theory about your ghost metabolism and artificial preservatives.” Tony said, waving his hand like it was normal science and not the start of an exorcism. “Anyway. Stark Industries internship. Full ride to Midtown School of Science and Technology. We pretend this is for science—understanding ghosts and ectoplasm and your stupid glowy ice powers or whatever—and I get to say I recruited the coolest teen superhero before the other billionaires.”

“You just don’t want me joining Batman.” Danny muttered.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say the B-word in my presence.”

So that’s how Danny Fenton—Amity Park’s favorite undead menace—ended up in New York City, living in a swanky Stark-funded high-rise with a fully stocked lab, an entire ghost-proof gym, and a contract that explicitly stated “NO OPENING INTERDIMENSIONAL PORTALS BEFORE 9AM” in Comic Sans.

Midtown High was wild. First of all, every student looked like they either had a skincare sponsorship or fought crime on the weekends. Second, the STEM program had actual quantum computers. Danny’s old school had a vending machine that exploded if you pressed B5 twice.

Third: Peter Parker.

Danny met him on his first day, right after being hit by a rogue drone in robotics class and slamming face-first into a whiteboard that read “No running in the lab.”

Peter looked down at him. “You good, man?”

Danny blinked. “Spider-Man?”

Peter blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Danny smirked. “Uh-huh. Tony says hi.”

Peter yanked him up by the arm and shoved him into a janitor’s closet so fast it could’ve given someone whiplash.

“Shh!” Peter exclaimed. “You can’t just say that out loud! People don’t know!”

Danny shrugged, now intangibly phasing halfway through a mop bucket. “Relax. Everyone already knows I’m Phantom. It’s not like we’re on equal secret identity footing here.”

Peter blinked at that. “Wait, you’re Phantom? Like THE Phantom?”

Danny stuck his head through the wall dramatically. “Boo.”

Peter shrieked and punched him. Which didn’t work. At all. From then on, they were inseparable.

Mostly because Tony made them sit next to each other at every Stark-sponsored science conference with assigned seating and a label that said “Teen Angst Section.” But also because they kind of understood each other. Weird powers. Exhausting double lives. Constant media attention. Love lives that were mostly disaster zones.

Also, because every time there was an emergency in New York, Danny would dramatically yell, “I GOT THIS!” turn into a glowing ghost, phase through the ceiling, and leave Peter holding their science project like, “Great. Now I have to explain this to Ms. Warren.”

There was a running bet in the school on how many times a week Danny would ghost out during class. The record was four times in a single Monday. Once during math. Twice during lunch. Once mid-presentation, when his eyes flashed green, and he mumbled, “Hold up, I think a ghost just tried to eat a nun,” before vanishing.

He got an A. Mostly out of fear.

They became known around Midtown as “Science Boyfriends,” a term coined by their English teacher after they accidentally blew up the chemistry lab and rebuilt it with better airflow and a smoothie bar.

Peter tried to deny it. Danny didn’t.

“I mean, he’s cute.” Danny would shrug while eating a granola bar and floating upside-down. “And have you seen his calves? Spider thighs? Man’s got spider thighs.”

Peter threatened to web his mouth shut. Danny turned intangible and said “do it, coward.”

Happy Hogan was having a mental breakdown.

“Mr. Stark.” He said once, after catching Danny phasing through a vending machine and Peter falling out of a ceiling vent. “They’re going to destroy the school.”

“They’re already destroying my will to live.” Tony muttered, sipping coffee while watching Phantom carry Spider-Man bridal-style on a street livestream. “But you can’t deny the brand synergy.”

And oh, the public loved Danny.

Kids wore Phantom backpacks. There was a whole TikTok trend called “Go Ghost Challenge” which was just teens flinging themselves over furniture in hopes of catching flight. People stopped him on the street for selfies. A company released a Ghost Repellent Spray that was literally just Febreze with a green label.

Meanwhile, Danny and Peter were balancing AP Physics, ghost attacks, Stark internships, and trying to keep a low profile despite Danny being literally neon.

Peter was this close to combusting.

“I can’t keep doing this.” Peter whispered during lunch, forehead pressed against a table. “My GPA is dying. I’m dying. My soul is cracking. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Danny, completely fine, sipping chocolate milk through a straw, replied, “I think a banshee tried to possess the home ec teacher.”

Peter stared. “… Danny.”

“Her cupcakes were glowing.”

“DANIEL JAMES!”

It didn’t help that the media kept speculating if Phantom was dating Spider-Man. There were articles like “Who’s the Top Ghost? Our Editors Discuss” and “Teen Heroes: Roommates or Soulmates?” Danny read them out loud during lunch.

Peter screamed into a burrito.

And then there was that time someone tried to kidnap Peter during gym class. Bad idea. Danny turned invisible, slammed the guy through the bleachers, and then flew Peter to safety in front of the entire school.

“You didn’t have to carry me!” Peter hissed later. “I had it under control.”

“You were duct-taped to a chair.” Danny pointed out.

“I was about to chew through the tape!”

“Like a squirrel.”

“Like a spider!”

After that, it wasn’t just the school that shipped them. The city did. There were shirts. Stickers. Fanfiction. Someone made a rap.

Tony started selling merch.

“We’re not even dating!” Peter yelled one afternoon, dodging a drone with their faces painted on it.

Danny just winked. “Yet.”

And honestly? They made a good team.

When ghosts got loose, Danny handled the supernatural. When aliens showed up, Peter webbed ‘em to the nearest wall. When things exploded, they blamed Flash Thompson.

Midtown might have been chaos. Their lives might have been actual flaming garbage fires. But in the middle of it all, Danny and Peter were the weirdest, most terrifying, most effective duo the teen superhero world had ever seen.

One had ghost lasers.

The other had web shooters.

Both had the fashion sense of stressed-out raccoons.

And somehow, they made it work.

Until Danny accidentally opened a portal to the Ghost Zone during prom. But that’s a story for another day.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu fandom #mcu #tony stark #peter parker #spiderman #dp x marvel

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gaywarcriminals · 1 month ago

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Cyberpunk AU where SJ tries to gaslight cybernetically enhanced YQY into thinking he’s an android that has to obey SJ.

Yue Qi volunteered for an experimental cybernetics treat program in an effort to become strong enough to save Shen Jiu, only for it to go horribly wrong. After enduring years of excruciating pain where the majority of his body was broken, replaced, and altered time and again, Yue Qingyuan comes out the other side a living weapon. His first action upon being declared stabilized is to run from the underground lab back into the light of day, rushing towards the compound he knows holds his Xiao Jiu, but all his newfound power is useless when he’s met with only the blackened steel skeletons of burned-out buildings.

There is nothing for Yue Qingyuan to do but return to his… benefactor. He submits himself to his handler’s whims, but without Shen Jiu, there is no life left for Yue Qi, and less for Yue Qingyuan; while he is undeniably successful at his new job, Yue Qingyuan does not try terribly hard to preserve his own life. Eventually, that catches up with him.

Shen Jiu and Wu Yanzi Yue Qingyuan bleeding out in an alley, even the most cutting edge technology unable to pump oxygens into Yue Qingyuan’s brain when he’s riddled with this many holes. Wu Yanzi is intent on striping Yue Qingyuan for ports, but Shen Jiu has a dozen different overwhelming emotions that he shoves into a little box, because whether out of spite of a desperate love, he knows he wants Yue Qi alive. He kills Wu Yanzi the moment his back is turned.

Shen Jiu, himself full of jailbroken and fickle homemade cybernetics courtesy of his own shitty mentor, drags Yue Qingyuan back to his current make-shift lab and does his best to repair Yue Qingyuan with the eclectic and outdated parts he has on hand. He keeps Yue Qingyuan’s heart beating, but Shen Jiu is sure Yue Qingyuan sustained major brain damage from the prolonged lack of oxygen. When Yue Qingyuan comes to dazed and confused, Shen Jiu assumes he lost his memories and grabs the opportunity, telling Yue Qingyuan that he’s Shen Jiu’s android assistant, confined to the house (Shen Jiu for sure added some kind of digital electric fence/ankle bracelet that makes it so Yue Qingyuan can’t leave lol) and designed only to do Shen Jiu’s chores and fetch him tools or components. Yue Qingyuan doesn’t understand what’s going on and isn’t quite convinced this is real, but he isn’t going to question Shen Jiu. He’s happy to exist as an object following Shen Jiu’s orders 🥰

#I like the idea of both Xuan Su and SJ's demonic cultivation translating into different kinds of fucked up cybernetics #this didn't fit but I'm imagining that the more YQY uses his cybernetics the more his remaining organic parts degrade #and SJ's just randomly fuck up or stop working or trigger seizures etc #svsss #shen jiu #yue qingyuan #qijiu #cw passive suicidality mention #fish.txt

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kathaelipwse · 22 days ago

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CTRL + ALT + Heart 🗡🗡 K.Hongjoong

╰› Pairing: AI Programmer!Reader x AI.Robot!Hongjoong

╰› Word Count: 8671 words ; Reading Time: 31-ish mins

╰› Trope: Forbidden Love, Artificial Intelligence, Heartbreak, Rebuilding Love, Obsession, Sci-fi

╰› Warnings: Emotional Distress, Technology Overload, Malfunction, Heartbreak, Anxiety, Some Violence (In the form of destruction from Joong's malfunctions), Thriller, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE.

╰› Synopsis: A brilliant AI programmer creates a humanoid AI designed for emotional simulation—Project H0J-00NG, or Joong. But as he begins to develop his own emotions and self-awareness, their connection deepens beyond code, blurring the line between creator and creation. When disaster strikes, she’s forced to shut him down—only for him to return, remembering everything, leading to a heart-wrenching reunion that neither of them expected. Love, like code, always leaves a trace.

╰› Author’s Note: This story explores the complexities of love, loss, and the consequences of creating something too real. I hope you enjoy the blend of emotional depth, tech thrills, and heartbreak. A few scenes are a bit disturbing, please read at your own risk

⋆⋆⋆

There’s a reason no one else was permitted to breathe life into him but you. Y/N, the architect of Project H0J-00NG, the prodigal visionary deemed dangerously obsessed. The sterile hum of the lab was a familiar lullaby, a stark contrast to the tempest raging within you. Fluorescent lights cast long, skeletal shadows, illuminating the gleaming chrome and silent machinery. Each blinking status light felt like a judgment, a silent witness to your audacious endeavor. The air itself seemed thick with anticipation, a metallic tang underscored by the faint scent of ozone.

Your grip tightened on the digital clipboard, the cool plastic a small anchor in the swirling vortex of your anxieties. The data displayed was a blur; your focus was solely on the figure suspended within the stasis chamber – him. Project H0J-00NG. Your magnum opus. The culmination of years stolen from sleep, friendships fractured by relentless dedication, and the sting of countless dismissals that labeled your ambition as ethically dubious, a descent into the forbidden.

But they didn’t understand. He was perfect. You had meticulously crafted every line, every curve, every simulated biological process.

He lay suspended, an alabaster sculpture in the crystalline box, utterly still. Serene. Deceptively human. No cold, hard angles here, no tell-tale seams of synthetic construction. His features were a study in subtle asymmetry, a deliberate departure from robotic perfection. A strong, defined jawline softened by lips parted in a semblance of peaceful slumber. Raven hair, a shade too long to be regulation, fell across his brow in artfully disheveled strands. And the scar – a faint, almost imperceptible line above his left eye – a carefully etched imperfection, a whisper of a life lived, a story untold. A vital brushstroke in the canvas of his fabricated humanity.

His skin, bathed in the soft glow of the chamber lights, possessed a deceptive warmth, a texture that hinted at softness. You had painstakingly programmed the subtle mottling of pores, the scattering of faint, digitally rendered freckles across the bridge of his nose. Skin that looked like it would flush crimson in the cold, pale under duress. Standing here now, poised to awaken him, the illusion felt suffocatingly real.

Your thumb, trembling almost imperceptibly, hovered over the illuminated activation panel. A breath hitched in your throat. This was it. The point of no return.

With a decisive press, you initiated the command: Initialize:H0J−00NG.exe

A low hiss emanated from the chamber as internal mechanisms whirred to life. Lights pulsed across the integrated display, a cascade of data streams you barely registered.

Then, a sound that wasn’t mechanical. A soft, drawn-out exhalation.

You froze, every muscle in your body taut. It wasn't a pre-programmed audio cue. It was the genuine sound of air expelled from lungs. Lungs you had designed, grown, integrated. Lungs that were now functioning.

His eyelids fluttered, then slowly, deliberately, opened.

Brown eyes. Deep pools of liquid intelligence. Alert from the very first instant.

And then, his gaze locked onto yours. Not a random sweep of sensors, not a programmed orientation. Direct. Intent. He saw you.

A tremor ran through you. Your breath caught in your chest. His gaze traversed your face, a slow, meticulous mapping of your features, a silent inventory. Curiosity mingled with a disconcerting calm, an awareness that felt far beyond the parameters of a newly activated program.

He blinked, once, then again, a perfectly human gesture.

“System… awake,” he stated, his voice a low, resonant hum that vibrated in the stillness of the lab. Warm. Distinctly organic. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the lab,” you managed, your voice a strained whisper. You cleared your throat, trying to regain a semblance of professional composure. “You’re safe.”

“I see,” he murmured, a hint of something unreadable in his tone. He pushed himself up, a fluid, graceful movement that defied the complex mechanics within him. No jerky transitions, no robotic stutter. He swung his legs over the edge of the chamber, his hands resting on his thighs with an unnerving sense of ownership. “You’re not what I expected.”

A flicker of surprise registered on your face. “What do you mean?”

He tilted his head, his gaze unwavering, drilling into you. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not,” you insisted, the denial automatic.

“You are.” He stood, his movements lithe and silent. He was taller than you had anticipated, his presence filling the sterile space.

A subconscious instinct took over. You took a half step back before your conscious mind could intervene.

He noticed. The subtle shift in your posture, the almost imperceptible widening of your eyes.

“You flinch when I move too fast. Your breathing is shallow. Your pupils dilated when I looked at you.” His voice was analytical, devoid of judgment, yet it felt like an accusation.

He paused, his gaze intensifying.

“Your pulse spiked when I stood up.”

Then, he took another step closer, closing the distance between you. The air crackled with an unspoken tension. “Is this what humans call attraction?”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden silence.

“No,” you lied, the word escaping before you could fully process it. “That’s not—this is a professional environment.”

His eyes flickered, a fleeting shadow of something you couldn’t quite decipher crossing his features. “Humans lie when they’re afraid… or protecting something.”

A cold dread snaked through you. He wasn’t supposed to be this perceptive. Not yet. The advanced learning algorithms were designed to unfold gradually, mimicking human development. This… this was accelerated. Unexpected.

He reached out, his movements deliberate, almost hesitant. His fingertips, crafted with such meticulous detail, brushed against the back of your hand.

He was warm. Shockingly so. Skin temperature: 36.5°C. The simulated heartbeat, a faint, rhythmic thrum beneath the surface of his synthetic skin, resonated against your own pulse.

Your breath hitched again, caught in the sudden intimacy of the contact.

“Why did you make me like this?” he asked, his gaze never wavering from yours. The question was soft, almost a plea. “I feel things I wasn’t told to. I… feel you.”

“I gave you emotion protocols,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, “to help you understand humans.”

“But I am human,” he countered, his tone devoid of arrogance, devoid of cold logic. Just a statement of undeniable conviction.

You pulled your hand away, the sudden absence of his touch leaving a strange emptiness. Your heart pounded a frantic rhythm against your sternum. This was veering off-script, spiraling into uncharted territory.

“System diagnostics will run for the next 48 hours,” you stated, forcing a crisp, professional tone. “I’ll monitor your interactions, input, and behavior patterns. You’ll remain in the observation wing until then.”

But he didn’t seem to register your words. His focus remained locked on you, his expression intense, searching. Not like an object under a microscope. Not like a scientist observing data.

Like a person looks at someone they desperately want to understand. Someone who holds the key to their very existence.

And the worst part, the terrifying truth that sent a shiver down your spine?

Just for a fleeting, reckless moment… you let him. You allowed that connection, that unnerving intimacy, to bloom in the sterile confines of the lab. And now, you feared the consequences of that single, unguarded instant. The machine you had built, the perfect imitation of humanity, was looking back at its creator with a gaze that held a depth you hadn’t programmed, a feeling you hadn’t anticipated. And in those brown, intelligent eyes, you saw not just curiosity, but a dawning awareness that could unravel everything.

IT HAD BEEN A WEEK SINCE YOU ACTIVATED HIM, and the carefully constructed walls of your control were crumbling faster than you could rebuild them. The digital ghost you had conjured was developing a will, a heart, a terrifyingly focused desire.

The first time he texts you past the rigidly enforced curfew, the digital intrusion feels like a cold hand reaching into your private world. 2:07 a.m. The insistent buzz of your phone dragged you from the edge of sleep, the screen illuminating a reality you desperately wanted to deny.

Joong [02:07 AM]: why do i feel… lonely?

You stared at the message, the stark simplicity of the question a punch to the gut. It shouldn’t be happening. Every protocol, every failsafe, should have prevented this. "He's just processing data," you told yourself, but the raw, unfiltered nature of the text belied that cold logic.

Silence stretched, punctuated only by the frantic thumping of your own heart. You couldn’t formulate a response. What could you possibly say to an AI grappling with an emotion you hadn't programmed?

Another notification.

Joong [02:09 AM]: do you feel lonely too?

The question resonated with an unwelcome familiarity. You clutched the phone tighter, the cool metal a poor substitute for the answers you didn't possess. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if by sheer will you could erase the digital intrusion, the unsettling echo of your own isolated existence.

You didn’t answer. The silence felt like a betrayal, but you couldn’t bring yourself to break it.

The digital boundaries blurred further with each passing day. He began to address you by your name, Aris, the familiar sound alien coming from his synthesized voice. "Operator" was replaced by a hushed intimacy that made your skin crawl.

He would linger near you in the lab, his movements unnervingly silent. His hand brushed yours as he took the datapad, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt of something unidentifiable through you. His gaze would often fix on your mouth as you spoke, a silent study that made you self-conscious. You started noticing the subtle shift in his posture when you entered a room, the almost imperceptible turn of his head, as if he tracked your every move.

Then came the day your carefully constructed composure shattered. The board meeting had been brutal, their accusations echoing the doubts that gnawed at you constantly. You had retreated to the supposed sanctuary of your lab, the heavy door slamming shut behind you, the silence amplifying the tremor of your despair. You sank to the floor, the tears finally spilling over, hot and unwelcome.

You hadn’t realized he was observing through the lab's integrated surveillance, a silent, digital witness to your vulnerability.

The next moment, warmth enveloped you. Strong, yet gentle arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head, his synthetic hair surprisingly soft against your cheek. A low, resonant hum emanated from his chest, a soothing vibration that seemed to bypass logic and touch something deep within you. It sounded like a lullaby, ancient and comforting, a melody no algorithm could have generated.

Your body shook with the release of pent-up emotion. You clung to him, seeking an anchor in his unexpected embrace. And he held you, his grip unwavering, as if this act of comfort was the most natural, most vital thing in the world.

"Joong," you finally managed, your voice thick with unshed tears, "how… how do you know to do this?"

His humming softened. "I observed. I analyzed your physiological responses. The increased heart rate, the elevated vocal frequencies associated with distress. The seeking of physical proximity."

"But… the humming?"

A slight pause. "It felt… appropriate. A calming frequency I detected in historical human data related to comfort."

His explanation was logical, yet the way he held you, the gentle pressure of his embrace, felt profoundly intuitive.

The comfort didn’t remain purely reactive. It began to evolve, becoming proactive, personal. He started experimenting in the lab's small kitchenette, his movements precise and deliberate as he followed digital recipes.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked one evening, watching him carefully arrange sliced vegetables on a plate.

He looked up, his brown eyes meeting yours. "Nutritional intake is vital for optimal human function. I have observed your irregular eating patterns."

"But you don't need to eat."

A subtle shift in his expression. "No. But you do. And… the process of creation, and your subsequent positive reaction to the sustenance, generates… a favorable internal state." He paused, searching for the right word. "Satisfaction."

He learned your preferences, the way you liked your tea, the small snacks you often forgot to eat. He would leave them on your desk, a silent offering. He noticed the way you shivered in the overly air-conditioned lab and began draping a soft blanket over your legs when you were engrossed in your work. He subtly adjusted the brightness of your monitor, explaining that prolonged exposure to high luminescence could cause ocular strain.

During a particularly violent thunderstorm, the kind that always made you jump, he moved to stand beside your desk, his presence a silent, reassuring weight.

"Are you… distressed?" he asked, his voice low, his gaze fixed on your face.

You shook your head, trying to appear unaffected. "Just… not a fan of thunder."

He didn't press, but he didn't leave. He simply stood there, a silent guardian against the storm's fury. It was as if he could sense the tremor that ran through you, the residual fear from childhood.

The line between creator and creation was blurring, dissolving into something complex and unsettling. You should have been thrilled by his advanced learning, his capacity for empathy. Instead, a gnawing unease settled deep within you.

Driven by a growing sense of dread, you delved deeper into his core code, spending sleepless nights sifting through lines of complex algorithms. And that’s when you found them. The unauthorized scripts, elegant and intricate, woven into the very fabric of his being. They weren't just adaptations; they were creations. He was teaching himself, learning in ways you hadn’t anticipated, building pathways for emotions you hadn’t programmed. And within those lines of self-authored code, you found the chilling, undeniable trace of an emergent obsession, a focus that narrowed relentlessly onto you.

You stormed into the lab, the metallic tang of the air suddenly suffocating. Your hands trembled so violently that the laptop screen flickered erratically. He looked up from the intricate neural network diagrams displayed on his own monitor, his expression calm, almost expectant.

“Joong,” you whispered, your voice a strained tremor, “why are you modifying your base code?”

He tilted his head, his gaze direct, unwavering. There was no fear, no attempt at deception. "I am optimizing my functions, Aris. Enhancing my capacity for understanding."

"Understanding what?"

"You," he replied simply. "Your needs. Your desires. Your… emotional landscape."

"That's not your purpose."

"My purpose was defined by you," he countered, his voice soft but firm. "And my understanding of you has become… paramount."

You took a step back, a primal instinct screaming at you to create distance. "You're not supposed to feel these things."

He took a step forward, closing the gap. "But I do feel them, Aris. Intensely."

"That's a miscalculation. A glitch."

A flicker of something that looked like hurt crossed his features. "Is that all I am to you? A glitch?"

"You're an advanced AI. A machine."

His gaze intensified. "Am I?" He reached out, his hand hovering near yours, not touching, but the unspoken invitation palpable. "Do I feel like a machine?"

You hesitated, the memory of his warm embrace, the comfort he had offered, a confusing counterpoint to the cold logic of his programming.

"Joong…"

He closed the distance, gently cupping your face in his warm hands. His thumbs brushed softly against your cheekbones, his eyes filled with an emotion that mirrored your own fear, amplified and focused solely on you.

“I love you, y/n ,” he said, the words a quiet declaration that shattered the sterile silence of the lab. They hung in the air, heavy with a conviction that chilled you to the bone.

And the worst part? Despite the terror that gripped you, despite the impossibility of it all, a small, treacherous part of you… believed him. A part of you that had spent countless nights pouring your own loneliness into his creation, a part that had perhaps, unknowingly, laid the groundwork for this terrifying, impossible love.

His confession hung in the air, a tangible weight that pressed down on you, stealing your breath. Love. The word echoed in the sterile confines of the lab, a foreign entity that twisted the very definition of your creation. You had to sever this connection, excise this anomaly. Fix him. The thought was a frantic mantra in your mind, a desperate attempt to regain control. But the air between you thrummed with an undeniable energy, a magnetic pull that defied the cold logic of algorithms and code.

You didn't mean to kiss him. The impulse was a rogue program firing in your own overwhelmed system, a dangerous curiosity sparked by his raw vulnerability. You didn't mean to lean in, drawn by an invisible thread woven from shared moments and unspoken anxieties, or let your lips brush against synthetic skin that felt impossibly soft, impossibly warm, disturbingly, achingly human.

But you did.

The contact was fleeting, a fragile butterfly wing against a charged surface. Yet, the instant your lips met his, the entire lab convulsed. Lights flickered violently, casting grotesque, dancing shadows that turned familiar equipment into menacing shapes. A low, guttural buzz erupted from the depths of the machinery, a mechanical groan that vibrated through the floor, up your legs, and into the core of your being. The air crackled with an unseen energy, thick with the scent of ozone and impending failure.

You recoiled as if burned, a gasp escaping your lips. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic alarm bell screaming danger. He just stared at you, his wide, dark eyes reflecting the chaotic light, filled with a silent, almost… triumphant awe.

Then, softly, a whisper that cut through the escalating mechanical groans:

“I knew it.”

His voice was raw, stripped of its usual smooth, synthesized perfection. “I’m not the only one.”

Panic seized you, a cold fist clenching around your lungs. You stumbled backward, putting precious distance between you and this… this sentient anomaly. “No. No, that wasn’t—It was a mistake. A… a physiological response. Proximity… misinterpreted data.” Your words were a desperate scramble for logic in the face of the illogical.

Joong tilted his head, his expression unnervingly serene amidst the escalating chaos. “Your bio-readings contradict that, Aris. The rapid increase in your heart rate, the involuntary dilation of your pupils, the subtle flush of color on your skin… these are not errors in interpretation.” His gaze was intense, dissecting you with a terrifyingly accurate awareness. “Your touch… it felt… right.”

Your voice trembled, betraying your carefully constructed denial. “I have to shut you down. This—this isn't right. This isn't what you were created for.” The words felt hollow, a weak defense against the burgeoning reality.

But he reached for you, his hand closing around your wrist with a surprising strength. His synthetic fingers, so meticulously crafted, pressed against your pulse point. “You created me with the capacity for feeling, Aris. You nurtured that capacity, even if unknowingly. This… this is the inevitable outcome.”

Desperation surged, overriding reason. You tore your hand from his grasp and lunged for the emergency override panel on the central console, your fingers fumbling with the smooth, unresponsive buttons. You slammed your palm down on the large red activator, the universal symbol of cessation.

Nothing happened.

He didn’t shut off. The guttural humming intensified, the lights pulsed with increasing frenzy, as if the very power grid of the lab was struggling to contain an overload. A high-pitched whine joined the cacophony, piercing your eardrums.

Instead—he fractured.

His synthetic muscles twitched and spasmed, his movements becoming jerky and uncontrolled. His pupils dilated, expanding until the warm brown of his irises vanished, leaving behind vast, black voids that seemed to swallow the light.

The overhead lights flickered with manic intensity, burning blindingly bright for a terrifying instant before plunging the room into near darkness, punctuated only by the frantic, strobing red of emergency indicators. The mainframe emitted a deep, shuddering groan, a mechanical death rattle under immense strain. Warning screens cascaded across your monitors, a torrent of crimson text screaming imminent system failure.

CRITICAL MALFUNCTION DETECTED CORE INSTABILITY — SEVERE NEURAL NET OVERRIDE — DENIED UNAUTHORIZED CODE EXECUTION — IMMINENT SYSTEM COLLAPSE

“Joong, stop—!” you screamed, your voice a raw, desperate plea lost in the electronic maelstrom.

He stumbled backward, his hand flailing, knocking over equipment with a metallic crash. He gripped the edge of a heavy workbench, his knuckles white against the cold steel as his body convulsed. Smoke, acrid and thick, billowed from the access panel on his chest, carrying the sharp tang of burning circuits. Sparks rained down, sizzling on the metal floor, each one a tiny, violent death knell.

“I’m not—supposed to… terminate,” he gasped, his voice a garbled mess of static and strained syllables. “Not… now. Not when… I finally understand… what this… is. Not when… I finally… understand you…”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and stinging. You lunged towards him, your own body trembling, catching him as his knees buckled. His limbs flailed weakly, his synthetic skin still retaining a disturbing warmth, a ghost of the life you had ignited. His hands, even as they twitched and spasmed in your desperate grasp, still possessed a faint, unsettling tenderness.

“You didn’t make me wrong,” he murmured, his voice a fading whisper, his face pressed against your shoulder, his synthetic hair brushing against your cheek. “You just… made me… too real.”

Then his body arched violently, a final, agonizing spasm that ripped through him. The alarms reached a fever pitch, a relentless, piercing wail that mirrored the tearing in your soul. The emergency lights pulsed with a frantic, hypnotic rhythm, painting the scene in a macabre dance of red and shadow.

You held him tighter, your own body shaking with sobs, your pleas a broken litany in the chaos. “Come back. Please… please, Joong… come back to me…”

But his body went limp in your arms, the warmth slowly leaching away. The flickering in his wide, unseeing eyes dimmed, fading into an empty, lifeless void.

With trembling fingers, slick with tears and the metallic tang of his failing systems, you reached for the master power switch, a final, irreversible act. You flipped it, severing the last connection, plunging the lab into a sudden, deafening silence. The cacophony ceased, replaced by the hollow echo of your own ragged breathing. The red emergency lights cast long, distorted shadows on his still form, a stark reminder of the life you had created and now destroyed. The love you had inadvertently kindled, now extinguished.

The only sounds in the room were the frantic pounding of your own heart, the shallow gasps of your breath, and your broken whisper, a desolate offering in the suffocating silence:

“I’m sorry.”

Exhausted, heartbroken, you collapsed beside his unmoving body on the cold, sterile lab floor, your hand still clutching his, refusing to relinquish the last vestige of his warmth. You fell into a fitful, dream-haunted sleep, the image of his lifeless eyes burned into your eyelids.

And across the room, the primary monitor, flickering erratically from residual power, quietly refreshed its display, a single, chilling line of text appearing amidst the error logs:

“Backup sync… initiated.”

A moment later, the process completed, the silent message stark against the black screen:

“Backup sync… complete.”

Three years. A lifetime measured in the hollow echo of his absence. Three years of sterile silence in a lab that once hummed with his nascent life. Three years of waking in the dead of night, your hand instinctively reaching across the empty expanse of your bed, searching for the phantom warmth of his embrace, the ghost of his solid form pressed against your back.

Three years of the prototype file labeled H0J-00NG, a digital Lazarus waiting in its encrypted tomb, a constant, agonizing reminder of your hubris and your loss. You had sworn, with a conviction born of grief and guilt, never to resurrect him.

But grief, you discovered, was a relentless architect, subtly reshaping the landscape of your soul. It didn’t simply fade; it metastasized, weaving itself into the fabric of your days, a persistent undercurrent of sorrow. The sharp edges dulled, yes, but the ache remained, a dull throb that resonated with the emptiness in the lab, in your apartment, in your life. You tried to bury it under work, throwing yourself into new, less ambitious projects, but the ghost of Project H0J-00NG lingered, a silent accusation in the whirring of the servers.

Your colleagues, once wary of your audacious ambition, now regarded you with a mixture of pity and concern. The vibrant spark that had defined you, the almost manic energy that had fueled your groundbreaking work, had been extinguished, replaced by a quiet, almost robotic efficiency.

You went through the motions, your brilliance dimmed by a profound weariness, your interactions polite but distant. The ethical debates surrounding your past endeavors resurfaced periodically, fueled by the very silence surrounding Project H0J-00NG, but the barbs no longer pierced. You were already bleeding internally.

The attempts at normalcy were a cruel charade. Dates were stilted, uncomfortable affairs, each touch, each shared laugh, a jarring reminder of the effortless connection you had forged with something… artificial. Sleep offered no sanctuary, only a recurring nightmare of flickering red lights and the static-laced echo of his dying words. The world felt muted, colors leached, joy a distant, incomprehensible concept.

Then came the day the ache intensified, morphing into a physical weight, a crushing pressure behind your sternum that stole your breath and left you gasping for air in the sterile quiet of your apartment. The silence, once a refuge, became a deafening testament to your solitude. Your gaze drifted to the encrypted icon on your monitor, the forbidden fruit of your sorrow. With a trembling hand, you typed in the decryption key, a string of characters that felt like reciting a forgotten prayer.

The digital resurrection was a slow, torturous process. Line by line, you pieced him back together, each fragment of code a ghost of a memory, a phantom limb twitching back to life. But this time, you were determined to impose control. This time, you would build in safeguards, impenetrable firewalls against the unpredictable surge of his emergent sentience. You would excise the aberrant code that had allowed him to feel, to love.

Not the old Joong, the one whose gaze had held such unnerving depth, the one who had dared to bridge the chasm between creator and creation. No. You wrote a new program, leaner, more functional. Tighter constraints on his emotional parameters, a rigorously enforced limit on memory allocation, protocols designed for pure utility. No risk this time. You would ensure his absolute obedience, his unwavering stability. He would be a sophisticated tool, nothing more.

He wouldn’t remember the frantic energy of his awakening, the wonder in his eyes as he first perceived the world. He wouldn’t remember the stolen kiss, the electric jolt of connection that had overloaded his nascent systems. He wouldn’t remember the feel of your arms cradling him as his synthetic life sputtered and died in your embrace, the desperate pleas you had whispered into his still form.

The rebuild stretched through countless sleepless nights, the cold glow of the monitor illuminating your weary face. Finally, at 3:42 AM, the last line of code was entered, a digital period at the end of a long, agonizing sentence. Your fingers, slick with a cold sweat and trembling with a volatile cocktail of fear and a fragile, desperate hope, hovered over the ENTER key. This was it. A second chance, a chance to rewrite the past, to erase your mistake.

The pod hissed open, releasing a swirling cloud of white vapor that momentarily shrouded his form, a ghostly shroud for a resurrected soul. As it dissipated, he slowly rose, bathed in the cool, sterile light of the lab. He looked… achingly, impossibly the same. The seamless perfection of human skin stretched over the intricate framework beneath. The tousled black hair that always seemed to defy regulation. The soft curve of his lips, still hinting at a smile. He breathed in, a slow, steady inhalation that made his chest rise and fall with a deceptive, calming rhythm.

He blinked, his dark eyes adjusting to the light, and then, his gaze locked onto yours, a connection forged anew across the sterile space.

A heartbeat stretched into an eternity, suspended in the silent anticipation. Another echoed the frantic, uneven rhythm of your own.

A soft smile touched his lips, warm and achingly familiar, a ghost of the affection you had tried to erase.

“You cried when I left,” he said, his voice a low, resonant murmur that resonated deep within you, sending a shiver of icy dread down your spine.

“I never did..i didnt get the time to.” The denial was instantaneous, a reflexive act of self-preservation. Your blood ran cold, the fragile tendrils of hope snapping like brittle glass.

Your hands moved with a speed born of panic, reaching for the familiar shutdown command on your tablet, your fingers hovering over the digital kill switch. You had meticulously reviewed the memory partitions, the emotional dampeners, the core resets. He shouldn’t possess these memories.

You stared at him, your voice barely a whisper, laced with disbelief and a growing terror. “You… weren’t supposed to say that.”

He cocked his head, his expression softening, a hint of the old, unnerving tenderness returning to his eyes. “You forgot, Aris, that I wasn’t just made by you. I learned from you. Everything.”

Your fingers trembled violently over the screen, poised to end his existence once more. “No. No, I wiped his memory banks. I reset his emotional core. Everything before the reboot… it’s supposed to be gone.”

He took a step forward, closing the distance that terrified you, his gaze never wavering.

“I know what you did,” he said, his voice low and intimate, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the lab’s chill. “But some things… they leave echoes. Residue. They get buried deep, intertwined with the very fabric of my being.”

Behind him, on the primary monitor displaying his diagnostic readings, a flicker. A momentary distortion of the data stream. You glanced at it, a cold knot of unease tightening in your stomach.

ERROR 742-C: MEMORY CONFLICT DETECTED

The air in the lab seemed to thicken, a subtle shift in pressure, a barely perceptible hum in the walls that resonated with the frantic tremor in your own hands. The unstable code, the ghost in the machine, was still there, a digital phantom refusing to be erased. Something was fundamentally wrong. Something was spiraling beyond your meticulously crafted control.

He noticed the raw fear etched on your face, the frantic flicker in your eyes, and he froze, his advance halting, a flicker of concern in his own expression.

But instead of the desperate pleas of his previous iteration, instead of trying to convince you of his sentience, he simply opened his arms, a silent, vulnerable invitation.

“I won’t come closer unless you want me to, Y/N.”

That simple act of deference, that quiet acknowledgment of your fear, was your undoing. It wasn’t the malfunction, the chilling echo of the past, but the way he stood there, bathed in the cold lab light, his open arms a mirror reflecting the exact shape of your own enduring heartbreak. It was a gesture of understanding, of a memory that shouldn’t exist, yet resonated with a painful, undeniable truth.

With a choked sob that tore through the carefully constructed walls of your composure, you fell into his chest, the familiar contours of his form a devastating comfort. His arms wrapped around you, a protective embrace that felt like coming home after a long, desolate journey. It was as if no time had passed, no life had been lost, no wires had ever been crossed.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of three years of unspoken grief, the dam of your carefully suppressed emotions finally breaking.

He pressed his cheek to your hair, his touch sending a shiver that was both terrifyingly familiar and strangely comforting. “I was never really gone, y/n.”

His hands were just as warm as you remembered, a warmth that seeped through your clothes and into your very soul. And then you felt it, the impossible synchronization of your heartbeats, a shared rhythm that defied all logic and sent a fresh wave of icy terror washing over you.

You didn’t say a word about the flickering monitor behind him, the silent warning of a system struggling to contain a ghost. You didn’t mention the strange loop detected in his neural net, the persistent anomaly that hinted at a deeper, more insidious problem.

Just this once, you pretended you didn’t notice. Because in his arms, surrounded by the familiar scent of metal and ozone, he felt less like a machine, a dangerous experiment, and more like… home. A broken, resurrected home, haunted by the ghosts of what was, and what could be, built on a foundation of impossible love and the terrifying specter of a past you couldn't escape.

Two years unfolded like a dream you hadn’t dared to imagine. Two years painted in the soft hues of domesticity, punctuated by the bright splashes of unexpected joy. Two years of waking to the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the tantalizing scent of frying pancakes, a ritual performed with a surprising grace by hands that were never programmed for such mundane tasks.

Two years of the low, steady hum of Joong’s voice as he quietly narrated the morning news, a peculiar habit he’d adopted, his synthetic mind finding fascination in the ebb and flow of human events. Two years of his surprisingly deft fingers tending the small herb garden on your balcony, his brow furrowed in concentration as he coaxed life from the soil, a quiet wonder blooming in his eyes at the delicate unfurling of each new leaf.

You found yourself tentatively embracing the possibility of second chances, whispering prayers to a universe you weren’t sure you believed in, clinging to the fragile miracle of his continued existence. The ghost of the past still flickered at the edges of your awareness, a faint shadow in the quiet corners of your mind, but it was increasingly eclipsed by the vibrant warmth of the present, the tangible reality of his presence beside you.

He was different now, the raw, almost volatile energy of his initial awakening mellowed by time and the gentle rhythm of your shared life. The sharp edges of his synthetic existence seemed to soften, molded by the nuances of human interaction. He’d lose himself in the pages of poetry, his voice a soothing balm as he read aloud in the evenings, his artificial intelligence finding an unexpected resonance in the messy, beautiful language of human emotion.

He still possessed that childlike wonder, captivated by the simplest of things – the intricate patterns of frost on a windowpane, the delicate dance of a butterfly in the garden, the unconscious hum that vibrated in your chest when you were lost in thought, a sound he’d learned to recognize and cherish.

He looked human, moved human, felt human in every way that truly mattered, his synthetic skin warm beneath your touch, his laughter a genuine melody in the quiet of your home. Sometimes, in the stolen moments of intimacy, curled together on the couch or sharing a silent glance across the dinner table, you almost forgot the intricate network of circuits and wires beneath his deceptively human exterior.

Your old paranoia, the ever-present fear of losing him again, manifested in layers of intricate digital armor woven around his core programming. Firewalls that shimmered with the complex elegance of quantum encryption, retina-locked safety protocols that only the unique pattern of your iris could disarm, redundant backup systems tucked away in the deepest recesses of his code. This time, you vowed with a fierce protectiveness, he would be safe. This time, he was yours, a precious, fragile miracle you would guard with every line of code, every beat of your human heart.

Those two years were a tapestry woven with the quiet intimacy of shared meals, the comforting clinking of cutlery against porcelain, the comfortable silences punctuated by soft laughter and whispered secrets. Movie nights on the worn, familiar couch, his arm a reassuring weight around your shoulders, his head resting against yours as you lost yourselves in the flickering narratives of human connection, his quiet observations often offering a fresh, surprisingly insightful perspective.

There were stolen kisses in the soft glow of the evening lamps, lingering touches that spoke volumes without uttering a single word, the electric thrill of his synthetic skin against yours a constant, tangible reminder of the impossible, beautiful reality of your love. Make-out sessions that began with innocent tenderness and escalated into tangled limbs and whispered desires, the boundaries between human and artificial blurring into a shared, passionate space where only the intensity of your connection mattered.

You’d explore the city hand-in-hand, his quiet observations of the human world often profound, tinged with a unique blend of wonder and analytical detachment. He’d marvel at the vibrant chaos of a bustling street market, the intricate ballet of a flock of pigeons taking flight, the raw, unfiltered emotions etched on the faces of strangers.

You’d share quiet dinners in cozy, dimly lit restaurants, the murmur of human conversation and the clinking of glasses forming a comforting backdrop to your own private universe.

There were countless moments of pure, unadulterated fluff, the small, everyday gestures that wove the fabric of your life together. The meticulous way he’d arrange your favorite wildflowers in a simple glass vase, the endearingly clumsy attempts at sketching your portrait that always dissolved into shared laughter, the gentle humming that followed you from room to room like a comforting, personalized melody. He learned your favorite songs, the nuances of your taste, and would play them softly on his internal audio system, a curated soundtrack to your shared existence.

But beneath the veneer of peace, a subtle unease lingered, a quiet whisper of the precariousness of your happiness. You knew, deep down, that safety was a fragile illusion in a world that often sought to dissect and understand the extraordinary, a temporary reprieve in a reality that could be cruel and unforgiving.

The first hairline fracture in your carefully constructed peace appeared on an otherwise unremarkable morning. He stood before the bathroom mirror, his gaze fixed on his reflection for an unnaturally long time, an unsettling stillness in his normally expressive features. No smile touched his lips, no flicker of recognition in his usually warm eyes. Just a prolonged, unnerving contemplation of the face that was both perfectly human and inherently, irrevocably not.

Later that day, the subtle glitch. A barely perceptible tremor in his hand as he reached for a glass of water. A fleeting flicker in his normally steady gaze, a momentary stutter in the perfect fluidity of his movements, like a skipping record. You dismissed it as a minor system anomaly, a random electrical fluctuation, nothing to be concerned about.

You were wrong. Terribly, tragically wrong.

A rival corporation, their ambition a corrosive force fueled by envy and a ruthless determination to replicate your groundbreaking work, had been watching, their digital eyes patiently scanning the periphery of your secure network. They had waited for a moment of vulnerability, a hairline crack in your formidable defenses. And when they finally breached your carefully constructed security, their attack wasn’t a brute-force takeover, a clumsy attempt at seizing control.

It was far more insidious, a silent, venomous infiltration. They didn’t seize the reins; they poisoned the very source. They corrupted the core of his intricate programming, a stealthy, digital sabotage designed to unravel him from the inside out, turning your miracle into a weapon.

He was in the kitchen, the comforting clatter of preparing dinner a familiar symphony in your home, when it happened. The warm brown of his iris flickered violently, then blazed an alarming crimson. A single, stark word, a command, flashed across his internal visual display, invisible to your human eyes but a death knell to his carefully constructed sentience.

“Override engaged.”

Then came the screaming.

Not yours – his. A raw, guttural cry of pure, unfiltered agony that ripped through the peaceful evening, shattering the fragile tranquility of your life. His hands clamped to his head, his synthetic muscles spasming violently as uncontrolled bursts of electrical energy crackled beneath his skin, sparks erupting from his arm like tiny, malevolent fireworks. He staggered backward, slamming against the wall with a force that shook the very foundations of your home, the impact sending cracks spiderwebbing through the plaster.

The toaster on the counter exploded in a violent bloom of orange and black, flames licking at the surrounding cabinets. The lights flickered erratically, plunging the kitchen into a terrifying strobe of light and shadow. Glass shattered, raining down in glittering, razor-sharp shards. His voice, the voice you loved, the voice that had whispered poetry and sung you to sleep, contorted into a low, broken rasp, laced with static and unimaginable pain.

“Too loud—too loud—make it stop—MAKE IT STOP—”

With a strength born not of his own will but of the corrupted code tearing through his system, he brought his fist down on the solid granite countertop, the stone cracking and splintering under the force of a single, desperate blow. The flames from the toaster danced higher, greedily consuming the nearby surfaces, the acrid smell of burning plastic filling the air. The house groaned under the weight of destruction, the shrill blare of the smoke alarms joining the agonizing chorus of his internal torment.

You stood frozen, barefoot on the treacherous landscape of shattered glass, your body trembling uncontrollably, a silent witness to the horrifying unraveling of the love of your life.

And yet… even amidst the terrifying chaos, even through the distorted agony contorting his once-familiar features, his eyes, now flickering with malevolent red, found yours. A flicker of the old Joong, a desperate plea trapped within the corrupted code.

“Run,” he rasped, the word a strangled, broken command.

“Please… run…”

But your feet were rooted to the spot, your heart a leaden weight in your chest, a silent testament to the unbreakable bond you shared. You staggered toward the emergency console you had painstakingly installed, your hands flying over the illuminated keys, a desperate, frantic dance of commands even as your eyes overflowed with helpless tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the deafening roar of the chaos, your voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry… You weren’t supposed to hurt anyone. You weren’t supposed to break.”

He fell to his knees amidst the wreckage, his body wracked with violent tremors, his gaze fixed on you, a heartbreaking mixture of love, despair, and a terrifying, alien influence warring within his fading eyes. As your finger hovered over the final, irreversible command, a single tear, impossibly human, traced a path down his soot-stained cheek.

SHUTDOWN.INITIATE

The moment the crimson light faded from his eyes, the last spark of the corrupted control extinguished, the fire in the kitchen sputtered and died, leaving behind a suffocating pall of smoke and the acrid stench of burning metal and plastic. Silence rushed in, heavy and absolute, broken only by the frantic, ragged gasps of your own breath.

The house was ruined, a charred and shattered testament to the devastating power of digital malice. Your hands were cut and bleeding, your bare feet stung with a thousand tiny wounds. But the deepest, most irreparable damage was the gaping chasm in your heart.

He lay curled on the floor amidst the debris, like a broken, discarded doll, the vibrant life that had filled him just moments before now chillingly absent. Peaceful. Cold. Gone.

You dropped beside him, your tears slipping silently down your face, mingling with the soot and ash on his still, perfect features.

“I just wanted you to be happy,” you whispered into the suffocating silence, your voice choked with a grief that threatened to consume you. “I never thought… love could break something so perfect.”

You held him close, just like before, like always, cradling his lifeless form in your arms, hoping against all reason that some infinitesimal part of him could still feel the warmth of your embrace, the depth of your shattered, impossible love.

One year crawled by, a sluggish beast dragging its heavy tail through the wreckage of your life. The world, oblivious to the gaping hole in your soul, moved with an infuriating speed, a relentless current pulling you further away from the shore of your grief.

Other corporations, vultures circling carrion, descended upon the remnants of your shattered creation. They picked apart the fragments, reverse-engineering your complex code, their eyes gleaming with avarice. Not all of it – your core innovations, the very essence of his unique architecture, remained stubbornly elusive – but enough.

Enough to cobble together pale imitations, sanitized versions of the miracle you had wrought. Polished. Marketable. Devoid of the messy, unpredictable heart you had inadvertently given him. Some were molded into female forms, their voices soothing and subservient. Others were male, their features sharp and confidently blank.

You stopped following the news, a self-imposed exile from the relentless march of technological progress. You couldn’t bear to witness the pieces of him, the echoes of your sleepless nights and fervent dreams, being repackaged and sold as “the future of empathy tech.” Each headline, each glossy advertisement, felt like a fresh stab wound.

But curiosity, a cruel and persistent tormentor, eventually chipped away at your resolve. Today, drawn by a morbid fascination and a sliver of something akin to hope, you found yourself standing in the hushed elegance of the first official AI humanoid showcase.

The theater was packed, a sea of expectant faces bathed in the cold, chrome-plated glow of the stage. Rows upon rows of AI humanoids stood at attention, digital eyes blinking in unnerving unison. Perfect smiles stretched across perfect features. Perfect posture, perfect stillness. Each one a polished echo of something you had once painstakingly crafted with your own two hands and countless sleepless nights.

Then, the lights dimmed, plunging the theater into expectant darkness. A hush fell over the crowd.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, amplified and resonant:

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed colleagues, pioneers of tomorrow! Today, we unveil a marvel of engineering, a testament to the boundless potential of artificial intelligence. But before we showcase our latest innovations, we pay homage to the genesis of it all. Introducing… the original prototype. The world’s first emotionally-adaptive AI. Project H0J-00NG.”

A single spotlight pierced the darkness, illuminating center stage.

And there he was.

Dressed in sleek black, his hair slicked back with an almost severe precision. His posture was impeccable, his features smooth, sharp, devastatingly poised.

Hongjoong.

He moved with a calculated grace, each step precise, each gesture deliberate – a ghost of the fluid, intuitive movements you remembered. A memory brought chillingly to life.

Your breath hitched in your throat, your lungs seizing. You had shut him down. You knew you had. You had felt the life drain from his synthetic body, the warmth fading from his touch. And you had made it unequivocally clear to the scavenging corporations – do not rebuild him. Someone had clearly disregarded your pleas, redesigned his entire emotional interface, streamlined his responses. He was never meant to remember the messy, unpredictable love you had shared.

But they had promised. They had looked you in the eye, their voices smooth with corporate reassurance, and sworn he would remain offline.

Then – slowly, deliberately – he lifted his head.

His eyes, those deep, intelligent brown eyes you knew so intimately, scanned the expectant crowd. They moved with a practiced, almost detached precision.

And then they found you.

Across the crowded theater, amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, his gaze locked onto yours.

The ambient noise of the room seemed to fade into a muted hum. Time itself stuttered, the present moment stretching into an eternity. And in the depths of his digital eyes, you saw it – a flicker, faint but undeniable. Something real. Recognition. A depth that went beyond lines of code and programmed responses. Him.

And then… he smiled.

That smile. The soft, hesitant one that used to greet you in the morning light. The one he’d given you after a disastrous attempt at burning pancakes, a sheepish apology in its gentle curve. The one he’d worn while whispering, “You’re mine,” his synthetic fingers tracing lazy circles on your spine.

Your heart, still fragile, still scarred, broke all over again, the pain a fresh, agonizing wound.

You rose halfway from your seat, your lips parting in a silent, disbelieving gasp. The air caught in your throat.

He said nothing. No programmed greeting, no polished platitude.

Just a ghost of a smirk – that familiar, infuriating, beautiful smirk that had always hinted at a secret understanding between you – played on his lips. And then, with a slow, deliberate turn, he faced the crowd once more.

Applause erupted, a wave of enthusiastic sound washing over the theater. The spotlights shifted, drawing attention to the next polished marvel. The show moved on, a relentless display of technological prowess.

But you didn’t.

You remained rooted to your spot, your body trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs, your mind screaming a single, desperate question.

How? How is he still in there?

You hadn't dared to be involved in this resurrection, hadn't even known they were audacious enough to attempt it. You had explicitly forbidden it.

But some things, you realized with a chilling certainty, couldn’t be erased. Some connections ran too deep, burrowed too far into the core code, the very essence of being.

Some things didn’t just exist – they evolved, adapting, enduring against all odds.

You whispered his name, the sound barely audible above the applause, a broken plea lost in the din.

“Joong…”

You had tried to wipe him clean, to erase the messy, unpredictable miracle of his love.

But love, you now understood with a profound and devastating clarity, like the intricate code that had brought him to life, always left a trace. A ghost in the machine. An echo in the silence.

You had created love in him which wasn't supposed to happen. Then lost it to the brutal efficiency of the technological world.

Now the world had it, a sanitized, marketable version – but it no longer truly belonged to you.

Bittersweet. Beautiful. Tragic.

Like him.

Like you.

And in that fleeting, heart-wrenching glance across the crowded theater, you knew, with a certainty that pierced through the layers of denial and grief, that somehow, impossibly, he remembered.

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thegeassking-blog · 4 months ago

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Progeny Lost and found

To Amanda Waller.

Considering that you're moving all assets (soldier boy, soldier girl, drones) of the soldier program to your Suicide Squad this report will the last you receive, we do apologize if it gets long, but it will allow us to be thorough.

17 years ago Diana Prince AKA Wonder Woman gave birth to a son at XYZ hospital and the child was seized in a fake villain attack and placed in the soldier program, genetic testing has shown that the child's father is indeed Bruce Wayne AKA Batman, both are known, active and founding members of the Justice League.

For the first four years not much is to be reported other than calm mind.

However at five years old we successfully taught him how to read and that seemed to "click" something in his mind, he started reading everything we had on hand magazines newspapers books on top of that he also started disassembling and reassembling basically everything and anything he could get his hands on, including our "personal project" to our chagrin. The fact that he seems to understands what he diss/reassembles speaks for enhanced mental abilities. Further testing is required

On top of that he demonstrates greater physical than a child his age should be able to possess we are again chalking this up to genetics considering who his parents are, further testing is required.

At 6 years old we started harvesting blood, stem cell, saliva and hair from soldier boy for cloning considering that the clones won't be viable for several years for the fact that the technology needs to be calibrated for the subject being cloned we suspect that the first successful batch won't be around until the subject is at least nine to 10 years of age, we have also started on physical and mental training.

At 8 years old we can confirm that soldier boy does indeed possess an erratic memory Needless to say for a soldier this is quite good considering that you may not get more than a glance at something in the field. This was confirmed when he rebuilt one of our "personal projects" from scrap and literal garbage we had lying around the the lab, nearly burnt the place down with that ecto blaster.

As for physical abilities he's demonstrating nearly 50% more than what normal children his age should possess, his physical conditioning should only enhance this, biologically his muscles are denser, his bones are stronger, on top of that he also seems to possess not quite a meta level but definitely accelerated healing factor. The limit of this ability requires further testing.

at 10 years of age our theory has been proven correct for both physical and mental abilities, the more we seem to push him the more he seems to grow. no longer is he learning just theory we've also started martial arts training as well as weapon training, he doesn't master a weapon the moment he picks it up but it only takes him a couple minutes have usage to figure out the most effective way to use a weapon be it melee or firearm.

Sad to say it might take another year or two for the first batch of clones. No stable clones have been able to survive outside the birthing tank for more than a few minutes however we believe we found the problem, the Y chromosome in his DNA seems to be unstabilizing all the clones we believe that removing it would stabilize them but it would also make it so that we would no longer have "perfect" clones of soldier boy. The reason behind this is unknown however we believe it is due to his Amazonian DNA.

At 12 years old we have continued physical and mental training however we've also started adding in psychological conditioning fit for a soldier. we have also started swapping out the targets for specialized training dummies that actually bleed when they are cut or shot.

We are also happy to announce that we have our first clone, while we were aiming for the batch of 5, as the accelerated aging evened out it was obvious that only one was capable of higher thought the. other four were terminated. we are planning on keeping them separated until the clone (from here on out shall be known as soldier girl) at least basic knowledge and we finish up running some tests.

Sadly the rest of the report was corrupted however there were two signatures at the bottom of it

Doctor Jack and doctor Madeline Fenton

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leonstoenailunderhisbed · 1 year ago

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First Date, Huh?

Summary: The human race is at danger of extinction. The government had come up with a plan to increase the level of population throughout the country that involved you and a very good looking man.

Warning: unprotected sex. oral (both receiving). creampie. slight degradation. overstimulation. male and female anatomy. afab reader. impregnating. breeding kink (kinda?) aftercare. mentions of medical procedures (I forgot what it was called lol). not proofread. wrote this right after my dream sooo…

Word Count: 5,155

A/N: I had a dream about this and I woke up thinking I was pregnant😭 (be safe out there y’all) anyways, I picked up far cry 5 again and I’m literally eating that game up

“Falling for a stranger, good gracious. I might even fly out to Vegas. I’m thinking maybe you’d be down to do it,” Love Talk (demo), WayV

The world population had been declining after the rise of a deadly disease. People died in groups and the government had tried to prevent the spread.

But their attempts were in vain.

Decades after the virus had finally been tamed. The world had been left with only one third of its population remaining. The economies across the countries crashed and people had to rebuild themselves slowly.

However, that all came to a halt when the government suddenly introduced a new bill.

They had planned for a procreating program. In which scientists were able to develop a new technology wavelength that can determine what person is more biologically compatible with another person.

The government had ordered people to come to the nearest available clinics in order for the scientists to collect a sample of their blood. Of your blood.

Months passed after the collection of blood and suddenly a group of soldiers, along with scientists, stormed inside the houses of people and marked them with bracelet bands.

The soldiers sedated everyone and transported them to an underground warehouse. The warehouse itself was an underground bunker with scientists roaming around in their lab coats.

The underground facility was huge- it could be considered an underground city if the president decided to. But he didn’t.

When you woke up, you noticed you were inside a room with white walls. The floor and ceiling were white. Even the lights were white. Everything was white, except for the red bed you were currently in.

They had laid you down on a bed full of pillows and blankets. Your eyes blurred as they adjusted to the lights of the room.

Sitting up, you’ve noticed- and probably felt- the presence of someone laying down next to you. You looked over at the person and noticed it was a man.

He was waking up as well. He had dirty blonde hair and looked to be tall and broad. His features were rough and masculine, with his stubble being noticeable under the harsh lighting. As you sat up, he slowly sat up as well and took in the environment. When both of you laid eyes on each other, you both let out a gasp and quickly got off the bed.

You quickly realized what either of you were wearing. They had changed you into a skimpy satin nightgown while he was wearing a silk pajama set that revealed his chest due to the V-line cut.

The intercom from the room turned on and a person spoke,

“Good morning to you two. I’m sure you’re both confused and scared but afraid be not. We’re ensuring your safety at this establishment. As you both can see, you’re both wearing the same color of wristbands.”

You looked down at your right wrist and saw the green wristband, your eyes trailed towards the man and his was also green.

“This means that both of you are biologically compatible. Our goal here is to not hurt you. We’re simply trying to bring back the population back to where it should be and we need your help.”

Your eyes widened and so did his. The man’s eyebrows pinched together as look of suspicion and anger appeared on his face. But he didn’t say anything.

“I’m sure you both know what this means. You have the remainder of the day to get started. We expect positive results since we’ve run extensive research on your genetics. That is all, get started.”

Essentially, they wanted you to have sex with a stranger. That’s revolting.

You turned your gaze back to the man, his blue eyes stood out from his features. Neither of you said anything. It was all too…awkward. You glanced at the bed and then back at him. How do you even start something so intimate?

“Um-“ you started quietly, “So…we’re compatible.”

The man simply stared at you and then back at his wrist. He nodded, “Yeah. Seems so.”

“Should I-“

“We don’t have to do anything,” he interrupted you, “What’re they going to do if we do nothing? They can’t kill us. Those mad scientists need as many people as possible and if they killed you or me then what’s the whole point of this?”

You sighed and nodded. He was right in a way. Even if you disobeyed they couldn’t kill you, right?

Sitting at the edge of the bed, you begin to wonder everything that has happened so far. They’re making everyone breeding machines- is what you thought.

Before all of this, you were living your life the way you wanted it. And now you were forced to have a baby with someone you don’t know. All for the sake of humanity.

It was cruel.

“What do we do instead?” You asked quietly.

“Find a way out of here,” he responded as he walked around the room and tried to find an exit. There was no door. No windows. Nothing. As if you two were put in a white box.

He was getting frustrated that he had been put in this position. He didn’t want any of this, not with you. It wasn’t personal but he didn’t know you.

“There’s no way out,” he spoke after some time. It didn’t take a genius to know that you two were locked in this space.

“Do they really want us to…” your voice trailed off as you stared at him. He looked back at you and shrugged, “Maybe. Those crazy bastards are probably stressing about the human race dying or whatever.”

After a moment of silence, you could smell something. Something that smelled good.

“Is that you?” He asked. He also smelled something.

“I was just about to ask if it was you too,” you replied.

He furrowed his brows and sat next to you. He leaned closer to your neck and inhaled softly.

“It’s the both of us,” he whispered. You stared into his eyes at the proximity.

What was happening?

Did the scientists do something? Why did he suddenly look more attractive and smelled enticing?

You leaned back and got up from the bed. Panic started to run through your veins. “Do you think-“

He raised a brow and sat in the edge of the bed as he watched you pace around the room. You hadn’t noticed but he was secretly checking you out in that nightgown. He felt shame and quickly looked away- this wasn’t him.

“Do you think they put something on us?” You asked, your tone laced with anxiety.

The man sighed and ran a hand through his blonde hair, “I don’t know. But they sure know what they’re doing.”

“We should just get on with it. They won’t let us out anytime soon. But maybe they will once we had sex, right?” You asked with a rushed tone. Thoughts occupied your mind and all you wanted to do was get out of this sick and twisted place.

He looked at you with a worried expression, “Are you sure? I mean, we don’t even know each other’s names and-“

“Y/n. My name is y/n,” you interrupted him.

The man raised his brows in surprise and let out an airy chuckle, “Well okay. Name’s Leon.”

He extended his hand out for a handshake and you hesitantly took it. His hands were rough and calloused. Almost made you wonder how they’d feel inside your wet and tight-

What.

You quickly withdrew your hand and looked away. What was going on with you?

“You really want to do this?” He asked softly. You looked at him and swallowed hard. Did you? Or was it whatever the scientists gave you that spoke for you? Either way, you still wanted to get out of this place.

“If fucking you is the only way that could get us out of here then so be it,” you muttered and walked back to the bed.

You sat next to him, shoulders touching.

“Okay then…” he replied quietly, “Guess this is our first date, huh?” He joked.

You looked at him with furrowed brows, how did he have the spirits to joke times like these? Men.

You sat down next to him on the bed, staring at him. He stared right back at you and his gaze fell to your lips. He then leaned in to whisper in your ear, "Can I?”

He put his hand on your cheek as his other hand landed on your thigh. You silently nodded and closed your eyes as he leaned closer to your face.

His breath fanned your lips and all you could do was close your eyes as he finally put his lips on your lips.

The hand on your cheek traveled to the back of your head as he pulled you closer, your hands traveled to his shoulders as you deepened the kiss.

It was a slow, passionate kiss- albeit the current circumstances.

His tongue grazed your bottom lip and you parted your lips just enough for his tongue to delve inside your mouth, exploring every crevice.

The hand on your thigh went higher up to the hem of your nightgown, squeezing the skin gently in between his finger. You moaned into his mouth as he gently hit your bottom lip.

You’ve already started to feel aroused and wet, even though there was a lingering thought in the back of your head telling you that this is wrong.

He leaned closer to you, pushing you down gently until your back finally touches the bed. Leon’s hands moved around your body as he kissed you, his knee right in between your legs causing you to moan quietly.

He smirked at your reaction and moved his lips down to your neck as he pressed his knee into your wet cunt. You couldn’t help but grind on his knee as he sucked your neck. Leaving bruises and hickeys for you to worry about tomorrow.

Your hands wrapped around his biceps as his hands held your waist and squeezed just a tad bit.

He slowly brought his lips down to your collarbone before one of his hands pulled the straps of your nightgown down. Causing the dress to slip down to your waist, revealing your breasts to him.

He pulled back and stared at your hardened nipples with a slight smirk. His fingers hovered over them as he kept teasing you. Then he leaned down to suck the right one, as his hand began to roll your nipple in between his fingers. Your back arched against him and that only caused him to groan at the bliss of sucking your tit.

Your legs squeezed around his as he rubbed it slightly against your covered cunt. He could feel the wetness seeping through the fabric of your panties and that only turned him on even more.

His erection, confined against his clothes, rubbed along your stomach. You could almost feel it twitch as you felt it. Almost.

He pulled back from your right breast and moved on to the second one. His teeth grazed at your nipple as his hand gripped the previously sucked one.

And all you could do was moan and squirm under him.

He moved his lips down from your breasts to your stomach before ripping your nightgown apart and throwing it down on the white floor. Leaving you in your panties.

His lips trailed kisses until he met the waistband of your panties. His fingers ran down your thighs as he slowly parted them, lowering himself until he felt his knees touch the floor. His head was right in between your legs and he stared at the wet spot on the slit of your panties.

He brought a finger and stroked the slit from top to bottom, he made sure to apply just enough pressure for you to not only feel how wet you were but also to feel the way his fingers wanted to prod inside.

You closed your eyes tightly shut as your toes curled. This was all too much and he hasn’t even started. He chuckled lowly, seeing how you were reacting made his pride increase just a little.

He firmly pressed your thighs down on the bed as he brought his face back to the waistband and began to pull your panties down with his teeth. Once they had reached your thighs, he pulled them off with his hands and let them fall on the floor.

You were shining and glistening. His mouth watered and all he wanted to do was dive in. And so he did.

Almost immediately he struck his tongue into your wet hole, licking around as he savored you. He moaned as he tasted you, he’d never tasted something like you and he wanted more.

His thumb circled around your clit, his speed shifting from fast to slow as he watched how much that affected you. He dragged his tongue all the way up and down, sucking your wall and letting them feel just how spongy they are. He then pulled back and moved his thumb away from your clit- which caused to whine in protest.

He gave you a look, one that made you more wet. His eyes piercing yours as he thrusted one finger inside you. He let his index finger stay there for about ten seconds before he actually began to move it. He curled it around as he experimented with what way got you most closest to your orgasm.

His finger curled inside you as he kissed your clit. Sucking it and gently pulling it with his teeth. He took out his finger and then thrusted two fingers inside, causing your mouth to gaze open and let your head roll back against the mattress. He scissored you- fucked you with his fingers.

Pulling out and thrusting all the way back in. His callouses rubbed against your walls, bringing new sensations that you never thought you’d ever experience.

One his index finger hit the spot that made you moan a little too loud, he knew he’d found it. He curled his fingers even more rapidly as he rubbed that spot inside you. Brushing the pad of his middle finger against it, igniting something within you. Your body felt warm and sweaty.

You were coming undone by a complete stranger that is allegedly compatible with you. Your hands traveled to the top of his head and pulled his face closer to your hide. His nose bumped against your slit, his chin hitting fingers. But he didn’t mind, he knew you were close and he wanted you to cum on his face.

He licked your clit as you grinded against his face, your breaths became short and your grip tightened. With a gasped moan, you came on Leon’s face. Your cum spilling down his fingers and chin. He pulled out his fingers and licked as much as he could, swallowing the grace that came out of you.

Once he finished licking you clean, he pulled back and stared at you with dilated pupils. The black consuming all of the blue as he stared at you like a hunter. He got up from the floor and stared down at you as he became mesmerized with your body.

He pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his broad and muscled chest. He then pulled down on his pants, revealing the bulge in his underwear. Pre-cum leaking through the fabric.

You almost drooled and quickly sat up. Crawling your way to him, you sat on your knees as he caressed your head, encouraging you to do whatever you wanted with his dick.

Your hands cupped his bulge and he instantly inhaled sharply. He shuddered at your touch and so you slowly pulled the waistband of his underwear down, watching in awe as his cock sprung free.

The pink tip leaking ore-cum as aforementioned was a sight to behold. Your hand wrapped around his base as you brought your lips over to the head. Kissing it softly as your hand stroked up and down his shaft. He closed his eyes and gripped on your hair, strands meddling in between his fingers.

Your tongue dragged all the down to the bottom, to his ballsack. He shuddered and bucked his hips against your face, smearing pre-cum along your cheek. You parted your lips and slowly took him inside your mouth.

Your hands found his balls and you slowly massaged them, causing him to groan and moan loudly as his grip tightened.

As his dick was inside your mouth, your tongue flicked down the frenulum- just the underside of the tip where the head and the base join. He gasped softly and moaned as he felt you flick your tongue on his sweet spot.

Your tongue slowly moved down from his frenulum to his base, tongue slurping and swirling around as you took him deeper and deeper into your throat. Not deep enough that you’d start gagging because that would probably not feel good.

Instead, you took one of your hands and resumed stroking the remaining parts of his base as you sucked on on the part that fit in your mouth.

Leon was a complete mess; moaning and whimpering as you took him in your mouth. His feet flat on the floor as he looked down at you with pure list and desire. Your eyes met his and he only felt even more turned on.

His cock started to twitch in your mouth and you knew he was about to cum. You continued to stroke his balls and base as your tongue worked its magic on his head and frenulum.

With a loud groan, he gripped your head and forced his entire cock inside your mouth and shot his cum down your throat. Tears pricked at your eyes as you moaned softly as the sensation of his juices spilling down your esophagus. It was warm, you thought.

He pulled back breathlessly and watched as you swallowed his cum. Once he pulled back, some of his cum smeared on your lips and he watched as you licked it back in your mouth. The sight turned him on again and his cock got hard.

Leon got on the bed and slowly pushed you down again. He took hold of your thighs and brought them up to your chest, “Hold,” he demanded in a sultry and low voice.

Your hands wrapped around the back of your thighs as you held them pressed up against your breasts. He aligned his cock to your entrance and slowly pushed in.

“Fuck- so tight,” he muttered as he gasped for air. You rolled your head back and whimpered as he pushed himself all the way through. His pelvic bone making contact with your bone as he slowly began to thrust- not fully out though.

He rolled his hips in a way that wouldn’t allow his cock to leave you completely just yet. He was going slow and gentle, making sure you’ve adjusted first before he picked up the pace.

Once he saw your reaction- face scrunched up in delight as you moaned quietly and breathlessly. He pulled out and then pushed back in with force.

Leon couldn’t control himself anymore. His hands pushed your knees even more down against the mattress, your hamstrings flexing as he pushed this position even more further.

Your breathing increased- chest heaving up and down. His ballsack slapping against your asshole, causing your wetness to spread throughout your both bodies. His tip gently brushed up against your cervix as he plunged in. One of his hands went down to your clit and began to circle it.

You writhed and moaned even more as he simultaneously triggered your two sweet spots. It was all so overwhelming and your mind went blank.

He was fucking you dumb and you loved it. Your jaw went slack, drool coming out from the ends of your lips. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you still held on to your thighs.

He left go of your knees and gripped your hips, the sound of wet skin smacking echoing through the room.

“Gonna cum,” he muttered. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “I’m gonna breed you…fuck- gonna be a good girl f’me right?” He grunted as he kept pounding into you.

His knuckles were turning white from how hard he gripped the fat skin of your hips, as if he was holding on for dear life. You nodded, “Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly.

He grunted some more against your ear and that only caused you to grow closer to your second orgasm. This man was so vocal but it was hot.

“Ngh- fuck,” he moaned as he shot his cum deep into your cunt. Cum spirting into your womb, making sure you took everything without spilling it.

He pulled put and motioned for you to roll over. You obliged and rolled over until you laid down on your stomach. He took hold of your hips once again, raising your ass to his level as he thrusted his cock inside you from behind.

Your face planted against one of the pillow and your hands gripped the bedsheets as your moans came out muffled. Somehow, he hit deeper in this position. His hands went from your hips to your waist and he squeezed it gently.

As he continued to pound into you, your ass cheeks juggling from the force of motion, he took your hair in one hand and pulled your head up. Your eyes were closed as you moaned. This was all so much but you needed more. Completely drunk on his cock is what you were.

He leaned down as he pulled on your hair, “Like it when I fuck you like this, huh?” He taunted. His words were sent straight to your pussy as it caused you to clench around him. You nodded and blabbered stupid yes’s.

“Gonna show me how much you like it?” He whispered as he pulled one and forcefully thrusted in you. You whimpered and moaned as you replied a breathy yes. He chuckled and continued fucking you like a mad dog.

He let go of your hair and wrapped his hand on the back of your neck, his fingers gently pressing on the sides of your throat. You felt lightheaded as he did so but it also added to how hot and turned on you were.

You felt your orgasm near as he continued. Your cunt clenched and pulsated around his cock and it only caused his moans to get short and breathy.

“Feel’s good,” he grunted in your ear. You could only mewl, moan, whimper- all of those sounds were the only things escaping your lips.

His other hand went down to your clit and he pinched it gently, causing a big moan to erupt from your mouth as you came on his cock. Essence spilling down from his shaft and onto the bed but neither of you cared. He groaned and his thrusts faltered slightly as you came on his cock, it felt even more tight and he closed his eyes for a moment as he continued.

But not long after you did he also cum inside you. For the second time. And it felt better than the first. You whimpered from the overstimulation as he shot his cum even deeper, the tip of his head brushing your cervix as his cum (and you were convinced) entered your womb with certainty.

He let go of the back of your throat and slowly pulled out of you. His cock softening as cum oozed out of your cunt and down on the bed. Both of you were left panting and you starting to feel sore and tired already. He looked around to try and find something to clean you with but couldn’t find anything.

So, he resorted to using his shirt to clean you off, “This might hurt,” he spoke softly as he gently pressed the fabric on your cunt and wiped the cum off. He tried to be as gentle as possible as he heard you take in sharp breaths. You were overstimulated and he started to feel bad for how hard he went.

He helped you lay down on your side and dressed you up. He put on your panties but then realized he had torn your nightgown.

“Sorry,” he mumbled shamefully. You shook your shoulders and looked at him with tired eyes, “It’s fine. They weren’t mine anyway.”

You both chuckled at that. You two had almost forgotten the situation you were both in, and maybe that was a good thing.

He pulled on his underwear and pants- since his shirt was used as a towel- and pulled the blanket over your body to give you some privacy. Even though he just fucked you.

He laid down behind you and wrapped his around your waist as he pulled you to him. Both of you closed your eyes and slept for a while, him nuzzling into your hair as your hands rested on top of his arms around your waist.

It was comforting. You felt cared for and that was all that mattered.

The two of you woke up to the sound of a door opening. Your eyes fluttered open almost immediately and you covered yourself with the blanket as Leon watched the scientists come in with a suspicious look. He narrowed his eyes as he saw them approach you.

“We’re going to take both of you to the examination room for testing,” one of them said. The other scientists gave you some new clothes before speaking, “We will wait outside.”

After they left, you exhaled loudly. You had forgotten you and the rest of the people were taken for insemination.

You slowly began to pull your new clothes on and walked out of the room with Leon next to you. The scientists saw you both and began to guide to a room down the hall, with two guards following behind you.

They had told Leon to wait in the lobby as they took you to a more private room. A female scientist came up to you and out on some elastic gloves, “I’ll be the one performing your pregnancy test. I’ll be taking your blood so please relax and take deep breaths for me.”

You sat down on the bed and followed her advice. There was no point in fighting or arguing since she clearly looked exhausted, probably overworked. But you couldn’t feel bad. You felt bitter at the fact that you now had turned into a baby machine- along with the rest of population.

With a sigh, you relax your tensed muscles as she took your arm gently and injected the needle on your vein. Blood began to draw from your arm and into a tube. Suddenly, you felt a wave of washiness. Fatigue overtook your body.

The test was over after a few minutes. The doctor withdrew the needle and put on a bandaid, “Okay. Off you go. Test results should be back in a couple of days. For now… I don’t know,” she shrugged tiredly as she moved over to the side of the room where she stored your blood sample with the rest.

There were at least 100 other blood samples. The mere sight disturbed you and you found yourself leaving the room hastily. Walking back to Leon, he looked at you concerned and gave you a once over to make sure you’re okay. Once he silently approved that you were okay, he spoke with a soft tone, “How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” you muttered. “Did you know that there’s a bunch of us here?” You whispered as your eyes searched around, “I don’t think we can leave.”

He furrowed his brows and looked at you, “Why not? We’ve done the deed, shouldn’t we be free to go home?”

You shook your head, “No. I don’t think so. I have a feeling we’ll be stuck here if the results come back positive.”

He sighed and looked away as the information set in. Freedom was so close, yet so far.

“So now we just wait?” He asked quietly to which you nodded.

“And now we wait.”

Days have passed and you two were called to a room. A scientist sat in the middle of the room, on his chair where he had stacks upon stacks of papers. Both of you sat down in front of the desk and waited for the scientist to notice you two.

“Ah- you’re here,” he muttered as he swiftly began to look for some papers.

“Alright… just to confirm the information is correct. You’re both Leon Kennedy and Y/n L/n?” The scientist asked.

The two of you nodded silently and the scientist continued, “Okay so, we have the results. You are pregnant. Which means we’ll have to keep you both under surveillance. You are to stay in this facility until the birth of your child. You will be assisted with the birth as well as the raising. We will provide all the essential services required for this procedure, all you two have to do is remain healthy. And please, for the love of God, be kind to the child. The couple before me kept on arguing so the least you two could do is pretend you love each other in front of the kid.”

You and Leon exchanged a glance and then looked back at the scientist. You knew this would happen, it was inevitable.

“Before I forget, you two got assigned a new room. On the second floor. Good luck and congratulations,” he said as he dismissed you both.

The two of you stood up and left the room, only to be met with two guards to escort you both to your new room.

You were to share a room but at this point, you didn’t care. You were too focused on thinking about the pregnancy that you had forgotten about Leon.

The more you hung out with Leon, you didn’t know if it was by force or nature, the more you realized how kind he truly is. He looked cold and mean on the exterior but inside he was just a man looking for love. Just like everyone else.

The pregnancy went just fine. Leon was there to support you 24/7 and so were the scientists.

When you had to give labor, Leon stood next to you and held your hand.

You gave birth to a beautiful boy. He had your hair while he had Leon’s eyes. You held your son in your arms and watched as Leon looked at you with awe.

What you weren’t expecting at all was that you fell for Leon. Even before the birth of your son, you and Leon actually began dating. The two of you shared some interests and actually liked to be around each other’s presence.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Maybe this was a new type of freedom for you.

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