#man machine interface 2

[a-droidboy]

Ghost in the shell 2 Man Machine Interface (2001).

Scans from personal collection.

[morganhopesmith1996]

Motoko Aramaki by Shirow Masamune

[saintobio]

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. 

[sixeyesonathiel]

PANOPTICON — tenant!satoru x cctv operator!reader

cw/cn : voyeurism, masturbation, psychological tension and obsession, degradation kink, 2.2k wc. 18+ only, MDNI.

a/ n : wrote this with this fic in mind, premise was just so good i had to do my own take with it, yummerz <3 part two someday!

tokyo’s crown jewel, they call it. the obsidian spire.

a high-rise so exclusive it’s practically a myth, its black glass facade slicing the tokyo skyline. ninety floors of wealth and secrets, where the air smells of money and the shadows hide sins. the lobby alone could swallow your old apartment whole—marble floors veined with gold, chandeliers dripping crystal, air so crisp it stings your lungs. the tenants? ceos, diplomats, faces you’ve seen on headlines but never in person. they glide through, untouchable, their lives a mystery behind keycard-locked doors.

you’re just the night watch. the graveyard shift concierge-slash-cctv operator, tucked in a surveillance room that hums like a living thing. thirty-two screens, a glowing wall of eyes, each one a window into their world. your world is smaller—coffee gone cold, a chair that creaks, a badge that says you belong but doesn’t mean it. on paper, it’s simple. monitor. log. report. keep the machine running.

nobody told you the screens would pull you in.

nobody warned you about floor seventy.

nobody warned you about him.

satoru gojo. penthouse 70-B.

a name you didn’t know until that first night, but now it’s carved into your pulse, a rhythm you can’t shake. he’s a creature of habit—gym at 10:00 p.m., pool at midnight, smoking shirtless on his balcony by 2:00, always lit like a stage, always alone. always just close enough to the camera to make your skin burn.

you tell yourself it’s protocol. safety. your job.

but you don’t track the others like this. don’t grind into your chair when they stretch, don’t replay their footage, don’t whisper their names through trembling fingers as they move, unaware, under your gaze. only him. only satoru. his body in the jacuzzi, head tipped back, hands sliding over his chest like a lover’s—your hands, in your dreams.

he doesn’t smile at the cameras. doesn’t wink.

but god, he knows. he lingers too long in the lobby mirror, adjusting his tie with fingers that drag slow, deliberate, down his throat. lets his robe slip open in the sauna, just enough to tease. pauses in the elevator, fixing his hair, his reflection a taunt you can’t look away from.

you consume it. devour it. a starving thing, clawing at scraps of him through glass and wire.

it started three weeks ago. your first shift.

your workplace was new to you then, its weight still sinking into your bones. the surveillance room felt like a cockpit, all blinking lights and quiet menace, the screens alive with the building’s pulse. you were still learning the system—camera toggles, tenant logs, the web interface that mapped every floor, every door. your hands shook, fumbling with the controls, nerves raw from the pressure of not screwing up.

then he walked in.

lobby camera, center frame. 1:47 a.m.

a man—tall, lean, platinum hair catching the chandelier glow like a halo. black coat unbuttoned, shirt half-untucked, tie loose like he’d tugged it free mid-conversation. he moved like water, smooth and unhurried, every step a claim on the space around him.

your breath hitched.

he stopped at the lobby desk, empty at this hour, and leaned against it, one elbow propped, head tilted back. his throat—long, pale, exposed—gleamed under the light, and you stared, frozen, as his fingers brushed his jaw, slow, almost lazy, like he was touching himself for you.

you didn’t mean to zoom in.

your finger slipped, nudged the control, and the camera tightened on him—his jawline, sharp enough to cut, the faint curve of his lips, the way his lashes framed eyes you couldn’t see but felt, even through the screen. your mouth went dry. your pulse throbbed, low and heavy, between your thighs.

he didn’t look at the camera. didn’t need to.

he just stood there, a god in tailored black, and you were already falling. already his.

“who…” you whispered, voice cracking, barely audible over the hum of the room.

your hands moved before you could stop them. the web interface—tenant directory, access logs. you pulled it up, fingers trembling as you typed, cross-referencing the timestamp, the lobby feed, the elevator he’d step into.

floor seventy. penthouse 70-B.

satoru gojo.

the name burned itself into you, a brand you’d carry. you stared at it, at the screen, at him, still lingering in the lobby, now turning toward the elevator. he paused, just for a moment, and ran a hand through his hair, slow, deliberate, fingers dragging through platinum strands like he knew you were watching. like he wanted you to.

your thighs pressed together.

you felt it—the heat, the ache, the pull of him through the screen. you sat there, shaking, staring as he stepped into the elevator, as the doors closed, as the number ticked up to seventy.

you didn’t sleep when you got home. couldn’t.

you saw his throat, his fingers, the way he moved, every time you closed your eyes.

now, weeks later, it’s worse.

he’s a habit you can’t break. a drug you don’t want to.

tonight, he’s on the balcony, not the gym. 2:13 a.m. cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling around his lips like a lover’s caress. shirtless, of course, because he knows—god, he has to know—how it wrecks you. his chest gleams under the city lights, lean muscle shifting as he leans against the railing, head tipped back, throat bared like an offering.

your finger hovers over the balcony feed. trembles. taps.

the screen zooms in, and you’re gone.

“satoru…” you whisper, voice raw, breaking on his name.

the surveillance room is a tomb, dim and buzzing, your only company the cold coffee at your elbow and the chair that groans under your weight. your shoe taps the desk’s base, a nervous rhythm, but it’s not enough to ground you. nothing is.

you shouldn’t.

you really, really shouldn’t.

but you lean in, elbows braced, forehead dropping into one hand as the other slips between your thighs. just over your pants, at first, palm pressing against the damp heat already soaking through. you’re shaking, breath caught in your throat, the pressure hitting too sharp, too fast.

he exhales, smoke spilling from his lips, and you whimper, a tiny, choked sound, as your fingers press harder, grinding slow circles that make your hips twitch. shame burns your cheeks, but it’s not enough to stop. it’s never enough.

he shifts, one hand sliding down his chest, fingers brushing the edge of his waistband—low, too low, always too low—and you’re panting now, thighs squeezing tight, the chair creaking as you rock against your hand.

“fuck…” you hiss, barely audible, but it feels like a scream.

you imagine him knowing. imagine him turning, ocean eyes piercing the lens, that cruel, lazy smirk curling his lips as he sees you—sees you falling apart, sees you desperate, sees you his. you imagine his voice, low and smooth, calling you filthy, calling you his little voyeur, telling you to beg for him.

your other hand tangles in your hair, pulling, muffling the sounds you can’t keep in. you’re pathetic. you know it. every night, the same surrender, the same ruin. and still, your stomach twists, your pulse hammers, like it’s the first time he’s stripped you bare with a glance.

he flicks the cigarette away. leans further back, arms spread along the railing, chest flexing, abs tightening. a performance. a fucking taunt.

your fingers slip under your waistband, find slick, find heat, and you moan, soft, broken, as you curl them inside, chasing the ache he’s carved into you. you’re trembling, hips jerking, the pressure building too fast, too sharp.

“please… satoru…” you’re begging now, nonsense spilling from your lips, tears pricking your eyes as you grind against your hand. you want his fingers, his mouth, his cock—want him to pin you down, to fuck you until you’re sobbing, until you’re nothing but his.

the screen blurs. your vision blurs.

he turns, just slightly, and for a moment—god, fuck—you think he looks. not at the camera, not quite, but close enough, his lips twitching, almost a smirk, like he feels you, knows you’re there, knows you’re coming undone for him.

the orgasm cuts through you like glass—swift, brutal, unrelenting. your body jerks, folds in on itself, thighs squeezing tight around your trembling hand as your hips lurch forward. your other palm flies to your mouth, barely stifling the broken sob that claws its way out. you come fast, filthy, slick flooding your fingers as your eyes stay locked on him—on the way he just stands there, untouched, untouchable, claiming you without ever lifting a finger.

you slump back, shaking, panting, the screen still burning with his image.

he doesn’t move. doesn’t glance up. but that almost-smirk lingers, like he knows.

your fingers fumble, minimizing the feed. you close your eyes, bite your cheek until you taste copper, but it’s no use.

it’s just the same old regret with no attempt to change.

the morning after, you’re late.

first mistake.

the service elevator’s down, stairwell’s sealed, and your badge won’t open the freight. no choice but to take the main lift, even with the day staff still lingering, even with the high-rise’s elite drifting in for their shadowed deals. you tap the button, fix your collar in the glass pane, tell yourself it’s fine.

it’s not.

the doors slide open, and he’s there.

satoru gojo. seventy-B.

leaning against the panel, one hand in his pocket, black coat draped over his frame like it was tailored for sin. tie loose, platinum hair mussed, like someone’s fingers—or the wind—already claimed it. his presence fills the space, heavy, suffocating, and your mouth goes dry, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your throat.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t blink. just tilts his head, gaze sliding from your shoes to your throat, lingering there—too long, always too long—until you forget how to breathe.

you step in. no choice. the doors are closing.

you take the opposite side, careful, too careful, not to stand too close. but it’s useless. his scent—clean, sharp, something faintly sweet—curls around you, and your heart’s pounding so loud you’re sure he hears it. sure he feels it, like a predator sensing prey.

floor 1 to 70.

an eternity of silence, broken only by the elevator’s hum and the soft tap of his fingers—once, twice—against his thigh. you steal a glance, catch his reflection in the mirrored walls. his jawline, sharp as a blade. his shoulders, rolling under the coat. the veins on his hand, the glint of his watch.

you’re trembling. thighs pressed tight, hands curled into fists to keep from reaching out. you’ve seen him bare, seen him slick with sweat, seen him stretch for your cameras like he’s offering himself. you’ve touched yourself to the shape of his hips, cried his name into your palm, and now he’s here, real, close enough to touch, close enough to ruin you.

your lips part. you almost speak.

he turns.

slow. deliberate. like he planned it.

his eyes—ocean-blue, half-lidded, unreadable—pin you in place. they flick to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and you flinch, a tiny shudder you can’t hide.

“hi,” you whisper, voice cracking, too small, too desperate.

he doesn’t answer. not at first. just watches, lets the silence stretch until it’s a noose around your neck. then, low and smooth, like ice sliding down your spine:

“we really don’t have to do this, do we?”

his voice slices through you—sleek and precise, like a scalpel. it doesn’t raise, doesn’t crack. it lands. right in your stomach, clean as a knife to soft flesh. shame floods in fast. need follows close behind. the ache of being seen carves itself into your ribs. you flinch—sharper this time—fingers spasming at your sides, nails biting into your skin like you're trying to hold yourself in.

“r-right,” you stammer, too fast, too weak, and your eyes dart to the floor, to the numbers ticking up. floor 33. floor 52. you bite your cheek, taste blood, try to hold yourself together, but you’re unraveling, and he knows it. he sees it.

his gaze doesn’t leave you. not for a second. it’s heavy, burning, stripping you bare, and you’re shaking now, thighs squeezing tighter, heat pooling where you don’t want it. you’re desperate—god, you’re so desperate—for him to say something else, to step closer, to pin you against the wall and make you beg.

you imagine it. his hands on your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make you gasp. his mouth, hot and cruel, whispering how pathetic you are, how you’re his little whore, watching him night after night. you imagine him pulling your hair, bending you over, fucking you until you can’t think, until you’re nothing but his.

floor 61.

floor 70.

the bell dings.

he steps out, unhurried, like the world waits for him. like you wait for him. and before the doors close, he pauses by the mirrored panel, adjusts his tie. his hand slides down his chest, slow, deliberate, fingers grazing the waistband of his pants.

he smiles.

not at you. at his reflection. but it’s enough. it’s too much.

the doors seal shut, and you’re alone, trembling, thighs slick, hands clawing at your own arms to keep from falling apart.

you’re not even at the security room yet, but you already know that tonight, you’ll come harder than ever. to his voice. to that smile. to the way he looked at you like he already owns you.

because he does.

he fucking does.

[theres-a-body-here]

Darling~

Miguel O'Hara x Male!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 |

It was utter mayhem inside the Spider-HQ.

One of the criminals being held in the lower prison block had escaped and gained access to the central interface and modified it.

Portals from across countless dimensions opened, allowing villains to enter into the headquarters.

Some Spiders fought single opponents while others faced multiple versions of the same villain. The air was thick with tension as each hero tried desperately to save themselves and their comrades from the assault.

————

Miguel O'Hara stood tall like a lone wolf amidst a pack of ravenous predators. All communications within the building were being scrambled. He couldn't reach the others or Lyla.

With a defiant cry echoing through the corridors, he launched himself forward, using his enhanced agility to evade the clutches of several Scorpion variants.

Miguel was pissed to say the least, but he focuses that rage into determination as he traded blows with the criminals.

Once the last of them were knocked out cold, Miguel began to web sling towards the Go Home Machine to try and fix this mess.

However, as his adrenaline began to subside, Miguel felt a sharp pain in his right calf. He glanced down to see a large cut which was pulsating green.

One of the Scorpions must have got him during the fight, unnoticed by him. He cursed under his breath as he began to feel a burning throughout his body.

Miguel felt his grip on his web falter as he stopped swinging to plant his feet on solid ground. But the effects seemed to worsen as he fell into his knees, vision blurring.

Before Miguel could think of what to do next, he felt a brutal blow to his head as he was kicked a few feet away.

He let out a cry of pain as he cocked his head to see Tombstone, or at least a tombstone. Miguel tried to stand up, only to fall back down.

"Looky here," Alonzo sneered sarcastically. "Shit, I'm sure my alternate wouldn't mind if I squashed his problem for him. I know I sure as hell wouldn't."

Tombstone delivered another kick onto Miguel, this time aiming at his ribs. Miguel heard a crack as his world began to spin.

Once he refocused his sight, Miguel was on his back as Alonzo straddled him, wrapping his cold hands around his neck. Miguel tried his best to free himself, but the poison and Tombstone's vice-like strength was making it hard for him to even think.

As Miguel's vision began to blacken, he heard Tombstone laugh at him. "if you're anything like my Spider-Man, this is gonna be so very satisf-,"

Tombstone's words were cut shot as a black spike pierced through his chest. Miguel winced as Alonzo coughed out blood onto his mask.

The black spike seemingly liquified to wrap around Tombstone's chest like a tendril. And before he could react, it swung him into the ceiling with a sickening crack.

Miguel felt the cold air rush into his lungs as he began to cough and breathe heavily. He rubbed his throat as he watched Tombstone's body being slammed into the ground with such force that his head popped like a watermelon.

The black tendril retreated back to its user, slinking away under their clothes like a hidden blade.

Miguel felt his blood run cold at the sight of you. He weakly attempted to crawl away but his legs and arms wouldn't listen to his brain.

You watched Miguel writhe around in an attempt to escape with a faint frown. You were so certain he'd be grateful. You let out a sigh. Beggars can't be choosers. This sentimental moment was too golden for you to ruin it over something so small.

Your soft voice broke the silence. "Spider...," you seemed to rethink your words as you glance down at the lower levels, witnessing the other Spider-Men fighting villains.

"Our Spider-Man," you spoke in a whisper as your lips curled into a smile.

"Venom," Miguel snarled back.

[rina-greyart]

Gaara in the Detroit: becoming human universe.

1- He would be designed as an ultimate weapon, to protect someone or something.

2. would have a built in ability to analyze emotions. He would be able to easily pick up on the feelings of those around him, but some of them, like love and empathy, would remain a mystery to him.

3. In time, he would have had an internal conflict between his original program and freedom that would have led him to seek his individuality.

4. Instead of sand, he would own a multitude of interfaces that would allow him to interact with other androids and networks.

This would breed a unique bond between man and machine.

[onrtrp]

i imagine the vast majority of the userbase of the chat-interface llms are using them as google/stackexchange/chegg/whatever replacements, yknow impersonal tools, not things you really form an attachment to. and probably this is an intentional decision on the ai labs' part, the stupid customer service voice, these are things marketed as "replacement for economically useful labor," less so "friend person u can talk to". but bc i'm profoundly stupid sometimes i look at the front page of the new york times and over there there's this incipient moral panic about oh man, ppl are replacing all their human relationships with the machine, the kids are falling in love with the chatbots, apparently some teenager killed himself bc the ai told him to? i kinda doubt the causation there, next ur gonna tell me videogames are turning the kids into school shooters. but whatever. idk where i was going with this. me personally i dont talk to the llms not bc theyre terrible conversationalists (which they are) but bc i dont rly like talking. i mean often i have to for work but outside of that i can't be bothered, 1-2 plies of the ol' conversation tree and i'm already exhausted. like with chess. strategizing around the presence of the Other fatigues me immensely. i feel like if the scaling labs RLHF hard on having a personality and being a good friend and such then this is an area that they could plausibly get superhuman performance in soonish, it doesn't seem like a hard problem, you dont need 100% on AIME2025 to be interesting to talk to yknow. in the same way that it's remarkably easy to obtain superhuman performance on visual appeal, that problem was solved a while ago with the invention of anime girls. so here i am trying to imagine what a thing would have to be like for me to want to talk to it at length and but i can't. when my superintelligent agi neogirlfriend arrives from the future what will i tell her

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Shades of Pink

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 2

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, jealous/possessive Matt, underage drinking, Matt being a fool

a/n: Thank you all for being patient with me! My brain has not been feeling up to writing lately but I managed to get the next few chapters of this fic planned out! I have a couple more written so the plan is to post an update for this fic every 3 weeks. I hope that's frequent enough for y'all :)

w/c: 5.8k

Matt’s skull rattled as the machine in front of him gave a shriek, metal grinding on metal. Gritting his teeth, he ran a hand over the machine’s interface, growing more frustrated when the start button was rendered functionless. 

The telling chime of an error message echoed in the damp basement and taunted him. “Fuck!” He cursed, kicking the reinforced frame in anger. Great, now he had no clean clothes AND his foot hurt. 

Growling in irritation, he yanked open the door and began grasping handfuls of soaking wet clothes and dropping them into his hamper with nauseating splats. 

The suds from his detergent quickly settled into a film over his skin, actively worsening his mood. Setting his jaw, he hefted the rapidly dampening laundry bag over his shoulder to trudge back to his room. 

Each step sent shockwaves of tension through his frame, he was freefalling into overstimulation at this point. By the time he reached his floor, every cell in his body was rigid, trying desperately to hold back the rage-induced sobs building in his chest. Fumbling with his key, he managed to push the door open with a slam—startling Foggy and, unexpectedly, you. 

“Hey man, we were about to come find you so we could grab lunch. You, uh, you ok?” Foggy asked skeptically, but Matt ignored him. Instead, focused on your soft footsteps from the edge of his bed to his stiff form in the doorway. 

“What happened, trouble?” The name suggested you were hoping to lighten his mood, but he could practically taste the concern rolling off your skin. 

“Washing machine broke. Didn’t feel like dealing with it, so…” Matt shrugged, biting his cheek fiercely to avoid becoming emotional in your presence. 

You tutted in sympathy, reaching to his shoulder to slip the bag of laundry from his clenched fist. “Well, after lunch I can drive you to my place and we can do laundry there, if you want?” The warmth of your fingertips over his torso sent a shudder down his spine. “Matt..?” 

“Yah, that…that sounds good. Let’s, uh, let’s do that.” Matt responded lamely, shuffling from foot to foot as he willed his tense body to slacken. 

“I’m sorry your day started so poorly. Do you want a hug?” Your voice was soft, your posture hesitant as you asked Matt a question he didn’t know he needed to hear. Nodding miserably, he collapsed against you. 

Your soft hands wrapped around his chest, pressing upwards between his shoulder blades with delightful pressure. Matt melted into the embrace, feeling the frustration flood out of his body with each of your inhales. Threading one hand into his hair, you scratched lightly, eliciting a dreamy sigh from him. Giggling in response, you squeezed him tightly before drawing away, much to his chagrin. 

You chuckled, tracing a thumb over the deep furrow between his brows. “Wow, that bad?” 

Face falling, Matt’s mouth fell open in a mixture of embarrassment and horror. Shaking his head profusely, he stammered. “N-no, not at all, I just—“ 

Lightly shoving his shoulder, you laughed brightly. “I’m kidding, trouble. It seems like you needed that. So…” Turning back to face Foggy (who Matt had forgotten was there) you smiled. “Lunch?” 

“Foggy if you spill that in my car, you’re banned. You hear me? Excommunicated from my vehicular sanctuary.” You groused, glaring at the blond who was precariously balancing a large milkshake on his knees in your rear view mirror. 

Blushing, Foggy quickly moved the cup to a more sturdy location as he finished his burger. “Yes ma’am.” He gave a mock salute, making you abandon your scowl for a satisfied smirk. Matt was smiling beside you, sipping his coffee carefully to avoid the same threats as his roommate.  

The three of you were seated comfortably in your car, bags of both Matt’s and Foggy’s laundry stashed in the trunk as you inched closer to the building you lived in. 

Your loft was hidden away in the back corner of a bland building about 8 blocks from Campus. The worn red brick stood about 15 stories tall, complete with the paint-dripped doors and crooked windows that one comes to expect when seeing cheap student housing. 

The inside was drafty and humid, the insulation having rotted away through decades of storms and frat-style ragers. The walls were far from soundproof, given they were about 90% white paint, which had encouraged you to begin seeking refuge in Matt and Foggy’s room whenever you needed to study or, honestly, a moment of peace on a weekend. 

Which is how you found yourself toting the two boys back to your spacious yet slightly dingy loft which, amazingly, had its own functional washer and dryer. And, thankfully, a really comfy couch given that Foggy hadn’t done laundry once since move in. 

“How on earth have you made it this far in life without doing a single load of laundry?” Matt panted between giggles as Foggy’s face scrunched with a pout as he shuffled over to the washer. 

“I don’t know! My mom always did it.” Matt failed to hold back a snort and Foggy crossed his arms. “It’s not that funny, Murdock!” 

“Do your siblings know how to do laundry?” You raised an eyebrow at him, not even trying to keep your smile contained. Matt was in stitches beside you and his laughter was contagious. 

“I mean yah, but—“ Matt guffawed and Foggy sank into his seat, sullenly glaring at the pair of you. “I hate you guys. So much for friendship.” 

A bout of giggles burst out of you. “Don’t worry, Fog. We’ll show you how. It’s really not that hard, just need to know a few things.” 

You opened the top of the washer. “I’m assuming you don’t have detergent then?” Taking Foggy’s indiscernible mutter as an affirmative, you pulled out your own. 

“That’s fine, I’ll loan you some, but I expect you to buy your own next time, Nelson. This shit ain’t cheap.” You pointed a finger at him and he put his hand up in promise. 

“Scout’s honor.” 

Matt turned to you with a grimace. “Shit, I didn’t bring any either. It didn’t cross my mind.” 

With a humorous twinkle in your eye, you pinched his waist. “That’s ok, Matt. You can use some of mine whenever you want. Not a problem.” 

Foggy’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious!?” 

Ignoring him, Matt gave you an overly gracious smile, clearly picking up on your mirthful spirit. “That is so kind of you, sweetheart. You have such a giving personality.”

Foggy spluttered in irritation, head whipping between the two of you incredulously. 

“Anything for my favorite guy.” You purred, sidling up to him as Foggy choked. Matt couldn’t help the flutter of his heart at the implication of you preferring him over anyone else. 

“Guys, c'mon. You’re being mean.” Foggy pouted. You chuckled but pulled away from Matt to wrap the other boy in a hug. 

“I’m sorry, Fog. I love you too, scout’s honor.” 

Foggy grumbled at your promise, but returned the hug. “Yah, yah. Sure ya do. Anyway, are you gonna teach me something or will I continue to wander through this world clueless about the wonders of clean clothes?” 

Giggling, you pulled him over to the machine and launched into a thorough explanation of the process. While he was sure you were sharing good tips, Matt’s brain was not at all focused on your words. His mind was transfixed on the heat cradling his shoulder from your faded touch, and the steadiness of your heart when you’d called him your favorite guy. 

It was hard to not let his thoughts wander, when the smell of you coiled around him like a scarf on a bitter cold day. Your heartbeat danced along as you spoke animatedly with Foggy—teasing, confident personality slowly beginning to reveal itself as you grew more comfortable with the two roommates. Matt was no stranger to his tendency to fall head first for quick-witted women, but it was getting harder to obey his rational side when you opened yourself to him in ways like this. 

Trusting him, encouraging his teasing sarcasm with your own goofy humor, leaning into his touchy nature as if you wanted it too. The fact that he was about to be wearing your laundry detergent for weeks was not going to help quell his growing infatuation. 

Your voice broke through the growing pile of thoughts in his mind. “Right, Matt?” 

“Uh, what?” His face must have reflected his dreamy confusion because Foggy snorted. 

“Doing ok over there, Casanova? Did we lose you in the intricacies of a habit you already have?” Matt rolled his eyes as he heard two hands land on hips, knowing Foggy was giving him a shit-eating smirk. 

“Believe it or not, Nelson, I don’t have the most fun listening to you all day every day. Forgive me for letting my mind wander while you learned something simple.” His tone was meant to be light, but the nerve Foggy had unknowingly struck left his voice harsher than intended. 

Stepping in between him and his roommate, you placed a hand on his arm gently. “Hey, it’s ok that you tuned us out and it’s ok that Foggy needs help with this. I was just letting him know that we were always here if he had any questions.” 

Wincing as he realized you were mediating a conflict he’d accidentally created, he smiled sadly at the blond. “Sorry, Fog. Of course you can ask me. Always. I’m practically a laundry expert.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.  

His attempt worked immediately. “Aw, you sap. You’re forgiven.” Foggy smashed himself against his roommate, eliciting a grunt from the taller man. 

“Thanks, bud. I appreciate you both dealing with my bad mood today.” Matt spoke quietly, a flicker of fear sparking in his chest. 

“What bad mood?” You asked, joining the hug. The two of you squeezed Matt until he groaned at you to get off, setting off fits of giggles in you and Foggy both. 

“Ok, now that we’ve started the washer, I can give you the tour!” You exclaimed, stepping towards the doorway. “This way, gentlemen! Prepare to be amazed.”

The act of doing laundry at your place shouldn’t have been as life-changing as it was for Matt. Your soft floral scent clung to all of him—his clothes, his sheets, his skin. Each inhale brought him closer to you, and it was more indulgent than any sensation he’d ever experienced. Connecting with you at all was incredible, but to have your presence melding into his belongings as if you had chosen him, claimed him. It was divine. 

Unfortunately, as had been evident his entire life, all good things come at a price. The cost of feeling this close to you was the new pressure on his delicate senses. He adored the fact that he was able to carry a piece of you with him, it brought more emotional comfort than he could have imagined, but his nose and skin were less happy about the idea. 

“Matt, I’m begging you, rewash your clothes, man. You’re, like, allergic to that detergent, I think.” Foggy bit his lip, circling his roommate as he looked at the irritation crawling across Matt’s back. 

“‘M fine, Fog.” Matt tugged on a shirt, ignoring the worry emanating from his roommate. “My skin is just sensitive, is all. It just needs to adjust.” He left out the fact that this slight effect was nothing compared to the reaction his skin had every time his clothes were washed in coarse starch by the nuns. At least this was a symptom of your genuine care for him, rather than general disdain for his needs. 

“And this has nothing to do with that fact that you’re adorably into our mutual friend,” Matt winced as Foggy teasingly handed out your name. 

“I’m not ‘into’ her, Fog! What the hell?” 

“Sure, that’s why you’re walking around using more control than I’ve ever had in my life to not scratch your skin clean off your bones?” Foggy shook his head as Matt attempted to inconspicuously slide his hand back into his lap from where it was itching his side. 

“Like I said, sensitive skin—“

“Not to mention that you’ve had more headaches this week than in the nearly two months I’ve known you?” Matt remained silent at the allegation, hoping not to convey admission with his lack of words. 

The headaches had been more of a nuisance than the scratchy fabric rubbing at his angry skin. He wasn’t used to this much exposure to scented items in his personal space, let alone pressed against him. But it was all worth it to hear the sweet little sigh you gave when you were close to him, comforted by the familiarity. 

“Nothing to say for yourself? You realize the more you avoid this conversation, the more likely it seems that you like her, right?” 

Matt just sighed. “I can’t like her, Fog. We are in our first semester at one of the most prestigious law schools in the country and she’s one of two friends that I have. I can’t lose that, and I don’t have the time to start a real relationship. So we need to stay friends.” 

“I get it, Matt. You’re not really a long term kind of guy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn! She is so sweet I’m sure she’d be more than patient with you.” Damn Foggy’s intuition for constantly discovering the core of Matt’s insecurities. 

“She deserves better than me.” 

“Matt—“ 

“No, Foggy,” Clenching his fists, Matt let out a breath through flaring nostrils. “I’m not good enough.” 

Foggy sighed, but dropped the subject. 

Despite Matt being more than confident in his inability to treat you the way you deserved, he found himself growing incredibly envious of the attention you started receiving from other men. There was no doubt in his mind that you were attractive, he’d had more than a few conversations with Foggy (and enough time in class biting his cheek in anger as the men around you fixated) to know that you caught the attention of damn near everyone in the room. 

Maybe it was the fact that you weren’t afraid of standing up for your beliefs or confronting an ignorant point raised by a classmate. It also could’ve been the fact that you were one of the only students who knew what was going on. Your intelligence was captivating, and the way your voice carried defiantly across the room seemed to encourage the affections of both your peers and the Property Law TA. 

Explanation for their interest aside, Matt found himself practically swatting potential suitors away from you each day, irritation swelling in his chest as your heart fluttered at the attention. You’d shyly admitted to him that you’d never had a long term relationship before and that you weren’t used to being sought after. If he was an ounce more of a man, he would have confessed just how much you deserved the affection, even when it wasn’t from him. It wasn’t fair of him to keep you from happiness, he knew that, but every time your pulse skipped as another boy complimented you, it felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. 

So he’d taken to stewing in his own silent fury, currently pretending to read ahead while actually listening intently to your bubbling laughter as a boy a few rows behind you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with some generic pick up line. Shifting in his seat to disguise the rumbling growl in his throat, his heart sank as the bachelor invited you to a party that evening. Giggling, you giddily accepted, writing down the details before scurrying back to your seat. 

There was a noticeable warmth in the apples of your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Matt could practically feel the radiant smile you were wearing. As he was working up the dignity to break the silence, you turned to him gleefully. “Matty,” He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip at the new affectionate nickname. “What would you say to attending our first college party?” 

Trudging back to the corner across the horrifically sticky wood floor, Matt set his jaw and chugged the disgusting alcoholic sludge he’d been served. Waiting impatiently for the buzz to wash over him, he glowered in a stiff armchair as you flitted around with the overly flirtatious host. Foggy had disappeared ages ago with a peppy journalism student, telling him not to wait up. 

The party was off campus at the house of your fellow Torts student. He and his large handful of housemates lived in a shabby 3 bedroom that felt fragile in design, as if the strong bass blasting from the beer-soaked speakers would shatter the foundation at any moment. Sweaty bodies pressed together in a pulsating mass, dancing to the ear-piercing techno music and slurping down cheap booze. 

Matt was well aware that he was not explicitly invited to this soirée, but hearing you ramble excitedly at the idea of the three of you attending together had been too sweet to shut down. Your gracious host only seemed a bit miffed that two boys had shown up with you, taking no time to brush off Matt and Foggy’s polite greetings and whisk you away like the true gentleman he was shaping up to be. 

James or Josh or whatever his name was, Matt could honestly care less, clearly intended to get in your pants, and was taking no time to attempt that. After pumping you full of Jell-O shots, he engaged you in conversation about the volunteer work he loved so much during high school. Matt didn’t need to hear his heartbeat to know that was utter bullshit, but you responded with elation, ecstatic to find another law student with a similar moral compass to your own. The dark haired law student was more focused on the fact that he could smell his rival’s arousal brewing, a set of wandering hands becoming increasingly noticeable despite the quaking music and overwhelming atmosphere. Hearing a nervous giggle spill out of your mouth as you shrugged out of an inebriated touch, Matt stumbled off the cushions he sat on, ambling over to you to ensure you were safe. 

Before he’d even reached you, your attention landed on him and your pulse stilled. The relieved exhale that left your lips as your eyes found him in the crowd gave his ego a boost for the ages. Waltzing up to you with a smirk, he wrapped an arm protectively around your shoulders as you smiled up at him. “Hey, you! Long time, no see.” Your voice was cheerful despite the situation. 

“You doing ok?” Matt asked, ignoring the brooding man to his left who had backed off a bit since Matt had walked over. 

“Uh huh!” Your head bobbed with a nod, leaning into Matt, you waved towards your suitor. “Jake was just telling me about his work with the Red Cross after Hurricane Isabel.” 

The buff man gave a condescending chuckle, eyes darting over your form. “The Peace Corps, actually.” 

You gasped, “Oh, that’s right, I’m so sorry!” Jake simply smiled, his eyes darkening as Matt subconsciously clenched his hand around you. 

“Quite alright, sweetheart,” He drawled and Matt’s small grin vanished. How dare he call you that? Only Matt was allowed to call you that. “It’s easy to get confused about that stuff. But, yah, it was just so…rewarding, ya know? Helping all those poor people who lost their homes. Can’t wait to do it again after graduating.” 

“Oh, you’re going back to the Peace Corps? How noble of you,” Matt smiled, thinly covering his irritation at this jerk’s arrogance. 

“Well, either that or a similar organization. It’s just so important to give back, ya know?” The tone of the other man indicated that he, too, was holding back a stream of anger. 

As Matt was about to spit back a response, a drunk guy tripped into Jake, who promptly “spilled” (threw) his drink onto Matt’s pristine shirt. Jumping away from you, Matt stood up straight to let the excess liquid drip off his torso, trying not to scream as the damp fabric fused with his skin. 

Jake, ever the charmer, let out a barking laugh. “Shit, sorry man. Wasn’t thinking.”

“Course you weren’t,” Matt muttered, flicking excess moisture from his hands. 

“Oh gosh, you ok, Matty?” You hurried to grab paper towels from the counter behind you, pressing a wad into Matt’s hands while using another handful to dry his shirt yourself. Standing there frozen, Matt’s tipsy brain couldn’t fathom how amazing it felt to have your fingers pressed against his stomach as you tried to clean him up. 

Realizing with a jolt that he hadn’t responded to your worried question, he placed a hand over yours gently. “Uh, yah, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t worry about him, beautiful, he can clean up in the bathroom while we chat.” Heat pushed aggressively at his already sticky skin as Jake sidled up behind you, placing eager hands on your waist as the douchebag tried to pry you from Matt. 

Suddenly, something in him snapped. He wasn’t happy with the immense amount of sensation he’d had to endure nor the fact that he’d been listening to a complete asshole flirt with you all night. Not to mention, said asshole seemed to be moving faster than you wanted and was now physically removing you from Matt’s safeguarding after pouring foul-smelling punch all over his clean shirt? That was just unacceptable. The dark force within Matt that was constantly simmering below the surface was ready to erupt. 

Stepping forward with a snarl, Matt was ready for a fight, but he didn’t have to start one. 

Pulling out of the grasp of your aggressive suitor’s hands, you intertwined your fingers with Matt’s. “Sorry, Jake, but I should get going. I have to be up for a scholarship event tomorrow, and I’ll need a good amount of sleep if I want to act not-hungover.” You giggled, smiling at him. “I’ll see you around?” 

“Sure. Whatever,” Jake feigned a smile, stalking away but muttering loud enough for Matt to hear, “Stupid bitch.” 

Matt growled, taking a firm step towards him, but you tugged on his hand. “Hey,” You murmured, squeezing his hand, “Let’s get out of here.” 

Not wanting to upset you by giving away the other man’s shitty intentions, Matt trailed after you as you wove through the crowd and out the door. The grip of your fingers around his hand was grounding, allowing him to push away the less pleasant feelings from the party. Shoving past a group of people playing beer pong outside, you sighed as your lungs took in fresh air for the first time in a few hours. 

“Wow, that was…” you trailed off, steps faltering slightly. 

“Yah.” Matt agreed, trying not to blush as you linked your arms together on the path towards his dorm.  “I’m…sorry.” 

Turning to him, your footwork halted. “For what, Matty?” 

“I didn’t mean to stop you from enjoying yourself. You and…Jake,” Matt practically choked around the name. “Really seemed to hit it off.”

You were quiet for a moment, your steady heartbeat echoing in Matt’s ears, before you burst out laughing. Giggles became chuckles which transformed into uproarious laughter. You had to pull yourself out of Matt’s hold to cradle your stomach as you cracked yourself up. Matt just stared blankly at you, brain flooding with pure confusion. 

“Matt,” You wheezed. “He’s a total douchebag.” 

“But, but I thought—“ Matt shook his head, breaking into his own set of giggles listening to your bright, infectious ones. “Stop laughing! He was all over you!”

“Yah because he’s a douchebag!” You exclaimed, as if it was obvious. Falling back against Matt’s side, you tucked an arm around his waist and began marching forward again. “He told me that bullshit story about the Peace Corps, but they don’t accept minors. So he was either lying about that or his age.” 

“Why did you talk to him for so long? You had me fooled.” Matt ran a hand over your back, smiling with relief that you hadn’t been as smitten with Jake as he’d assumed. 

“I don’t know!” You shoved him lightly as he snorted at your behavior. “I’m awkward, Matty! I kept trying to end the conversation and he just. Kept. Talking. And then I felt bad because he seemed like an ok guy, but then he started getting handsy and I was soooo over it.” 

Growling deeply, Matt’s arm tightened around you. “I’m pretty sure everyone in the room was over it at that point.” 

You just hummed in thought. “Well it’s a good thing I have my Matt in Shining Armor. Now let’s get you home so you can change.”

“About that..” Matt slowed his pace, not wanting to let you go quite yet. He needed a plan, and fast. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m just…I can’t exactly tell, but I assume the shirt is going to stain?”

With a grimace, you traced a finger over the patch the drink had touched. Matt’s light blue shirt wouldn’t stand a chance after 24 hours. “Oof. It’s likely if it’s not treated tonight. That punch was eerily red. Like inedibly vibrant in color. But if you use a stain remover—“

“I don’t have that.” Matt blurted, “I, er, I just really like this shirt,” God, that was the worst excuse he had ever come up with. Nice going, Murdock. “and I don’t want it to stain. Would you, um, could you—“

“Is the great Matthew Murdock asking for my assistance with laundry?” He could hear the smirk you wore. “I thought you were an expert.” 

“That’s hearsay.” He objected, teasingly. 

You giggled once more. “Well, what kind of person would I be if I let my knight’s shining armor stay tarnished?” 

Matt feigned a groan at your cheesy comment. “You know what, on second thought—“ He started to pull away from you, but you held fast. 

“Nope! You want to hang out with me even though I say goofy shit. That’s your bad. No turning back now, you’re in too deep, Murdock.” 

“Lucky me.” Matt remarked, but there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his tone. 

“C’mon, slowpoke!! Time is of the essence!” You pulled Matt up the last flight of stairs to your loft, laughing as he pretended to go limp so you would drag him further. “Hey! Be careful, trouble, you weigh more than I can handle.” 

“Excuses, excuses.” Matt lurched forward, toppling against you as you opened the door. You squealed, but nestled into the contact anyway. The door creaked open and you both shuffled inside, there was no sign of anyone else in the apartment. 

“My roommate went out with her boyfriend.” You explained, as if reading his mind. “They usually hang out here but I think they were drinking for free somewhere.”

“Good for them.” Matt snorted, being tugged towards your laundry room. 

You instructed him to sit on top of the dryer while you opened the washer. “Your shirt, sir,” Holding out a hand to him, you messed with settings on the machine. 

Removing each plastic button from its corresponding fabric loop, Matt was suddenly painfully aware of how intimate the action was. Biting his lip to keep his growing…feelings…at bay, he tried not to dwindle on the fact that you had asked him to undress. In your apartment. Alone. 

You may have just realized the tension of the moment as well, heat flooding your body as your movement stilled. In one swift movement, Matt gracefully removed the dress shirt and placed it in your outstretched palm, imaginary sparks cascading up his arm as his fingertips brushed your bare skin. 

“Thank you,” You nearly whispered, gaze lingering on his parted lips for a moment too long before you busied yourself at the washer. “Um, Hydrogen peroxide should fix the discoloration. It might smell a little, though. We may need to wash it twice.”

“That’s, uh, that’s fine.” Matt murmured, arousal becoming difficult to ignore. 

“I can wash your undershirt too, if you want,” Matt’s skin jumped as your fingers danced over the fabric where the spilled drink had seeped through. 

“Yah. Yah, ok.” Your hand rose and fell with Matt’s chest as he breathed. Time had slowed to a crawl, nothing existing outside the little haven you had painstakingly created for him. Tugging the garment up and over his head, he gripped it tightly for a moment before passing it over. “Here.” 

You took the fabric gingerly, eyes not straying from his mouth. “Thanks.” Still clenching the shirt in one hand, you cupped his cheek and leaned in. Matt greedily followed your lead, nose bumping against yours for only a second before—

The sound of a door slamming made you both jump apart. Drunken laughter rang throughout the hallway but abruptly stopped as Oscar and Jen took in the scene before them. Eyes flitting between shirtless, panting Matt, and your embarrassed face, it painted quite the picture. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” Jen giggled, pulling Oscar towards her room. 

“Carry on, children!” Oscar guffawed, running after her. 

Grimacing, you turned back to Matt. “Shit, Matt, I—“

“You know what, I should really get going.” Matt snatched his undershirt from your open hand, sliding off the dryer and beelining for the door. 

“Matt, wait!” You called after him, but he was already gone. 

Exhaling nervously, you clenched your fingers around the item you held before knocking firmly on the door. 

Foggy’s equally anxious face appeared as the door opened. Tension ebbed from his brow slightly as he met your wide eyes. “Well, what do you know!” He greeted you in a loud voice laced with false surprise. “So lovely to see you, my dear. Please, come in.”

Stepping past Foggy with a grimace of a smile, your gaze quickly found Matt—tucked away against his thin headboard, looking like he wanted to vanish into the faux wood. 

“Wow, would you look at the time. I really should be going.” Seizing his coat from the bed, Foggy scurried to the door. 

“Where are you going?” Matt asked, frantically. 

“Out. With, er, my other friends. Bye!” The slam of a door concluded his swift exit. 

You avoided looking at Matt, shuffling from foot to foot for a moment before sitting at the edge of Foggy’s bed. The raven-haired boy had a skittish energy, like a feral cat, and you didn’t want to scare him off. 

Biting your lip, you desperately scrounged for any remaining courage within yourself, trying to muster up the nerve to break the silence, but Matt beat you to it. 

“I’m starting to think you two planned that.” He spoke quietly, toying with a stray thread on his comforter. 

You gave a humorless chuckle. “Guess we need to work on our acting skills, huh?” 

Matt just grunted. C’mon Murdock, work with me here. 

You took a deep breath, “Matt, about Thursday night—“ Your sweet friend interrupted you with a wince. 

“I’m sorry.” Matt’s face was practically mournful, but his apology left you confused. 

“Sorry for what?” You tilted your head, honed in on him as he curled further into the corner. 

“I…I made it weird. I didn’t mean to, it just happened! You were trying to do something nice and then I had to go and ruin it and then your roommates came home and—“ 

“Oh, Matty,” You launched yourself off of Foggy’s bed and flung your arms around Matt. Startled, he teetered for a moment before returning the hug. “You didn’t ruin anything. We were both…a little tipsy, and it was late. We weren’t acting like ourselves. We can just forget about it!” 

Pushing down the disappointment that surfaced at your desire to move past the near kiss, Matt was a bit relieved that you didn’t hate him. “Really?” He asked as you settled against his side, nestling into the arm he threw over you as if you belonged there. 

“Of course! If you’re willing, we can move past it.” Then, with a bit more vulnerability, you added, “I care about you a lot, trouble. I’m not going to let a little awkwardness keep us apart.” 

Matt smiled as you rested your head against his shoulder, taking a moment to weave your fingers together. He basked in your warmth for a bit before curiosity outweighed his desire to hold you. 

“What did you bring with you?” His voice was still soft, tentative, like he was still doubting that you cared for him. 

“Oh!” Escaping his grasp, you leapt to grab the crumpled heap of fabric from the other bed. “I brought back your shirt.” 

Matt gingerly took the clothing from you, wondering why he hadn’t smelled the strong floral detergent when you came in. Forgetting his manners, he brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deeply before running his fingers over it. 

It was soft, more so than when he had worn it last. It held traces of your vanilla soap, and even fainter remnants of tequila and peroxide, but it smelled like…nothing. Or as close to nothing as any porous object could ever get with his delicate senses. 

“I, um, I hope it’s ok. I used a new detergent. Fragrance and dye free, supposed to be good for sensitive skin.” You shifted on the balls of your feet, watching him turn the shirt in his grasp . 

Taking your hand, Matt tugged you back against his hip, embracing you again. “Thank you.” He struggled to form the words around the lump of emotion in his throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Foggy may have mentioned that the clothes we washed last time were giving you a reaction.” You shoved him lightly. “You should have told me!” 

Shrugging, Matt sighed. “I didn’t want to be a bother.” 

Snuggling in closer, you frowned. “You never bother me, trouble. You ok?” 

Matt scrubbed at his eyes hastily, “M’fine.” You clearly didn’t buy his bullshit, but you didn’t call him on it either, simply using a gentle thumb to wipe away a stray tear that his hands missed. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Matty. But, if you want to, I’m right here.” 

Eyes filling with tears again, he stifled a sob, waiting for the ability to pull himself together before he spilled his secrets to you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get emotional, it’s just—“ Your hand came up to stroke through his hair as a strangled cry broke free. “No one has ever done this for me before. I’m just…not used to it.” 

“You’re my best friend, Matt. You deserve to be taken care of, and I’m happy to do it.” Pressing a kiss to his temple, you guided him to your shoulder and simply let him cry.

Tag list: @eugene-emt-roe @abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @jadeunstablexx @spider-murdock

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 15 (1/2)

Regional Control Centre

I woke in the middle of the night to see that Gaia had managed to unlock more of the facility. While she continued booting up, piecing herself back together with Minerva, I did a little more exploring.

As Gaia's integrated herself further with the Control Centre's systems, I can see a whole lot more with my Focus. Just scanning the server racks gives me information about each one, a summary of its internal data and its utility to us. She's been busy.

Most crucial in terms of utility: showers, sinks, and toilets. The plumbing is in ruins, but Gaia indicated that it wouldn't take much in way of repairs to get things patched up. It'd be amazing to get it all working—otherwise it's either out on the frigid mountain or down the elevator shaft.

There are sleeping quarters next to the amenities, four sections with a bed, desk, and plenty of storage space. The blankets have decomposed to scrap and the place reeks of mould, but with a bit of cleaning, it could be a nice place to stay. Better than a Nora bedhouse, for sure.

Gaia still didn't have all the rooms hooked into the power supply, but she unlocked a few for me to explore, one stocked with more servers and a smaller holographic projector. Again, Gaia had got their interfaces up and running to help me process their data on my Focus. There isn't much left; this place was meant to hold knowledge specific to operating and improving the terraforming system, but it was wiped clear along with Apollo.

There were a couple of offices accessible as well, similar to the offices in Zero Dawn facilities, but cleaner and better kept. They reminded me of Elisabet's office.

I don't need an office as such—with its physical monitors and old, creaky chairs—but I could use a place to stash my stuff, work on my gadgets and weapons. This is sure to worsen my hoarding problem. No more lugging everything around until I can pawn it off on the next merchant, and no more leaving stuff behind at secluded camps hoping it won't be stolen. I'm not going to let myself lose everything again.

The last accessible room was a little more useful—a lab, with a lot of mechanisms still operational. Most exciting was the fabrication terminal, a contraption capable of taking in scrap metal and other parts and rebuilding them to certain specifications. It was built to be interoperable with Gaia's machines, so using it to analyse and recreate structures from machine parts will help build the data I need to complete those corrupted override schemas I lifted from the Tau Cauldron core. I'm sure there's a whole lot more I can do with it too.

Watching it at work on a small test sample, tiny machines swirling behind the glass, it reminded me of the golden machine swarms wielded by the intruders at the Proving Lab. Maybe a more advanced form of similar technology?

Varl woke and joined me as I finished poking around the lab. He and Zo had similarly found somewhere passably warm to curl up. He wanted to know what was next; so did I. I tried not to come across as completely clueless about our plans going forward. I didn't tell him about the intruders at the lab, or the other clone. Not yet. Not until I know who they are and what they're really after.

As we were talking, Gaia called me over Focus to summon me back to the projection theatre. Her initialisation and merge with Minerva was complete. She was ready to talk and, I hoped, make everything clear.

She spoke to me first about the state of the biosphere. Not good, was the general prognosis. Gaia said it would only take about four months for the rabid terraforming system to degrade beyond all reasonable hope of repair. The good news was, since the RCC was built for long range communication, unlike Latopolis, Gaia could now run a far more sophisticated scan for the escaped subfunctions. However, the scan could take days or more likely weeks to complete, given she'd have to pinpoint each function's mutated signature and circumvent the many techniques they've likely employed to hide themselves. The others are unlikely to be as forthcoming as Minerva.

The only subfunction that Gaia could detect deafeningly loud and blindingly clear was Hephaestus. Figures, I've seen it around too. Gaia explained that it's scattered across the global Cauldron network, and in any attempt to capture it, it would simply slip away to some distant location, as I'd experienced at Firebreak and in Cauldron Tau. It had no reason to hide its activities.

Gaia would continue devising a plan to lock it out of the network and capture it, though attempting to do so before she had been reunited with at least three more of her subfunctions would lead to disaster. Hephaestus had mutated to a dangerous degree since the original Gaia's self-destruction. Given freedom of movement it had grown massive, volatile, and hostile; as it absorbed Cyan, it would absorb this more rudimentary, weaker version of Gaia with ease. She needed to be powerful enough to match it in battle by increasing her 'processing density'. The mission remained as it always had been: repair Gaia. Just because she was here, speaking and smiling and strategising, that didn't mean I was done. Far from it.

Hephaestus is our most important target. Without it, Gaia can't build machines of her own or take control of the Cauldron network. The machines are like her tools, her hands, able to act upon her orders and bring the terraforming system back into balance. With the other subfunctions, she would be able to enact some measure of change using existing machines and facilities to temper the most acute affects of system collapse, but without new machines to join the effort, that temperance wouldn't last long. That's to say nothing of the threat of Hephaestus itself as it continues to take direct control of Cauldrons, building more dangerous machines meant to cull humankind to make way for its own purple progeny.

So that's problem one: we need at least three subfunctions, along with a plan to bring Hephaestus to heel. We still have no clue where those other subfunctions could be, if they still exist, except that they'll be hiding in processor cores somewhere within rapid networking distance of Gaia Prime. That only leaves just about everywhere not on the other side of an ocean, if I'm lucky.

Gaia said she will devote as much of her internal resources as possible to detecting more of her subfunctions and notify me as soon as they're located. There's not much sense in me striking out into the open before then, especially with what I know is waiting for me, wanting me dead and well out of their way.

I asked Gaia then about the strangers at the Proving Lab.

She'd seen the whole encounter through my Focus, and she shared in my unease. She then laid out her theory, and it was worse than I ever speculated. Bombshell one: the signal that woke Hades, which Gaia ominously calls 'the extinction signal', didn't come from anywhere on Earth. She showed me, in projection form, Earth from a distance, moon and stars surrounding, then pulled back, the image moving so fast that the stars were coloured streaks racing past us. I was transfixed; horrified, but morbidly awestruck. What was so far away that would want to harm us here on Earth? Other worlds, other life?

This was the distance that the signal travelled to reach Gaia, a length so vast that light itself takes 8.6 years to cross it. That number was familiar, somewhere in the back of my mind, but I didn't realise where I'd heard it until Gaia's projection reached its destination, the motion of light finally ceasing.

There it was, orbiting a planet of brown landmasses, dark blue oceans, and thick swirls of clouds: the Odyssey. It was the same projection that Osvald Dalgaard used in his presentation at the Far Zenith launch facility. 8.6 light years...he used the same figure when describing the Odyssey's destination, the Sirius system.

Gaia said it was the only logical origin, though realistically the signal could have come from any direction of the same approximate distance away. As Hades said, the signal repeated for 17.22 years, and Gaia explained as I continued trying to get my head around distances that light crossed at a long crawl. That was 8.6 years once the signal arrived, for the fact of its failure to reach its sender, and another 8.6 for the sender's ceasing order to make it back to Earth.

Working theory: Far Zenith lied about their shuttle's explosion. After Travis' attack on their systems, and their deal with Zero Dawn coming to an end, they clearly didn't trust the descendants of the project to leave them alone. I know that Elisabet's view of Far Zenith was less than favourable; maybe they saw that as a potential threat. So, Far Zenith fake the destruction of their ship to keep Zero Dawn off their backs for good, and stay hidden from those that the project would raise and educate under Gaia's care.

I know they were paranoid. In the Old World, no one knew who the members of Far Zenith were, and it seems like a large portion of the public hated them for their flagrant wealth and hoarded power. They kept themselves secret on Earth, then hid their presence in space. They tried to steal Gaia before they left Earth, then tried to use their 'extinction signal' to steal her again, planning to take the whole world down in the process. Why?

I suppose they didn't know that Apollo was destroyed, maybe they thought we were still a threat, but even so, we didn't know about them. We couldn't have known, thanks to their cover up. So, what was it? They sent their signal to wake Hades and destroy all life on Earth, clean it of 'filth', as Hades put it, and then what? They subdue Hades, reinstate Gaia and...re-program her, maybe. Use her to create the world that they want. Play god, just as Elisabet feared. This is why she didn't want to hand over a copy of Gaia in the first place, but in refusing, in retaliating...did she doom us, here and now?

I posed my thoughts to Gaia, and she agreed that it was her own conclusion as well. Far Zenith had always planned to flee Earth in its dying days. Maybe they always planned to return as well. Return and claim the world they once dominated.

I thought there was only one inheritor of the human legacy, but there were two. One, Elisabet's, and the other...the space-born descendants of Peter Tshivhumbe.

Gaia confirmed something else that Hades said: the signal was meant for it alone, and the mutations imparted on the other subfunctions were only incidental, only unleashed when Hades was unable to assume control fast enough as Gaia initiated self-destruction, something Far Zenith couldn't anticipate. It was an incredibly advanced piece of malware, as Sylens observed, and Gaia said that only someone with in-depth knowledge of her code structures and her system as a whole could have engineered it. So...maybe Far Zenith was able to steal more of Zero Dawn's data than Travis thought. Maybe they've been working on reverse-engineering it ever since.

Suddenly, the strangers at the Proving Lab made a whole lot more sense. Their advanced technology, their flashy weaponry, their gilded ornamentation...Far Zenith, grown formidable with the knowledge of the Old Ones, given by Zero Dawn, on their side. They came here to do what their extinction signal failed to do: wipe out life on Earth, and use a stolen backup of Gaia to build it all over again for them to rule, destroying Elisabet's dream forever.

And all I could think about was that clone, moving on their orders, silent, weak. How could she go along with this plan? She stole Gaia for them, handing her over to Elisabet's enemy for them to use, to twist into a weapon to destroy and remake the world into some abomination, some paradise for these people who think themselves entitled to the planet.

How did they make a clone in the first place? Why, when their technology is supposedly so powerful?

Gaia explained that Far Zenith could have obtained a sample of Elisabet's DNA, with or without her consent, and stored it on board the Odyssey along with their many Earth life samples and human zygotes. She said that even with their ability to engineer powerful malware, obtaining a physical backup of Gaia in a shut-down state could only be done by walking in and taking it, and only someone with Elisabet Sobeck's genetic code could do that. Far Zenith made the clone as a key, just as Gaia made me. The only crucial difference is I was made to save the world, not kill everything on it.

Gaia had her doubts about the clone. She seems to think it's more likely that she's a subordinate, some sort of slave forced to take their orders. No way. She's Elisabet Sobeck, just as much as I am, she's no subordinate. Elisabet loved life; she gave everything for this world, just for this clone to come along and destroy it all? No. Just the thought of her makes me sick.

So it's all down to me. I knew it would be; it always is. Gaia can't do much from here but keep scanning for the other subordinate functions. As soon as she finds them, I'll be her eyes and hands. Vessel, if we want to get all Nora about it. I'll have to go and load each subfunction onto the cartridge I found Gaia on, then bring them back here to merge into her new system. Meanwhile, that other clone is running around with Far Zenith, who likely have way more advanced scanning capabilities, hunting the subfunctions right alongside me, with their own version of Gaia to mold and command. If they get to Hephaestus first, merge it into their version of Gaia...it'll be over. They'll have control over every Cauldron on the planet. They'll rule the biosphere and be able to build whatever devastating weapons they can dream up to kill us all.

But if I can beat them to it, we'll have the upper hand. Enough damage will take down the Zenith's shields, which to my onslaught seemed impenetrable. With an army of machines, we'll have the ability to destroy Far Zenith and their Specters on Earth, but even then...how many more of them are out there? How far have they already spread across the stars? How long will this fight go on?

It's...a lot. It's everything. My hands leapt to Elisabet's pendant without my knowing, tracing its comforting shapes and textures. Peeling paint, rusted hinges; the last thing Elisabet ever touched. I couldn't help but profess my doubts to Gaia. Even if it wasn't exactly her idea to create me, it was a version of her. Somewhere in her un-lived future there's a part of her that believes I am her best hope to save this world.

She gave me comfort. After all, she'd listened to her predecessor's final message too, trusting it. She'd seen that future, and repeated its words. Though her phrasing was mechanical, flat, ringing against old metal, the message was the same as I'd always heard when facing adversity, from Rost. Though the odds may seem insurmountable, there is hope. You are capable. You have prevailed many times.

Look deeper. Keep moving forward.

Before I left the theatre, I noticed a console on the circumference of the room. Gaia told me more about it; it was meant for uploading and accessing footage from observation drones. These drones were meant to be deployed in an emergency when biosphere observation could not be handled by personnel in the RCC. The centre had deployed them automatically a few years ago, when the first signs of blight start showing up. It took something extremely anomalous to trigger the system, apparently, and due to its degradation, the RCC soon lost connection to all the dispatched drones.

So, that explained the drone I found circling near that Thunderjaw in No Man's Land. I was able to upload the data I'd taken off it to the console, allowing the RCC to reconnect to the drone. And there it was, a live feed of red rocks and rusted bots. Those closest stones almost looked real. I figured that reconnecting these drones could be of some use to Gaia, who can observe the lands through them until she takes control of the Cauldron network again. Until, no if's.

I spoke to Varl and Zo briefly before heading back out into the wilds. They plan on staying behind to get up to speed on things with Gaia and make some repairs to the centre's facilities. Who knows, maybe I'll come back to a working shower.

Without any clear direction to where the subfunctions might be hiding, I may as well make myself useful in doing what I can to help the people of these lands. After Hephaestus' attack, the Utaru are sure to be struggling, and with Regalla's rebels still prowling their territory, the danger isn't over.

Sylens and his little army fits into all of this somehow. He knew who the Zeniths were, I'm sure of it. I'm willing to bet he was using me as some sort of bargaining chip; he leads Far Zenith to a backup of Gaia and a clone of Elisabet, he asks for a copy of Apollo in return. Then he uses his army to, what, conquer? That doesn't seem like his style. Maybe he thought Far Zenith would let him join up, otherwise I have no idea how he was planning to survive their plan for the world. What a self-absorbed idiot.

I thought it'd be a quick journey down the mountain with my Shield Wing. Beautiful views, pleasant weather, and no signs of total war and ruin down in Plainsong.

Not so quick once the rain started and a few Skydrifters came swooping in. I kept them down with spark cell detonations before going in for spear strikes. Ropes to keep the others from moving around too much in the meantime. A Burrower came to join in too, but I silenced it before it could call any more machines to the area. Fortunately, none of them were Hephaestus' deadly creations.

Continuing on my way down, I passed a signal tower like the one I found back in the Daunt. Scanning it, I picked up another corrupted projection. I made the quick climb back up to the ruin on the rise to repair the image from its original vantage. It showed the turbines and satellite dishes that now house Plainsong.

It was another site of the Miriam Technologies tour. This satellite array was once used to detect and monitor near-Earth objects—big rocks, I guess—rich in minerals. Miriam Technologies developed machines for the automated mining of these minerals out in space. I guess there wasn't much left of the stuff on Earth after the Claw Back, but it's pretty cool to think about. Unfortunately, there's only one near-Earth object I need to be concerned with right now, and that's the fucking Odyssey.

No need to dwell on it right now. There are people here who need my help. I continued down toward Plainsong.

[a-droidboy]

Ghost in the shell manmachine 2 interface

action figures advertisement

scans from personal collection

[morganhopesmith1996]

Chroma 😎

[itzsephig5]

Intro (Escape)

My Masterlist

This story on Wattpad

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 10.5 11

At just 12 years old, Y/n Maximoff's mother, Wanda Maximoff, disappeared. It's been four years since and Y/n goes to the only place she knows to go for help, Avengers Compound. The issue? She hasn't seen any of them since she was six and a LOT of things have changed since she last saw them. Will she be able to get the help to find where her mother has been and bring her back home, or will she need to get outside help? What happens when she meets her uncle's protégé and develops feelings?

When does this story take place:

August 19th, 2024

Characters:

Name: Y/n Maximoff (Illusion) 

Age: 16

Birthday: March 20th

Parents: Wanda Maximoff (mother)

Kids: Aurora Elsie Maximoff (daughter)

Partner: N/A

Powers: Telekinesis,Energy Manipulation, Neuroelectric Interfacing

Job: None

High School Year: N/A

Name: Aurora Elsie Maximoff

Age: 3

Birthday: June 16th

Parents: Y/n Maximoff (mother)

Grandparents: Wanda Maximoff (grandmother)

Name: Kate Bishop (Hawkeye)

Age: 17

Birthday: June 2nd

Parents: Eleanor Bishop (mother)

Partner: N/A

Job: Avenger

High School Year: Junior

Name: Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

Age: 35

Birthday: February 10th

Kids: Y/n Maximoff (daughter)

Grandchildren: Aurora Elsie Maximoff (granddaughter)

Partner: N/A

Powers: Telekinesis, Energy Manipulation, Neuroelectric Interfacing

Job: N/A (Ex-Avenger, Ex-Hydra Volunteer)

Name: Steve Rogers (Captain America)

Age: 105

Birthday: July 4th

Partner: Natasha Romanoff (girlfriend)

Job: Avenger

Name: Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

Age: 47

Birthday: June 18th

Kids: Cooper Barton (son), Lila Barton (daughter), Nathaniel Barton (son)

Partner: Laura Barton (wife)

Job: Avenger

Name: Bruce Banner (Hulk)

Age: 51

Birthday: December 18th

Partner: N/A

Job: Avenger

Name: Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

Age: 39

Birthday: December 3rd

Parents: Melina Vostokoff (adopted mother), Alexei Shostakov (adopted father)

Siblings: Yelena Belova (adopted sister)

Partner: Steve Rogers (boyfriend)

Job: Avenger (Ex-Red Room Widow)

Name: Stephen Strange (Dr. Strange)

Age: 40

Birthday: March 31st

Partner: N/A

Job: Avenger

Name: Tony Stark (Iron Man)

Age: 47

Birthday: May 29th

Partner: Pepper Potts (fiancée)

Job: Avenger

Name: Sam Wilson (Falcon)

Age: 41

Birthday: September 23rd

Partner: James 'Bucky' Barnes (boyfriend)

Job: Avenger (Ex-Air Force Pilot)

Name: James 'Bucky' Barnes (Winter Soldier)

Age: 107

Birthday: March 10th

Partner: Sam Wilson (boyfriend)

Job: Avenger (Ex-Hydra Assassin)

Name: Scott Lang (Ant-Man)

Age: 42

Birthday: October 27th

Kids: Cassie Lang (daughter)

Partner: Hope Van Dyne (girlfriend)

Job: Avenger

Name: Cassie Lang

Age: 16

Birthday: July 23rd

Parents: Scott Lang (dad)

Partner: N/A

Job: Avenger

High School Year: Sophomore

Name: Peter Parker (Spiderman)

Age: 18

Birthday: June 1st

Partner: MJ (girlfriend)

Job: Avenger

High School Year: Senior

Name: James 'Rhodey' Rhodes (War Machine)

Age: 46

Birthday: October 6th

Partner: N/A

Job: Avenger (Ex-Air Force Colonel and Pilot)

Name: America Chavez (America)

Age: 17

Birthday: April 29th

Partner: N/A

Powers: Ability to open portals and travel through the multiverse

Job: Avenger

High School Year: Junior

Name: Kamala Khan (Ms. Marvel)

Age: 16

Birthday: August 19th

Partner: N/A

Job: Avenger

High School Year: Sophomore

Name: Yelena Belova (White Widow)

Age: 34

Birthday: May 24th

Parents: Melina Vostokoff (adopted mother), Alexei Shostakov (adopted father)

Siblings: Natasha Romanoff (adopted sister)

Partner: N/A

Job: Avenger (Ex-Red Room Widow)

Warnings:

- Mature Content

- Swearing

- Violence

- Steamy Content (?)

- Mentions of teen pregnancy

Notes:

I do NOT own any of the Marvel characters that may show up in this story. If there is anything that matches up with another story, please reach out and let me know, I am willing to change it. I am ONLY taking constructive criticism! I will not take any other forms of criticism. Ages might not be accurate as I have adapted them for this story. There are also other things like their birthdays that I might not know so I put random birthdays for them. Most of them I found through Google searches. The rating of this story is 16+

Overall Announcements:

- If you don't like how I write my stories or portray a character, then don't read my stories, simple as that

- I am ONLY taking constructive criticism! I will not take any other forms of criticism

- Just because you think something is cringy or weird doesn't mean everyone else does

- If you have any questions about my stories, please reach out to my Instagram (itzsephig5), I have no problem discussing any questions you might have and I'm always up to discuss any new ideas you all have for my stories as well

- PLEASE NOTE THAT I AM AN ADULT! I WRITE SOME THINGS THAT MIGHT NOT BE SUTIBLE FOR ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF 18!! I was one of those people who thought at that age that if I read it, I would be fine. I know how you think

- I will not be putting warnings on each individual chapter as they are listed here in the intro. I will add any new warnings that may show up at the beginning of that chapter and will also add it to the warning list as well. If any of these warnings trigger you, please exit the story and find a different one to read

[bambambunny]

Fatui Cat (Segment Edition!) pt. 2

Once again I am so so sorry it's been a month. I know how annoying it is for chapters to be slow and this one's pretty short. I have no real excuse but pls enjoy.

Warnings: little bit of existential horror, it gets kinda intense pls be advised

Relationships: Platonic segments / gn cat!reader

Summary: you observe the segments and the reality of your situation finally sets in.

Wc: 705

Part 1

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Slowly but surely, everyone settles into the rhythm of their projects. What a lovely introduction, well aside from being dropped but you’re a sturdy little thing. You let your gaze wander from one segment to the next, from your spot by the door. They didn't exactly all look like the Dottore you knew, they were all different ages. To someone who didn't know better, they would have looked like brothers.

There was the oldest looking one, judging by the greying hair and beard, he seemed to be pouring over some dusty tomes. You recall how he gave #7 room to compose himself. He probably wouldn't be too adverse to you being here. Perhaps like Pierro if he wasn't such a sourpuss…

There was a slightly younger clone, maybe 50; You were never good at estimating ages. In your professional opinion, this one would be the dilf of the squad. He’s furiously scribbling on some blue prints and he has several coffee mugs around him.

One segment looks almost exactly like Normal Dottore and he’s tinkering with his own biometrics. Gross. You get that they’re robots or whatever but it looks like he has blood. Ok thats enough! On to the next one...

There's one who looks like he’d be in college, shorter hair and kinda lanky and no eye mask. He has a whiteboard in front of him with a maddening amount of equations. Good god, there's more letters than numbers! You look away before you get an aneurysm.

Another segment, like the one before but even younger, is flitting about his desk stacked with various terrariums. You can't see what sort of animal the terrariums hold from your spot on the floor but you catch a glimpse of some tropical looking leaves and a heat light. He gets something from a minifridge nestled in a corner and retrieves something that looks like mice? You walk a bit closer and notice they’re glowing an unnatural purple. Nevermind.

The electric crackle of a welding machine catches your attention. When you turn to look, there is a teenager working on a massive robot. And it's not just massive to a cat, it's massive. Suddenly it powers up! You dash away to a dark quiet corner.

Everything’s so big and loud and you don't like it! You push yourself further into the corner and hide your face in your own fur.

Your breath starts to hasten.

It feels like you can't breathe.

For the first time, since you got here, you feel scared. You'd been so caught up in the wonder of a world you only ever saw on a screen that it hadn't occurred to you that you were stuck.

You were stuck.

In this world, in this nation, in this palace, in this body.

There is no feasible way to gain back any of the control you once had – back when you were behind a screen, with a simple user interface and a few buttons to press, you can't even have the control of just some normal human!

You're scared and alone in a place you don't fully understand. No matter how closely you hold yourself to familiar characters, they won't really understand what you are or what you've lost.

As of now, you are the only person in this entire world who holds the knowledge of Earth, of its customs…

…of your life.

One day you will forget, and the memory of your humanity will be lost forever.

…

…

Is this what you wanted?

You are ripped from your thoughts by a gentle but firm hand, it carries you up then presses you to the chest of someone that smells like dust and chemicals. You look up and realise it's the old man.

He pets your head gently, "oh poor thing, did the machines frighten you?

You nudge your head against his hand in conformation. He makes a small hum of consideration then begins to walk to his desk, still holding you.

"I know Prime said not to, but it would not do to leave you like this", he rests you in his lap then continues to mull about his dusty old tomes. He keeps a hand petting your fur until you fall asleep.

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

Taglist:

@etherisy @franc-1-s @assassinsnek101

(If you wanna be removed or added to the taglist pls comment)

[demifiendrsa]

PlayStation 5 Pro Console - Reveal Trailer

PS5 Pro Technical Presentation hosted by Mark Cerny

PlayStation 5 Pro, an enhanced version of PlayStation 5, will launch on November 7, 2024 for $699.99 / £699.99 / €799.99 / ¥119,980. It will be available as a disc-less console, with the currently available disc drive available as a separate purchase. Pre-orders will begin on September 26, 2024.

First details via The PlayStation Blog

We developed PlayStation 5 Pro with deeply engaged players and game creators in mind—as many have asked for a console that runs even higher fidelity graphics with smoother frame rates at 60 frames per second. We achieved this on PlayStation 5 Pro with several key performance features.

Upgraded GPU – With PlayStation 5 Pro, we are upgrading to a GPU that has 67% more Compute Units than the current PlayStation 5 console and 28% faster memory. Overall, this enables up to 45% faster rendering for gameplay, making the experience much smoother.

Advanced Ray Tracing – We’ve added even more powerful ray tracing that provides more dynamic reflection and refraction of light. This allows the rays to be cast at double, and at times triple, the speeds of the current PlayStation 5 console.

AI-Driven Upscaling – We’re also introducing PlayStation Spectral Super Resolution, an AI-driven upscaling that uses a machine learning-based technology to provide super sharp image clarity by adding an extraordinary amount of detail.

PlayStation 5 Pro provides gamers with amazing graphics at high frame rates. You can hear Mark Cerny, lead architect for PlayStation 5 Pro, discuss the key innovations from PlayStation 5 Pro in the following video presentation. This presentation provides a deep dive into the key performance features that make PlayStation 5 Pro truly special.

Other enhancements include PlayStation 5 Pro Game Boost, which can apply to more than 8,500 backward compatible PlayStation 4 games playable on PlayStation 5 Pro. This feature may stabilize or improve the performance of supported PlayStation 4 and PlayStation 5 games. Enhanced Image Quality for PlayStation 4 games is also available to improve the resolution on select PlayStation 4 games. PlayStation 5 Pro will also launch with the latest wireless technology, Wi-Fi 7, in territories supporting this standard. VRR and 8K gaming are also supported.

It’s humbling to see how game creators have embraced the latest technology from PlayStation 5 Pro, and several games will be patched with free software updates for gamers to take advantage of PlayStation 5 Pro’s features. These games can be identified with a PlayStation 5 Pro Enhanced label within their title. Some games you can look forward to include blockbuster hits from PlayStation Studios and our third-party partners, such as Alan Wake 2, Assassin’s Creed Shadows, Demon’s Souls, Dragon’s Dogma II, Final Fantasy VII Rebirth, Gran Turismo 7, Hogwarts Legacy, Horizon Forbidden West, Marvel’s Spider-Man 2, Ratchet & Clank: Rift Apart, The Crew Motorfest, The First Descendant, The Last of Us Part II Remastered, and more.

We kept the look of the PlayStation 5 Pro consistent with the overall PlayStation 5 family of products. You’ll notice the height is the same size as the original PlayStation 5, and the width is the same size as the current PlayStation 5 model to accommodate higher performance specs. Players can add an Ultra HD Blu-ray Disc Drive, or swap out console covers when they become available.

PlayStation 5 Pro fits perfectly within the PlayStation 5 family of products and is compatible with the PlayStation 5 accessories currently available, including PlayStation VR2, PlayStation Portal, DualSense Edge, Access controller, Pulse Elite, and Pulse Explore. The user interface and network services will also remain the same as PlayStation 5.

The PlayStation 5 Pro console will be available this holiday at a manufacturer’s suggested retail price (MSRP) of $699.99 USD, £699.99 GBP, €799.99 EUR, and ¥119,980 JPY (includes tax). It will include a 2TB SSD, a DualSense wireless controller, and a copy of ASTRO’s PLAYROOM pre-installed in every PlayStation 5 Pro purchase. PlayStation 5 Pro is available as a disc-less console, with the option to purchase the currently available disc drive for PlayStation 5 separately.

PlayStation 5 Pro will launch on November 7, 2024 and will be available at participating retailers and directly from PlayStation at PlayStation Direct. Preorders will begin on September 26, 2024.

Our PlayStation 5 journey would not be possible without the millions of players that have supported us through the years and have shared with us their love of gaming. Whichever console option players choose, whether it’s PlayStation 5 or PlayStation 5 Pro, we wish to bring everyone the very best gaming experience that fits their needs.

[sk8termikey]

Chapter 2 of 21 Questions

(better interface on wattpad)

The next morning, Lily was gently woken up by Bernard the cat when he decided to sit on her neck, thus preventing her from properly breathing – this is actually far from gentle but it's her cat so everything is forgiven. When Lily started moving and went to sit up, Bernard simply moved next to her and looked at her as if he hadn't almost killed her. Those far from innocent eyes just made Lily chuckle and sigh – she and Alex were used to that happening from time to time but damn, they never missed it.

As Lily got ready to go to work, she put some music on shuffle and 21 Questions from Waterparks came on. Kind of ironic given that she was literally playing that game the evening before. Hearing this song made her think about the mysterious guy whom she texted and still had not heard from since last night. While Lily hummed to the songs that played in the background, she finished getting ready and headed to the café. 

~~~

Lily arrived at the café-bookstore one hour before opening it. She unlocked the door, letting in the first rays of daylight. With Jade and Lucas, they prepared the shop for the day as they restocked shelves and wiped down tables.

As the clock ticked towards opening time, the café started filling up with eager customers. Lily manned the espresso machine, her skilled hands expertly crafting lattes and cappuccinos. Jade served pastries with a warm smile, while Lucas organised the bookshelves, ensuring they were invitingly arranged. The bustling chatter of customers blended with the soft music playing in the background.

~~~

Later, the lunchtime crowd began to arrive, and the trio transitioned from coffee to sandwiches and salads. Lily made her famous sandwiches while Jade and Lucas took orders and made sure everyone was well-fed and content. Amid the clinking of cutlery and the hum of conversation, Lily noticed a regular customer engrossed in a book from one of the shelves, a satisfied smile on their face.

~~~

As the day wound down, the café-bookstore took on a peaceful ambiance. Customers lingered over their books and coffee, savouring the quiet escape from the world outside. Lily, Jade, and Lucas joined them, occasionally offering recommendations or discussing their latest reads.

With the setting sun casting a warm glow through the windows, the trio began to close the shop. They cleaned the espresso machine, restocked shelves, and settled the cash register. As they locked the door behind the last customer, they felt a sense of accomplishment and contentment.

~~~

After the whole day at work, Lily was happy to be back home. It was almost six o'clock when she entered the house and jokingly said:

"Hey babe, I'm home!"

"Hiii girl, how was the day?", Alex asked as she was sitting on the couch.

"It was fine, people still love my sandwiches so that’s enough for me lol", Lily replied. "How was yours?"

"Good as well, but better now that you're here", Alex smiled at her friend. "And even better because the triplets posted a new video not long ago!"

"Which triplets? I feel like you told me about them but I can't recall."

"Okay come here, we'll watch together."

As Lily went to sit beside Alex, the blonde's computer was showing a YouTube channel: Sturniolo Triplets was written on the screen.

"I'm pretty sure I've shown them to you once or twice like on Instagram but I don't think I've made you watch one of their videos. So they're triplets obviously and they are just sooo funny, you have to watch this video because I just know it's gonna be chaotic as always", Alex explained to her best friend.

Alex clicked on the most recent video on the top left of the channel. It was entitled Triplets play WHEEL OF DOOM *matt cries* and it felt really dramatic to Lily as she wasn't convinced by what she was about to watch. Lily was putting all her trust in Alex as the video started but she didn't know what to think as two people were just standing in front of the camera, one of them with a mask on.

"It seems so fucking weird and I'm already regretting this but at least the intro is cool", Lily said. "And I also need you to tell me who is who because they literally look the same."

"Well", Alex started, "that's the whole point of them being triplets lol but after a while it's so easy to differentiate them. So this one is Chris with the longer hair on the left, then in the middle it's Matt and on the right it's Nick with the white shirt."

Lily was still a bit confused because thirty seconds later, they had already changed places. She could only remember that the one in white was Nick but she was quickly giving up on trying to identify Chris and Matt. As Alex had told her, the video was extremely chaotic as Nick was chugging a pepsi which made one of the other two cry in despair. Alex was laughing so hard when Chris had to clean his brother's room and when either of the triplets was forced to have something posted on their Instagram account. Lily was just chilling and smiling while watching her best friend being so happy:

"Honestly I might have to get into them more because they have cool vibes but I'm gonna need you to help me differentiate them like as soon as they wear the same clothes, I'm gonna be so fucking lost."

"Oh my god yes!" Alex was ecstatic with the idea of Lily becoming a fan. "We'll watch the car video together when it comes out, it'll really help you because they have assigned seats."

Lily nodded to that and they kept watching the video as Chris ended up doing the two athletic punishments on the wheel. Then, as the video was nearing to the end, Matt looked like he was eating dog shit when it was only ketchup – which was delicious to the two girls.

"Okayy so," Alex turned to her best friend when the outro played. "What did you think?"

"They actually seem funny so I guess I'll watch the next video with you", Lily shrugged in response.

This made Alex's smile widen as she was getting her best friend to enjoy the same things that she does. It honestly wasn't a surprise as they were in multiple fandoms together but following the Sturniolo Triplets was something that Alex had only been doing for a few months. Therefore, she hadn't tried much to have Lily join her in this fandom, but she was definitely excited that Lily might.

"Ooh I just remembered!" Alex turned to her friend. "Was the last text you sent successful? I feel like you would have complained if it wasn't."

"Yeah oh my god I had forgotten to tell you because I didn't see you this morning". Lily had straight up gone into gossip mode as she turned to face Alex. "Okay so he actually replied pretty quickly and we had time to ask each other three questions I think, until he left me on read when I told him I was a cat person."

"What, is he serious?" Alex asked with disbelief on her face – she was a cat person as well so it felt like a personal attack. "Wait, give me your phone because I need to judge them so much right now."

Lily did as she was told and unlocked her phone for Alex to read the messages from yesterday evening. Alex looked so focused but it made Lily laugh how she would just nod her head to agree with what was happening and smile at something that was funny. As she quickly finished reading the conversation between the two strangers, Alex looked up for the phone and gave her opinion:

"Hmm so he seems nice and as you said, the vibe has been passed and his brother actually seems funnier than him lol but I'm gonna give mystery boy the benefit of the doubt. Are you planning on texting him again?"

"Honestly I don't know, maybe?" Although Lily wished to say an affirmation, it sounded more like a question. "I feel like he was just joking at the end but I don't wanna sound desperate for friends, you know?"

"Yeah, I get you," Alex agreed with the brunette. "What we should do is just ask him if he still wants to play with a cat person, which technically is fun because opposites attract!"

"Ok ok, it's not a bad idea. Just write what you said because I already forgot." Lily chuckled a bit as she gave her phone to Alex.

************

Hi stranger, our convo from yesterday was really nice so I hope you might still wanna play even tho  I'm a cat person and you're a dog person but yk what they say: opposites attract :)

Lily was very satisfied with what Alex wrote and it made her think about how supportive she always had been, ever since they met. Lily and Alex had known each other since middle school. However, Alex actually wasn’t really approachable since she didn't like the kids at the school they went to, but Lily had liked her from the very beginning. They became friends when they had needed one day to form groups for an assignment and no one had wanted either of them in their team. 

Lily had gathered all her courage and made the first move to go ask Alex if she wanted to be with her, which she had gladly accepted – Alex had always looked so cool to Lily so she had been trying to find the opportunity to be friends with her for a couple of weeks already. Alex realised that maybe, there was one kid at their school who wasn't as bad as the others and as they had started to work together, Lily had noticed how kind-hearted Alex was while Alex saw how passionate Lily could be when talking about the things she cared for. This was the friendship that both of them needed in their life. Thus, since that day, they became the best of friends and the rest is history.

Thank you for reading. Votes and comments are always appreciated if you like this story :) The story is co-written w @/little_grapejuice on wattpad

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

2. "Is Alec Tricity there? I need to speak with Alec Tricity, please."

PAYPHONE - "No, but I got a feeling Al Kickurass is gonna make an appearance if you ever call this number again. Have a good one, asshole!"

Phone hanging up.

Disconnect tone.

Ok, that's enough-

Put 10 cents in and dial a random number: 005-99-77-313.

[Leave.]

Um. Harry?

PAYPHONE - Calling...

Calling...

Calling...

Still calling...

*Still* calling…

"Stop calling me, man!" Someone picks up. The voice on the other end is slightly hysterical.

"I'll get you your money, alright? I just need 'til tonight. Let me work."

"Uh… who is this?"

"Yes, but a slight change of plans -- I want this delivered to the Whirling-in-Rags in Martinaise."

"We could all be a bit kinder to each other, don't you think? Consider your debt paid, my friend."

"You seem to be in some sort of trouble. Maybe I can help you, I'm a police officer."

PAYPHONE - "Tethys, I uh..." The young man realises something. "Hey, you're not Tethys! Screw you and don't ever call here again, you're fucking with some *serious* people!"

Disconnect tone.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Khm..." A single *khm* lets you know the lieutenant is ready to move now.

Kim is right. We should stop.

Put 10 cents in and dial a random number: 005-11-11-313.

[Leave.]

PAYPHONE - Calling...

"I'm tired…" A man answers, fast this time. His voice is hoarse from cigarettes. You hear typing in the background.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - Sounds like he hasn't talked to anyone in quite a while.

"What are you tired of?"

"I'm tired too."

"Is there anything I can do to help you? I'm with the police."

PAYPHONE - "If I could go just one month without writing. No, two months... I could regenerate my brain. Fucking liberalism..."

The man disappears with a sigh.

You do not hear the customary disconnect tone, just silence in the handset -- the machine is still waiting for you to dial a number.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Seems like it did not have time to swallow the coin. This sometimes happens.

INTERFACING [Trivial: Success] - Lucky you. The call went too fast for the payphone to register. You can still make a new one without paying.

[Interfacing - Medium 10] Dial a random number -- with your eyes closed.

[Leave.]

+1 White mourning... +1 Smells like betrayal...

We no longer have the thought, but we would also get +1 from Sorry Cop here.

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - You close your eyes and put your index finger on the rotary dial, then pull down on the number, then move one up and repeat the motion, twice...

Strange. This is not how you started before.

Wait -- what did I just do?

Keep dialling...

Stop!

INTERFACING - You dialled 001. This is not the area code of Revachol. It is another destination -- on another isola. Some far-off nation state.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - 005 is Revachol ZoC -- 001 is Graad, on the Graadian isola, where the telephone was invented. The next two digits you dial are the area code for the city of Mirova...

Keep dialling...

INTERFACING - 41 -- 44 -- 47 -- the rotary dial feels cold from the sea air.

Keep dialling...

INTERFACING - 11 -- 17 -- 361 -- your fingers keep moving like a spider, every time the ring rotates back with a little ring of metal, like a bell tolling.

There's more?

INTERFACING - Yes. 451 -- 67 -- 451 -- you are going deeper now, into some unknown place. Far away from this island of matter and its telecommunication networks....

Finish it.

INTERFACING - 451 -- you have dialled god knows how many numbers. The headset has been waiting silently to relay a signal -- surely nothing can come of this, you think. But it does. A connection.

PAYPHONE - An ultra-long-distance call. Your ear fills with a crackle, the wash of a strange ocean full of white noise. A little bird starts ringing in there, not like the local calling tone before. No, a small ring in a cage of distortion, far away, a distant network of phones...

Calling...

Calling in the night....

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - The saddest sound in the world.

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - Both pitiful and terrifying. You feel your pulse rising with each ring...

PAYPHONE - Calling still...

ENDURANCE [Easy: Success] - The handset starts slipping from your sweaty palm... your breathing is heavy.

"Kim..."

[Volition - Impossible 18] Hang it up.

Let it call more.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant is too far away to hear your yelp. The sea wind blows...

2. [Volition - Impossible 18] Hang it up.

VOLITION [Impossible: Failure] - You can't. Some strange force is keeping the headset glued to your hand, your ear listening to the ring in the speaker...

PAYPHONE - Calling...

Calling...

Calling...

Calling...

Calling still...

Then the ocean breaks. Out of the depths, a woman's voice emerges. Small. The dearest thing you've ever heard.

PAYPHONE - "Hello." She sounds sleepy.

"Hello."

"I want to die."

"Who is this?"

"I'm a revolutionary servant of humanity. I will free mankind and abolish the classes. I will raise the dead." (Proceed.)

"Your voice is so beautiful."

"Good bye."

PAYPHONE - "Mhm," she hums, her voice warm from sleep.

"Who is this?"

3. "Who is this?"

PAYPHONE - "Dora." She's still confused. "Who is this? The connection is bad..."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Dora. The name feels like a *gift*. A gift that was meant for you -- to make it possible to live.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - In the distorted distance you hear someone turning next to her. Bedsprings rattle.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Don't react. Whatever you do, don't react to that last thing.

"Is someone *there*?"

Don't react.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - It doesn't matter if you react or not. You still think you hear a *man's* voice in the background. It's covered in pain and white noise...

2. "I want to die."

PAYPHONE - "What?" It takes a second for her to realize what you said.

"I don't know why I said that."

"Your voice makes me want to turn into dust."

"I want to live -- with you..."

PAYPHONE - "Oh no... is that you?" Her voice sounds like she's waking up now. Still plaintive, tired...

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - This is too much... You need to recede...

"A creature is a creature. I wish I was the wind."

"No."

PAYPHONE - "Oh no, not this... what time is it?"

5. "Your voice is so beautiful."

PAYPHONE - "No-no..." She's waking up now. "It's *you*, isn't it? It's you..."

6. "Good bye."

PAYPHONE - A sigh. She heard you, but she does not hang up. And neither do you. You can't.

4. "I'm a revolutionary servant of humanity. I will free mankind and abolish the classes. I will raise the dead." (Proceed.)

PAYPHONE - "You're not a revolutionary, Harry... You're drunk."

-1 Morale

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - You only have two, maybe three things left to say before the change runs out.

"Harry? How do you know my name?"

"Harry? Who's Harry -- are you sleeping with him? I'm also Harry!"

"I'm not drunk."

"Okay I'm drunk, what does it matter? I'm still *me*!"

"I'm not drunk -- I'm *high*."

"I'm not drunk or high, I'm just... hurt... why does it hurt to talk to you?"

PAYPHONE - "Because it's me... Look, I don't understand what you're saying or why you're calling me. You seem drunk."

4. "I'm not drunk or high, I'm just... hurt... why does it hurt to talk to you?"

PAYPHONE - "Oh god..." There's silence, it's heavy as tin. The white noise howls.

"Hey."

"Ooo... are you there?"

Say nothing.

PAYPHONE - "Do you know what time it is? It's so late here..." Sounds like she's looking for a clock on the night stand.

"It's four o'clock, Harry! I need to wake up in two hours."

It's four o'clock there regardless of what time you call. Blame it on entroponetics, I guess.

"Do you want to party?"

"I want to talk about me. Who am I? You sound like you know me."

"You're in Mirova, right?"

"Where are you going in two hours?"

"I am the law. I'm a detective. I'm doing a case. There's a hanged man."

"Is someone there with you?"

(Hang up.)

PAYPHONE - "No, I want to go to sleep..."

2. "I want to talk about me. Who am I? You sound like you know me."

PAYPHONE - "What do you want to talk about? That we haven't talked about already..."

ENDURANCE [Legendary: Failure] - This is bad, you feel your right hand on the handset cramping up with pain...

-1 Health

3. "You're in Mirova, right?"

PAYPHONE - "Yes, I'm in Mirova. Sleeping."

4. "Where are you going in two hours?"

PAYPHONE - "To work."

"Where?"

Say nothing.

PAYPHONE - "The Academy. Where I work."

"The Academy? That sounds better than my job. I'm happy."

"My job is sad and terrible. It has dead bodies in it."

"Pfft, Academy... my job is *real*."

PAYPHONE - No response, only a sigh. The connection crackles, like burning paper.

-1 Morale

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - What are you doing to yourself right now?

I'm making a funny prank call.

Catastrophic damage.

I don't know... I don't understand what's happening.

VOLITION - You need to stop. Harry. You're killing yourself.

*Can* we?

6. "My heart hurts. I'm gonna have a heart attack."

PAYPHONE - "Oh no... please stop. Please let's just hang up..."

7. "Is someone there with you?"

PAYPHONE - "Yes."

5. "I am the law. I'm a detective. I'm doing a case. There's a hanged man."

PAYPHONE - She does not answer anymore.

"I'm gonna solve it."

"It doesn't matter. This case doesn't matter."

"None of it matters -- not anymore."

"Can you help me solve it? I need to solve it. They won't take me back if I don't."

PAYPHONE - "Harry..."

Disconnect tone -- the machine ran out of money.

Put 10 cents in and dial the long phone number again.

[Leave.]