#odour detection

[biology-geology-beaches-india]

The Science Research Diaries of S. Sunkavally, page 346.

[hannahp0calypse]

had a dream about being commissioned to make a game about playing a giant-boobed soldier woman trying to sneak through a hostile compound metal gear style except her pits stink so badly that anyone downwind of her detects her

can't tell if this is a Body Odour Anxiety Dream or if someone's trying to inception their fantasy fetish game into my subconscious

[1v6]

In The Blink of an Eye [G/T]

[Word count 1777]

Your typical borrower story... or is it really a borrower story at all?

Long, slender hands slammed the book on its cover, its owner too lazy to read any further. Glancing at his phone, the clock read: “12:05 A.M.”

There was no way he had been studying for only five minutes. Surely he had been studying for longer than that? If it was five minutes, why did it feel like an eternity to him?

It was not something he cared enough to think about any further either way. Five minutes or five hours, he felt equally burnt out from studying. 

At least he was five minutes more productive than yesterday.

He reached for his cup for some water, only to find it with as much water as a desert. In other words, he forgot he drank all the water.

On the bright side, it was an excuse for a break from all that studying, and he left his room for the kitchen. Obviously, to get some more water to drink, so he could then have an excuse to use the toilet, which would be another study break, assuming he would continue studying after refilling his water.

Or maybe he would sleep. It is late, even if he usually sleeps later than this. Way later than this.

Yeah, maybe he would after some water.

Somewhat clumsily reaching the water, he also somewhat clumsily refilled his cup for the night, miraculously without spilling anything in the dark, as he never bothered to turn on the kitchen lights. He couldn’t see well without his glasses anyway, what’s the difference between not seeing shit and not seeing shit?

And so, just as he turned away to leave, something flashed in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head to the left instinctively, trying to see what it was.

Nothing out of the ordinary— how is it possible?

Could it have been a cockroach? Perhaps not. They tend to have a weird, lingering odour when they do infest the house. A gecko could’ve been more reasonable given the speed, if what he saw was real, and not a trick of the eye as a cause of forgetting his glasses upstairs. But just in case, he should check it first, if not for the sake of hygiene, then for the sake of being able to sleep soundly tonight.

He hated pests, and the lack of glasses is not going to stop him from trying to eradicate them. Eyes never leaving the spot he believed the bug was, his hand slowly reached the can of insecticide sitting in the corner just for situations like this. If it was a bug, he’s going to kill it without hesitation - just strike at them by drowning them in half of the bottle of that shit— an easy solution to an easy problem, right?

Shaking the can of insecticide, making clink, clink, clink sounds, an alarm to anything that could be targeted by the poison sitting inside, he approached the kitchen counter with small steps, slow and cautious, as if the kitchen counter itself is the enemy.

A small step, followed by another small step…then a Big Sudden Leap - only to detect zero lifeforms in said area.

Huh?

He looked behind the nearest thing there was - the toaster - and saw nothing. Just to be sure, he looked around the toaster - there was still nothing.

He was confused, as he was quite sure that he had seen something. Or was he? There was a small bubble of doubt, now thrown into the mixture of his current emotions. He would stay longer to confirm his suspicions, but it was late, and at this point, there was definitely no more reason to continue with this futile attempt of searching for proof of his figments of his imagination. His fear slightly convinced by the visual proof of nothing, he set the insecticide back down in the corner.

Cup of water in hand a minute later, he prepared to head back to his bedroom upstairs.

There was something again!

This time, there wasn’t something he saw, but something he heard. A very faint scutter that came from below the kitchen counter this time, no longer at the previous area he was looking at just now. His fear of insects reignited again, begging him to deal with this pest once and for all.

Keeping his eyes on the area, he spotted a small dark blob moving towards the gap between the counter and the wall, too small for him to get them if it made it there. The cockroach! There was no time for the bug spray if he wanted to catch it now. He poured the water into the sink, now holding an empty cup.

The deed was done. The war has ended, peace returns to shine proudly on his home! At least, for the time being.

He is currently in a game of catch, with him as the determined lion, and the cockroach the panicking deer. The cup now a repurposed emergency cage, he bent down to get closer towards the ground, and lunged forward with the cup in hand, slamming it down onto the cockroach. 

He will have to deal with the cockroach soon. The cup can not stay on the ground forever— He had to lift it up at one point, which is a terrifying idea: He did not know if this cockroach could fly. What if it were to immediately fly into his face the moment he tipped the cup?!

The second option was more sympathetic to his fear: Leave it closed until it dies. The only two problems that come with this solution, though, are equally a nuisance. For one, the cup was opaque— he would not be able to know when it would be safe to open the cup as he is unable to see when it would be dead. Secondly, the fact that he knew cockroaches are very good at staying alive! He definitely does not want to leave that cup on the ground for, say, three months straight.

Though he has another side that has a conflict with his fear of bugs. People, when grown up, tend to lose their natural childlike wonder towards mundane things, causing life to lose its colour the older one gets. He, though appearing as an uninteresting nobody to anyone passing by, has not yet lost that sense of curiosity. His fear of bugs and his curiosity - towards bugs - in this case, clashed against each other.

A simple solution to making peace with both sides is to separate them using a glass wall. The same way the bug will not make physical contact with him, the fear will not leave the confines of its prison.

And that is what he plans to do.

He will not kill it.

He will simply change its prison walls.

Taking a glass this time, he held it next to the quiet, opaque cup.

The kitchen was silent, and even more so now that he completely forgot to breathe. His sweaty hand had started to fog up the glass a little. He paused, mentally preparing himself for the cup swap.

It’s just a cockroach, he reasoned with himself. There was nothing to be afraid of, and it is most likely more scared of you than you are of it.

A deep breath.

A pause.

The next thing he knew, the cups were swapped.

But what he saw was not a cockroach.

It was a…borrower?

Should she start doubting her own existence? Nay, she is very much real and tangible, despite whatever rusty thoughts are pouring into his mind as of this moment. She pinched herself on the shoulder.

“You’re real?!”

Just to confirm her reality.

She simply stared at him as the human squinted his eyes at her.

Is he trying to show that she is that insignificant compared to him? Sure, he is large in size, but there was no need to rub it in her face. She can assess her situation quite well, very unlike her captor, thank you very much.

Has he never seen someone like her before? What is a “borrower”? This is starting to feel more and more like an insult to her dignity. Stripped of her name, then her dignity, what’s next? It was already bad enough that she was captured like an animal, but to be captured by such a dimwit just seems precisely what the Court would consider an entertaining joke.

“Are you a borrower?”

Fortunately, being captured by an idiot has its advantages. An easy escapade can be done in no time, especially for someone as capable as her— as long as she can find a chance to do so, and humans rarely have any room for that, given their physical superiority. She could make the glass brittle enough to break and make a run for it, but—

“Maybe you’re not talking or something because whatever rules you have stop you from doing so, but I want to talk, not to harm you…?”

He sounded like he is not even confident with his own statement. He could try to lie better, perhaps. A decent attempt, however not one that can fool her into talking. She owes humans nothing. There is no favour to return, perhaps except trapping him in a glass, if she could.

She knocked on the glass to examine her prison walls better.

Clink, clink!

She looked at him again. Eyes droopy, he opened his mouth to let out a small yawn, scaring her just a little before she reigned in her fear.

Humans have no proper etiquette.

What felt like an eternity continued with nothing but a staring contest. And she will wait for however long she has to in order to escape. He said he was tired.

She still refused to talk?! OK, he thought, makes sense if they don’t trust humans or whatever.

Then she will wait until he sleeps.

But still, this is real. A borrower in front of him.

He knows the right thing to do would be to let her go and respect her right to liberty, but also, he knew that he would definitely never see her again if he did that.

So he brought her, covered glass and all, to his bedroom, trapped. After all, what’s the harm in doing that if she is in no danger? Not that he plans to harm her anyway. It is just keeping her in one place where he can keep an eye on her.

Yet, the pair of eyes supposed to keep an eye on her are closing. He blinked harder, trying to keep himself awake.

No— I can’t sleep yet— This is a once in a lifetime thing...

A minute later, soft snoring left the confines of warm blankets.

[purpleqilinwrites]

quietly.

a/n: for the pixel café network's spooktober event. if you'd like to read more, the event masterlist is here!

fandom: haikyuu!!

character: ushijima wakatoshi

genre: angst

info: zombie apocalypse au; takes place around the time-skip; established relationship (ushijima is your boyfriend / fiancé)

warnings: might not be canon-compliant; mentions of gore; mentions of injury (one of them self-inflicted); major character death

synopsis: the world ended not with a bang, but quietly, in a room with blue wallpaper.

word count: 3.5k

Ushijima Wakatoshi

It was quiet outside. Too quiet.

The thought of something – or a group of someones – catching you by surprise prevented you from falling asleep, and you got up from the makeshift bed you threw together to stand guard by the smudged window again. Ushijima stirred from your abrupt movement, moving his arm to tug you back to him but only snagging a handful of air.

"They're not active when it's dark," he said, his voice still laden with sleep. You felt bad for waking him. He was the one who's been doing most of the hard labour keeping the two of you alive, and you thought that safeguarding him while he rested was the one thing you could do for him in return. You weren't much good at any of the survival things, despite being quite savvy at the games you played that simulated this exact situation you found yourself in. "Let's just sleep."

Cutting through the rotting flesh of a zombie was stupidly easy a few months prior, when all you had to do was press several buttons in quick succession. Ushijima had wondered what you found so fascinating about playing a character trying to survive a zombie apocalypse. You didn't know either. Maybe there was something about being a hero that you liked. The main character almost always won at the end, after all.

"Be back in a minute," you said, crossing your arms to ward off the late autumn chill. Ushijima left it at that, turning his head to the side where you should've been sleeping and closing his eyes.

You remained on your feet by the window for maybe half an hour after you heard him start snoring again. The only movement you detected outside was the trees bending at the waist to the strong hand of the night winds.

When the food you'd amassed was close to running out, Ushijima decided that it was time to move on from this defunct power station. With several jelly drinks and two granola bars safely stored in the fanny pack under your jacket, you followed him out of the ruined front gates once the afternoon began to wane into the evening.

It was all open terrain once you were out of the compound.

You were soothed knowing that if there was a zombie or two approaching, it would be easy to spot them since there was nowhere for them to hide. On the other hand, there was no avoiding another bloody confrontation once the zombie had been spotted.

The weight of the borrowed wrench in your hand did little to assuage your worry. It was cold against the heat of your skin. Colder than the evening breeze that whipped at your face once the stars began to wink at the pair of you from above.

You stopped Ushijima for a moment to admire them, and just for the slow count up to ten, everything was alright again.

It felt like you'd been walking for days on end when a town a little ways ahead came into view.

You exhaled your relief, your breath condensing into a misshapen mist that was quickly eaten by the breeze. "Let's hurry," Ushijima said, adjusting the straps of his backpack and then gesturing for you to keep up with him.

The house that was the first to greet you looked the way you felt, with the door missing, all its windows smashed in, and an entire chunk of the front wall lying scattered about the overgrown lawn in hunks of debris. As you approached, there was a pointed odour of decay rushing out from deeper within the house through the missing section of the wall.

You continued down the path that led to several more houses in the town instead of stopping at the first one, and all the houses in the row were alike in sight and smell. There was a much larger house at the north end of the town from where you started. Despite its less than hospitable condition, you said, "It'll have to do for now," and Ushijima acquiesced with that little wrinkle in his brow that told you he didn't want to stop there in the meantime if he could help it.

Less than two meters from what would've been the front gardens of the large house was a mostly intact concrete wall that reached only to your waist. There were several rust-coloured blotches splattered around the corners. It was arduous work putting the thought of what those dark stains could be to rest, but you managed. Across the one face of the wall was a metal plaque inscribed with a mostly faded name.

This town used to be a retirement village.

You shivered, even if you didn't feel particularly cold. Ushijima retraced his last ten or so steps and came to stand beside you when he realised you hadn't moved for a while, and his palm was warm against your bicep.

"Let's not stay here long," he said. "Just for the night."

The aluminised plastic rustled when you rubbed the packet of onsen salts between your hands. It didn't impart any warmth to you, but you still palmed at it anyway.

Ushijima looked up from taking stock of what was left of your food reserves because of the noise. "There's no running water here," he said. "You can't take a bath." A mirthless sound left your lips at his innocent reminder of your situation. It's been a few months already since the last time you took a bath. You wondered how long you'd be stewing in the medicated water if you knew beforehand that it would be your last soak for a while.

Even the ability to rinse your sweat-smeared face with clean water instead of drinking it was a luxury so far out of reach.

"I know." You spoke after a moment of silence, reading the words on the packet as if it were the first time you were seeing it. "I was hoping looking at this would make me feel better. Remind me of the days before all this."

You felt him scoot right up to you, his arms wrapping around your midsection as he leaned in to take a closer look at what you were holding. "We went there for our anniversary last year. And to celebrate my contract with the Adlers being renewed," he said, poking at the telltale logo on the upper left corner of the packet. You didn't miss how he let his touch linger on the packet of onsen salts in your hands. "I liked it too. The onsen."

For a man as stoic as Ushijima, though you knew it wasn't on purpose that he presented himself that way, that small gesture absolutely ripped your heart down the middle.

The next place you took refuge in was at a fishing port.

All the buildings along the port were repurposed shipping containers, the outer layer of paint dulled all over and peeling in some places, exposing irregular patches of rust. Ushijima stopped in front of the least damaged container and tried to open the door. When he determined that it was locked, he forcibly opened the door with his hammer and stepped in.

After a moment, he emerged from his initial scan of the shipping container's interior and beckoned for you to join him inside. "Come. It's safe for you."

Whoever owned this shipping container was a godsend.

The weariness you've been shouldering all these past few months seemed to seep out of your bones and evaporated as you hungrily took in the sight of the rows and rows of emergency food supplies and bottled water. You felt something wet trail down your chin. Swiping at your mouth with the back of your free hand, you realised then that you had been drooling. Even the wet sensation of your own spit on your face felt unfamiliar.

Ushijima was hauling the display cabinet at the other end of the container to fortify the now busted door when you came back to yourself. You began pulling where he was pushing, and the two of you made quick work of turning the display cabinet into a barricade.

Dinner was a comparatively extravagant affair now that you had options other than to have a bite of something for now or to save it for later.

You crunched on not just one but two cups of instant noodles, enjoying a forkful of canned tuna between bites of noodles. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Ushijima simply watching you eat, his own dinner of canned beans in tomato sauce with a sleeve of wheat crackers sitting yet untouched in front of him.

"You want some?" You reached over with an especially hefty forkful of tuna, which he easily accepted. As he chewed, he placed a cracker loaded with beans over the mouth of one of your empty noodle cups.

"I like this," he said, and you had an inkling he wasn't referring to the food in front of him. "It's been a while since I saw you smile. It's nice."

His sentimental declaration completely disarmed you. Even with the cracker he shared with you shovelled partly into your mouth, your eyes filled up with tears that quickly began running down your face as if by the bucket. Your tears surprised him, and with your vision partially obscured by them, you saw how he almost dropped the cracker he was eating. It made you laugh, despite yourself. Despite the cracker chunks sticking uncomfortably to the roof of your mouth. Despite the reality of things outside this shipping container.

There was something boneless about how you felt – a good kind of boneless feeling, if there was such a thing – when he put his food down to hold you until you were done crying around a mouthful of beans and a broken-off corner of a cracker.

This situation with the zombies has been a reality for exactly a year and eight months since the first time you got bitten.

It was in what used to be a covered shopping street. You remembered coming here with your friends from elementary school, your wallet heavy with coins so that you could spend hours and hours playing in the arcade. For a moment, you wondered about them as you walked behind Ushijima along the ruined corner of the shopping street where that arcade should've been.

This was a place brimming with good memories from your past. It filled your mouth with an acrid, bitter taste that in your present, this place would signal the beginning of the end.

You mourned the loss of two fingers from your left hand, your little finger and your ring finger that you had to cleave off if you wanted to avoid transforming into a zombie. For months and months after the fact, you suffered from irregular bouts of a phantom pain that was real enough to seize you from your sleep, and you were always left kicking and screaming until it passed.

Sometimes, when your mind cleared and you became aware that the wound had already healed into an uneven mass of a scar, you found yourself grieving also that if this zombie situation were ever resolved, you'd never wear a wedding ring where it was supposed to be worn.

After a particularly nasty run-in with a group of other survivors, the two of you collectively agreed to remain on your own. You wanted to ask "Until when?" but the words evaded you when you noticed that the clench in Ushijima's jaw had become a permanent fixture of his face. His natural expression was never angry, before all this.

The remains of Shiratorizawa Academy loomed over the residential and semi-commercial buildings that surrounded it, casting a shadow even in the late hour.

At first, you thought he wanted to stay there for the time being, and so you followed at the usual two paces behind him. Ushijima stopped without warning in his approach, and you rammed into his back. The sight of your shared alma mater cast a spell on him, and he paid no mind to you as you stumbled and latched onto his elbow to right yourself.

The last time he'd held you, the angles of his bones didn't jut out this much.

"I wanted us to get married here," he said, turning around to face you. You had expected him to say something about volleyball instead. Something about the way his palm tingled pleasantly after he spiked the ball. Something about Satori-kun and the other Shiratorizawa boys he used to play here with. After all, he loved the sport before he loved you. You never once thought to equate these two loves of his. Even so—

There was that pinprick of warmth at the back of your eyes that warned of the tears to come, but that was the end of it. Maybe you were too dehydrated to retain the ability to cry. You blinked, as if to prevent a tide of nonexistent tears from falling.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but a low growl from within the abandoned Shiratorizawa compound made him close it.

There was a part of you that was too tired to run. You've already spent more than two years – or more? Had it been three years already? Five? More? – running and hiding and starving. When was the last time you were happy that you were still alive?

Ushijima appeared to be able to hear the words on the tip of your tongue that you haven't yet said, and he made the decision for you. As a swarm of zombies materialised from the twisted shadows of Shiratorizawa, he grabbed your forearm and yanked you after him.

The two of you narrowly missed the most nimble zombie in the horde. The one who relentlessly chased after you on all fours with a good portion of his face and most of his right arm missing.

It was in another school when you got bitten again.

This time, there were no memories attached to the place. Neither of you went to school here. It was too far north of Sendai where the two of you met. You took it as a small consolation, no matter that it was insignificant, that nothing in your past was sullied by this thing that happened in your present.

You poured an entire travel-sized vodka bottle onto the wound once you managed to duck into an underground shelter a good distance away from the school. Dipping your hand into your fanny pack left you disappointed; you had nothing else to clean the site of your injury with.

The wound festered unnaturally, darkening into the sickly purple-grey of a bruised plum beginning to mould. Even the flies that gathered around the corpses of people who died a natural death avoided the parasitic rot making its home in your body.

It occurred to you that you might need to self-mutilate once again, for the sake of survival. You brandished the one clean knife in your possession before you processed the thought, aligning the cutting edge with the curve of your lowermost rib on the right side. The exposed portion of bone, off-white from the poor nutrition of the recent years and mostly smooth when the bite was still fresh, had succumbed to the thing that was going to kill you.

If you didn't do this now—

Ushijima caught you with the pocket knife within its sheath, but still tightly enmeshed in the meeting of your two hands. There was a pleading look in his eyes that made your heart twist painfully in your chest. You couldn't bear to maintain eye contact for longer than a second, turning your cheek to him instead.

"Toshi, please," you said, and pushing those two words past your lips drained you. "I don't want to turn into a zombie. Let me do this, please. Please–"

If you didn't do this now, you'd have to ask him—

The last clinic the two of you stumbled upon was devoid of anything useful. All that met you within the shattered glass walls were the lifeless bodies of what looked to have been at least two groups of survivors fighting over the last of some medical supplies. You checked a can of disinfectant spray lying by the severed leg of the least decomposed corpse, and the way it rattled when you picked it up told you it had been empty for a while.

"We've already been through so much. We'll get through this too," he said, prying the knife from your trembling hands. You were prepared for the physical pain of what needed to be done, but there was nothing you could do to steel yourself against the cruel knowledge that you had to leave Ushijima behind soon.

"I can't– Do this anymore," you said. "It hurts. Everything– Everything hurts."

His eyes were watchful while you lay shivering and sweaty and grey on the stained mattress. You were bundled up in an assortment of clothes Ushijima had collected from the other apartments in this building. It was the heat of summer, clammy and thick, but it felt like winter to you.

You gathered the strength to wave your hand at him to properly get his attention, but your efforts fell short, your forearm rising only to flop back where it came from. The closest you came to swearing was a broken, wispy groan.

He was looking at you, but not seeing you. It was the same way you were looking at him, and all you could focus on was the repetitive floral motif on the pretty blue wallpaper behind him.

"–Toshi," you managed. It took maybe five or six seconds for him to register that you had spoken. Once it did, he rose from his seated position on the floor close to the mattress to kneel beside where you lay.

You mustered all the strength you had left in your quickly rotting body to nod to him. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't summon the words to your lips and push them out so he could hear you. So that he knew that this was it. That it was time for you to go, and he had to let you go. All you managed was a singular decisive nod.

It felt like a moment that should've been tearful. This was goodbye, after all.

These few – or maybe more than a few – years you survived because of him. You never knew how much it cost him because he never let you apologise for being one more thing for him to take care of. Ushijima only accepted your feelings when you said, "Thank you" and "I love you" and "I appreciate you".

You gave a strained nod that sapped what remained alive in you, and he nodded back with his mouth flattened into a solemn line.

He leaned forward to press his lips to yours one last time. In the blurred vision of your one good eye, it looked like he was about to cry as his face drew nearer to yours. Since you couldn't bring your arms around him, you settled for two dull taps of your index finger onto the plush surface of the mattress and hoped he understood. Did he even see it?

You wanted to ask him not to cry while you could still be aware of it, but you've already asked too much of him.

He stood up, leaving your narrow field of vision for a moment. When he came back into view, the pocket knife you'd been using as your weapon of choice was in his dominant hand, the deep green of the weathered handle standing out against the colour of his skin.

Ushijima leaned over you, shivering and sweaty and grey.

His right hand passed over your face, and he mapped out the line of your jaw, the curve of your lips, the slant of your nose, the shape of your eyes. The calloused pads of his fingers were gentle as he shut your eyes for you.

"I don't want this," he admitted, nestling his cheek against your forehead. His voice was close to your ear, and you could hear the fissures in it worsening as he spoke. "Not when I was ready to die before you."

The cool of your grey flesh greedily soaked up the warmth of his body when he lifted your upper body to cradle you to his chest, safe in his arms as you've always been. You wanted to snuggle into the crook of his neck one more time before it was time for you to go, but there was no more energy left in you. Your life had run out, and it was time—

"I love you," was the last thing you heard but not the last thing you felt.

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Uncharismatic Fact of the Day

An aardvark's long nose isn't just just for show; these mammals have an excellent sense of smell! One reason for this is the olfactory bulb, a structure that receives and processes neural input about odours detected by cells in the nasal cavity. The snout of an aardvark contains nine olfactory bulbs-- more than any other mammal!

(Image: An aardvark inspecting a termite mound at the Lincoln Park Zoo)

If you like what I do, consider leaving a tip or buying me a ko-fi!

[dustmusings]

Baby, I’m the Wolf / Adar x Fuinhíril (OC)

— chapter one: caught a lamb

summary: Fuinhíril finds herself held captive in the newly created realm of the Orcs.

tags/warnings: capture/imprisonment, enemies to lovers? they are very mistrusting of each other at least, Fuinhíril has unclear morality, general warning for violence and mentions of traumatic events going forwards, follows the plot of season two up to a certain point (adar lives), also this is not a stockholm syndrome thing lol

a/n: subsequent chapters will be longer, I just wanted this first scene to be its own part basically. translations for elvish phrases are at the end! I am still figuring it out so let’s just… cut me some slack, in that regard. please.

next chapter / masterlist / join my taglist / chapter wc: 1.8k

Fuinhíril had failed to think of the impracticality of being captured in the shadow land until she found herself dragged through mud and squalor at the hands of the Orcs, and shoved into what could only be described as a hole in the ground. Her hands were roughly bound in chains while she awaited the judgement of their leader, and it was only then, hours after her arrival, it occurred to her that she had left home without so much as a plan, or a purpose.

What did she expect, really?

To make it into the newly-established home of the Uruks without detection was a feat that no one had managed as of yet. Fuinhíril was lucky they didn't drive a blade through her stomach before she uttered the first word of her plea to speak with their commander. The Orcs were admittedly confounded by the request, but through their own deliberation they decided it was the right course of action. They had referred to her as a Southlander as she was thrown into the hole in which she waited, so she could at least praise their ignorance.

The ground below her knees was thankfully more solid than the sodden mess outside, but it was really no less unpleasant. A sour odour still lingered in the air. It was a uniquely vile flavour that she could practically taste on her tongue as she inhaled through her lips, ironically in an effort to escape the smell. It truly was the most dire place she had laid her eyes on.

The curtain that hung at the entrance was pulled aside, and a figure stepped inside. His stature was far taller than that of the Orcs who had dragged Fuinhíril though the camp, and it was immediately evident to her who it was. He stood before her hunched form with his hands locked behind him, as if mirroring her posture. His gaze was uncannily steady, indeterminable. Cold eyes trailed her form, searching for recognition where there was none, and she was half of the mind to cower away from him.

He didn't speak. He didn't do anything but appraise her, and Fuinhíril tipped her head to the side as she looked up at him, a silent question of what he intended to do with her. He didn't seem all too bothered about her, he had made no rush in coming to confront her presence, and even less so when he turned away from her to leave.

"Larta"

He ground to a halt, cocking his head in recognition of the Elvish speech, waiting a moment, and then turning to slowly walk back towards her in measured steps.

"Who is this, that speaks to me with words they know not the meaning of?" he finally spoke. His voice was deep, rough, with an edge of curiosity that didn't go unnoticed by the Elf he questioned.

Fuinhíril remained silent, though the corner of her lips quirked into the smallest of smirks, feeling a little victorious at gaining a reaction from the stoic Uruk.

"Man esselya ná?" he then asked, narrowing his eyes as he regarded her.

"I do not see what business of yours that is" Fuinhíril retorted, adjusting her posture so she sat more comfortably on her heels.

"And what business have you wandering the shadow land?" He inquired.

"My business is my own"

The man tilted his head, his gaze discerning, "a spy, then"

Fuinhíril scoffed, turning her face away, "do not flatter yourself"

She would not give herself up so easily. The Uruk leader considered her more closely, taking another step so he was right above her. She remained steadfast in avoiding his gaze, keeping her eyes focused at where his boots met the dirt just centimetres from her knees. The feel of his hand grasping her hair made her flinch backwards, though he still managed to push her curls from covering her ear with little difficulty.

"I might have known" he rumbled, more to himself than the red-headed Elf at his feet, "you are an emissary from Lindon"

Fuinhíril almost laughed, now looking up at him with a sardonic expression, "do I really strike you as one of the Ñoldor?"

He examined her appearance more thoroughly then, eyes skimming along her every feature; hazel eyes lined by dark lashes, auburn curls that had matted together sometime during her journey, the point of her chin, gentle slope of her nose, the sharp lines of her cupid's bow. Though it was more so the earth tones of her clothes where his eyes lingered.

The Uruk crouched, now face to face with her, "what, pray tell, would a Silvan Elf be doing in my lands?"

"What indeed" Fuinhíril mused with a challenging simper.

"Do not test my patience" he muttered, his voice holding a dangerous quality despite its stability, "speak plainly"

Fuinhíril averted her gaze a moment, her mind scrambling to find a compelling reason. "I come not to spy, or on the command of anyone but myself, if that is your concern"

The Uruk hummed, digesting the statement, "then what else would bring one of the Nandor this far from home?"

"Curiosity" her gaze slid across his own once more, and she spoke now with more conviction.

He raised an eyebrow, "curiosity?"

"I had heard tell of the one the Orcs call 'Adar'" she began, watching for any reaction and coming up short, "that he had created for them a realm in which they could move by daylight"

Fuinhíril paused then, dropping her head to the side regard him — his hair, his ears, his scarred skin. It was a distinctly elf-like image as compared to his infantry, and despite herself, she found herself thinking he made for a handsome Orc, if there could be such a thing. Her lips quirked once she had given him a once over.

"That would be you, I presume"

Adar remained unswayed by the elf's conjecture, "you were merely curious about me?"

Fuinhíril shrugged, "among other things"

"Go on" he prompted.

Her eyes flicked away, searching for an answer once more. He didn't need to know the extent of her reason for being there, especially when it wasn't entirely clear to her.

"The Southlands" she spoke up, "I travelled through here when I was only a child. I wanted to see what had become of it"

Adar fixed her with a doubtful stare, his eyes thinning. It was clear that he didn't believe her, and she couldn't really blame him for it.

"And now that you have got what you came for?" he uttered.

Fuinhíril scoffed, "being chained to a post is hardly what I came for"

"Hm" Adar contemplated her claim, then stood from his crouched position and started towards the curtain through which he'd entered.

"Mecin, á lerya ni" she pleaded, trying not to sound entirely too desperate, but he had left the space before the last word passed her lips.

Fuinhíril hung her head in defeat, her shoulders slumping forwards as her body deflated. She could feel the cuffs biting into her wrists, entirely too tight, and knew that before long they would cut through the flesh. That would be unpleasant enough, but for the rusted metal and filth around her to enter the wound would surely be worse. She was not given much time to ponder it however, as soon enough the leader of the Uruks returned, a plate of food in his grasp.

The elf watched him as he planted the plate before her, and moved around to unfasten her restraints. He was surprisingly gentle, but perhaps it was just that the other Uruk had been so rough. Her perception was a little foggy given the circumstances.

Fuinhíril cradled her wrists as they came loose, attempting to rub away any of the lingering pain. She eyed the food in front of her, a simple collection of fruits and seeds. It wasn't an unwelcome sight, and she was surprised that even these few edible things could be found in the vicinity at all. She looked up at her captor, who now sat on a stool opposite.

"I am not in the habit of poisoning 'curious' ellith" Adar assured, the inflection discernibly mocking.

It was of little consequence to her, how he chose to address her, as she dug into the limited meal before her. She could feel the weight of Adar's gaze as she ate, something heavy with misgivings, distrust. It wasn't so surprising that he was wary of her presence, she had expected as much, but it didn't make the encounter any less strained.

A silence hung in the air, uncomfortable and begging to be broken, but neither Uruk nor Elf was yet willing to heed its wishes. Fuinhíril could hear the Orcs outside, discussing her presence in what she assumed was their idea of hushed voices. An amused smile managed to worm its way onto her face as she took on their deductions, each of them as ludicrous as the next.

"Who are you?"

Fuinhíril finally glanced up, only to be met by Adar's calculating gaze. He was sat back against the far wall, his legs spread and arms resting slack against them. She would have thought he wasn't concerned for his safety at all if it wasn't for the sword that sat at his hip. Then again, what could she do in her position? Her weapon had been ripped from her hands the moment she was apprehended.

"Nobody" she shrugged, popping another berry into her mouth.

His eyes narrowed at her as he sat forward, elbows settling on his knees, "what do they call you, in the Greenwood?"

She paused her movements, measuring her response and waiting a moment to mull over whether or not to tell him the truth. After a prolonged silence, she relented.

"Fuinhíril"

For the first time, she received a real reaction from him. His eyebrows raised, if only marginally, but Fuinhíril revelled in drawing it from him nonetheless.

"A name you gave yourself?"

"No" Fuinhíril replied, biting the inside of her cheek in a failed attempt to contain her amusement, "a parent that rather had a taste for the melodramatic"

Adar nodded, though didn't relent in his reticent demeanour, indifferent to the information. He watched her finish the small plate of food in silence, something Fuinhíril was coming to expect from him. As she took her last bite, he stood and strode over, taking her wrists with ease despite the way she tugged them away from him, and rebound them in the cuffs.

"What will you do with me?" Fuinhíril asked, her neck craning to look up at him as he moved around her.

"You will remain until I can ascertain your purpose for being here" he replied, sparing her a glance.

"I have told you already" She reasoned.

"And I do not believe you" he stated flatly, his back to her as he made for the entrance.

Fuinhíril called his name for the first time, almost hopelessly, and the Uruk's steps faltered, "lá carin cuptaldë"

Adar didn't turn back, though slowed enough to speak his parting words, "i ná asquétima"

elvish words/phrases — q. quenya & s. sindarin, in order of appearance:

s. Fuinhíril (name) = lady of darkness/dead of night/gloom

q. Larta = wait

q. Man esselya ná? = what is your name?

q. Nandor = Silvan Elves

q. Mecin, á lerya ni = please, release me

s. Ellith = elf (fem, pl.)

q. lá carin cuptaldë = I do not decieve you

q. i ná asquétima = that is easy to say

tagging: @jetii

[ellenchain]

Not new month but still new otter fact

"Otters can swim at speeds of up to 14 km/h, while the German swimmer Paul Biedermann achieved his world record in the 200 metre freestyle at half that speed. Otters can swim almost silently, detecting all sounds and odours, while their ears, nose and eyes remain in line just above the water surface."

(Sorry for the delay 😔)

[calaisreno]

Diagnosis

974 words / Prompt: Night / CW: Sad

After, I stayed at Baker Street as long as I could, but every morning that I woke up and found him gone plunged me into darkness. Everything reminded me. 

When I couldn’t sleep, I walked. I could never escape the memories, though. If I did sleep, they were there, waiting for me. 221B was full of memories, lacking him. At night, walking was better than lying in bed, sleepless, with the past. 

Sometimes at night I saw him. Wherever I walked, he would eventually appear, waiting in a doorway, sitting on a bench in the park. Without speaking, he would fall in step with me.

“You must be a vampire,” I told him one night. “I only see you after dark.” 

Vampires are not real, he said. 

“Are you real?” I asked. 

I could almost hear him smiling. You didn’t invent me.

Once I asked him if he would come home with me. He didn’t answer. 

I drank during the day, walked at night, and thought about going back to work. 

I slept in his bed. Even to myself, I seemed crazy. I thought about dying.

After a month of this, drinking and walking, it came to me that I had to leave. Mrs Hudson was lovely, but it was impossible for me to explain it to her, so I just left a note, promising to stop in at some point and pick up my things. 

I waited until night, took my bag and slipped out the door like a thief. As I looked back, I saw a tall figure in a Belstaff coat following me.

I’d travelled back in time to a depressing bedsit. To a life where Sherlock didn’t exist, where those few months at 221B were something I’d dreamed. 

The first day I returned to work at the hospital, a few people stopped me to offer polite condolences. I thanked them, saying the same empty things over and over. After a couple days, nobody reminded me that he was dead and I was alone. On my way home I bought more liquor. Vodka this time, since it didn’t leave much odour on the breath.. 

 Like a sleepwalker, I trudged along for weeks, not sure where I was heading. Life was just eating and sleeping, taking the bus to work and coming home, watching the telly, smiling at people, saying meaningless things. 

At night, I walked in a liminal space where he might still exist.

“This patient came in,” I told him one night. “Five years old, high fever, skin peeling right off his palms, bright red eyes.”

He glanced at me, intrigued. Diagnosis? 

“Kawasaki disease. Never saw a case before.”

What tipped you off?

“When he stuck out his tongue and I saw how swollen and red it was, I remembered reading about that and it all just clicked together.” 

Satisfying when that happens, he said, nodding.

He seemed as restless as I was, and began turning up in places I didn’t expect. There were always the all-night convenience shops, and if I had something to pick up he would follow me inside, just out of eyeshot, reminding me to get the biscuits he liked, recommending jams that I might want to try. What about these chocolate biscuits? Or maybe the ones with apricot filling. 

Sometimes he was there in the A&E, making observations and acting bored when I ignored him, as I had to. “Can’t have people thinking I’m losing my mind, talking to people who aren’t there,” I muttered.

I heard him scoff. No, we can’t have that.

But usually I only saw him when I wasn’t working. When I arrived at my sad little flat after work in the early morning, he would be leaning on the door, waiting for me. Almost every day I had a story for him, a new case to describe. He asked odd questions: Did you look at his fingertips? Did his breath smell like ammonia? Did she have freckles, not the usual kind, but darker? Did her skin look waxy? 

He’d always said, People see, but they do not observe. As I examined my patients, I tried to use his eyes to observe the things that might solve the case. And gradually I realised that I’d become the go-to doctor for bizarre diagnoses. The Sherlock Holmes of Barts Hospital.

Impressive, Dr. Watson, he said. You’ve become quite the detective. 

“You taught me,” I said. “It was from you that I learned to see everything differently. As you always say, the world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance observes.” 

He smiled but said nothing. Though he loved receiving compliments, he was stingy in his praise of others. Once he’d praised something, there was no need to say it again just so my ego could bask in it. 

At other times, he was critical. You’re rotting your brain, he said one afternoon when I got out of bed and looked at my bloodshot eyes. You have talent — why are you doing this to yourself?

I didn’t point out that he had often rotted his brain with worse things. He had more or better brain cells, I suppose, and often needed to slow his mind down just to keep it from crashing out of exhaustion. 

But he was always more solicitous of my health than of his own. He scolded me now. You’re not taking care of yourself.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I’m really fucked up and I don’t know what to do about it. I miss you so much.”

I felt, rather than heard his chuckle. Try to remember all the things that used to annoy you. Try to remember what a prat I was.

“You weren’t,” I told him. “You were wonderful. I love you.”

The room was silent. When I looked up, he was gone.

[ackdraws]

Been revisiting SU a lot and remembered an old oc I wanted to remake.

Their name is Angelicall Stone, or just 'Angel' for short. They're a run-away gem, having fled from their superior - known as 'The Jeweller'.

Angel's meagre premonitions had suddenly evolved into blasts of full-on clairvoyance, foreseeing their master, The Jeweller, finding Homeworld to retrieve 'his diamond of light for his Magnum Opus'.

Overcome with a feeling of grave dread, Angel fled The Jeweller and tried to head to Homeworld to find and warn the diamond in question, only to lose their way and crash to Earth.

Angelicall Stone functions similarly to a pearl where he's from, hence the similarities. Angel works to fulfil low stakes wishes that require very minor reality bending to manifest and to serve The Jeweller. Angel can also turn himself invisible... but oddly enough, they can be detected by the strong odour of ozone he emits.

Angel doesn't actually know what 'gems' are. The only creatures they know about that are remotely similar are something he calls 'alloys'.

[lykegenia]

The Lingering of Ghosts Ch. 4

For other people, a romantic weekend away at a fancy hotel in beautiful, desolate Dartmoor would entail days of luxury and refinement. For Leah, however, still adjusting to the newness of her relationship with Nate, the supernatural always finds a way to ruin her plans. With a mysterious death and a string of disappearances to investigate, it's a race against time to discover what's going on before the veil between worlds thins too far with the turning of the year. Something is stalking in the dark, and the locals aren't the only ones with secrets.

TWC

Nate x F!Detective

--

A local radio station blares out an ad for a local car dealer from a hidden speaker in the corner of the room and a fire burns in what looks like an original grate, throwing a glitter of orange light across age-blackened ceiling beams hung with horse brasses. Stereotypical, perhaps, but it’s cosy. The air permeates with the faint, sweet odours of old hops and wood wax, and most importantly, it’s warm.

“Ah, good afternoon!” A middle-aged man with copious streaks of grey in his flyaway hair emerges from a back room. “You’re a new face, what can I get you?”

Deciding not to stand on ceremony, Leah edges onto a barstool and picks out a cider from the long row of polished taps. “If you’re Harry Davis, then I hear you’re the one to speak to about local history.”

“That I am,” he replies as he pulls up a pint glass from behind the bar, “but I didn’t know I was famous.”

She shrugs. “I was given a tip-off. You know what small towns are like.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience.”

“Where I’m from, someone changing their coffee order is cause for gossip.”

That makes him laugh as he sets her drink on the bar and takes her payment. “That’s familiar enough, alright. So, what do you want to know?”

[owlservice]

Four myths of smell

Because our grasp of smell is so poor, a number of myths and misunderstandings have accumulated around this sense. Clearing them up at the outset will help you on this journey to the centre of scent.

Myth 1: You smell with your nose. Although we can indeed smell by inhaling through our nostrils, we detect odours using neurons that are directly connected to the brain, which dangle down through the base of the skull, at about eye level [...] Really, you are smelling with your brain.

Myth 2: You smell molecules in the air. The molecules we smell are carried on the air, but we do not directly detect airborne odours. If your olfactory neurons were in contact with the air they would shrivel and die; instead, these neurons, which are found in a thin layer of skin called the olfactory epithelium, are protected by a layer of mucus. A similar thing happens with insects—their olfactory neurons bathe in liquid housed in their sensory hairs. For obvious reasons, aquatic organisms can only sense odours in water. (Yes, fish, crabs, lobsters, and so on all smell, too.) Any airborne molecule you want to smell has to get through that protective liquid barrier. For this to happen, there are special molecules called odorant binding proteins (OBPs) that are found in that mucus—effectively on the outside of your body. Their role seems to be to transport smell molecules through the mucus and deliver them to the receptors on the olfactory neurons.

Myth 3: We have a poor sense of smell. For a long time, scientists agreed with this claim, but in 2017, the neuroscientist John McGann of Rutgers University highlighted the real situation in an article entitled ‘Poor human olfaction is a 19th-century myth’. He summarized the key evidence and concluded that ‘human olfaction is excellent and impactful’. While it is generally the case that your sense of smell might be diminished if you are aged, or if you smoke, and you will generally be better at smelling if you are female (overall, women have a more acute sense of smell than men), in reality we all have an atomic nose [...] Your sense of smell can distinguish between molecules that differ in size by a single atom of carbon—people describe heptanol (an alcohol made of seven carbon atoms) as smelling ‘violet, sweet, woody’, while octanol (just one carbon atom more) smells ‘sweet, orange, rose’. Caraway—one of the components of curry—smells different from spearmint; the two smells have exactly the same atomic composition, but their structure is different. The molecules are mirror images of each other, like two gloves. The difference in our perception of those two odours is due to the way our olfactory neurons respond to the different molecular orientations.

So fine is our sense of smell that the number of odours we can distinguish may be near-infinite. For decades, researchers repeated that the average human could distinguish about 10,000 odours, but this figure had no scientific basis. In 2014 researchers in the laboratory of my good friend Leslie Vosshall at Rockefeller University tried to estimate how many smells we might be able to tell apart, based on mixtures of molecules. They came up with the astonishing figure of over a trillion. Although this mathematical model has been challenged, it seems probable that there is no real limit to the number of odours we can detect. The same will apply to many other animals.

Myth 4: We do not use smell much. Your sense of smell and your sense of taste are intimately connected. If you try eating something tasty while pinching your nose, making sure your mouth is shut, you will find that there is little flavour; but when you take your fingers away, you should get a sudden rush of sensation as volatile compounds from the food you are chewing whoosh up your nasal cavity and flow over your olfactory neurons, high in your head. [...] Our sense of taste is relatively rudimentary, divided into a small number of classes (the traditional salt, sour, bitter, and sweet, together with the more recently identified umami (meaty), fatty, hot/spicy, metallic, and the taste of carbon dioxide), while our perception of flavour is a mixture of the simple world of taste and the rich, multiple dimensions of smell. In many languages, flavour is colloquially called ‘taste’ even though smell may be the dominant sense giving flavour its subtlety. [...]

Smell has long been a powerful aspect of human culture. Fragrances have been used in rituals and ceremonies down the ages, while perfumes—often based on animal sources, such as musk from the scent glands of deer, or from plants—have been a significant part of many cultures. The modern perfume industry is perpetually creating new scents that promise glamour and excitement for both genders, in a way that other products cannot. Smell has even been used to tell the time—from the 11th century onwards, Chinese temples used aroma clocks, containing powdered incense that burned at a particular rate, to release different scents at different times. [...]

Smell is not just a mysterious biological phenomenon, with fascinating examples from across the animal kingdom, it is also a key part of our social existence that often goes unrecognized. 

Smell (AVSI) by Matthew Cobb

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

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Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed-a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids-to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of 'More Than Our Parts' from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 5.5K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

Nines hoped this newest witness would prove cooperative, allowing them to collect necessary intel as quickly as possible. Not just for the sake of appeasing their captain but because of a uniquely off-putting trend that seemed to be emerging in their inquiries. 

Namely, that every location visited was more repellent than the last.

At first glance, one could assume Mikey's Electronics had only been open for weeks, although a review of registration details swiftly contradicted this. The compact space was appallingly organised, resembling a seasonal pop-up store more than a longstanding business. Poorly mounted shelves and barren display cases were scattered haphazardly throughout the room, lacking any discernible logic or cohesion.

The entire room seemed coated in a thick layer of dirt, with a series of worn posters half-fused to the grubby windows—advertisements for long-past fairs and festivals, as well as another, more contentious feature Nines hoped to bring to the owner's attention.

As the officers stepped through the threshold, food molecules and dermal fallout wafted into the air, displaced by the shuffle of their feet.

The stench was appalling, overloading his olfactory channels. For a moment, the android was tempted to vacate the premises immediately, sacrificing any fledgling hopes of furthering their investigation.

The last few days had left him increasingly disenchanted with how disgusting humans could be. Reed, unsurprisingly, was less perturbed. He strode with confidence through the room toward a grimy register counter. 

A heavy-set man was stationed behind it, the impressive girth of his backside all but eclipsing the fold-out chair he lounged on. An inexpensive wireless headset—matching the specifications of those in a nearby display—sat askew over both ears. He scrolled idly on his phone, oblivious to their presence.

> SCANNING SUBJECT…

> SCAN COMPLETE.

> SCOTT, BERNARD MITCHELL 

> BORN: 06/29/1990 // REGISTERED BUSINESS OWNER — MIKEY'S ELECTRONICS.

> CRIMINAL RECORD: TAX FRAUD, EMBEZZLEMENT, HARASSMENT.

Lacklustre customer service, it seemed, was also a common trend amongst local businesses. 

The RK begrudgingly followed his partner. As they drew closer to Scott, a new wave of rancid odour entered the equation. The musk of sweat, both fresh and old, suggested it had been a disconcerting amount of time since the human last washed.

Scott was surely aware of his condition—though if he was, it clearly served as no concern. There was zero regard for self-presentation, which did nothing to aid his already unfortunate anatomical traits. His features were poorly balanced, squashed into the centre of his rotund face, leaving a wide margin of space on either side. 

Reed was first to break the silence, addressing him with surprising gentility—likely more than was deserved. 

"Hey buddy, how's it going?"

Scott responded with an uncouth snort. The resultant mucus was wiped with the back of his hand before being transferred to the front of a grease-stained vest. Reed bristled, his expression contorting in fervent displeasure, evidence that he wasn't immune to the more repellent aspects of his species.

"... Hello ?" he repeated, his tone growing thinner, less cordial than before. When Scott failed to answer, the detective leaned forward, snapping his fingers across the counter in an attempt to secure his attention.

In an obnoxious display of stubbornness, Scott slouched deeper into his chair, his attention consumed fully by his phone. Reed grunted in annoyance, poised to gesture again before Nines moved to stop him.

"He cannot hear you; there is no point in persisting." 

This was likely untrue, although he determined it would be the quickest way to dissuade the ritual.

Given the poor sound quality of the headphones and subpar noise cancellation, Scott had undoubtedly heard. Unlike with Walters, there was no uncertainty—he simply didn't care, making an overplayed show of appearing busy.

Nines' patience, already strained by their previous witness, felt a spiteful inspiration take shape in his mainframe. Musings wove themselves together, creeping forward in a way that proved impossible to resist.

"Not to worry, I am confident I can secure his attention." 

Under the guise of 'logical practicality,' Nines extended his reach. Fingertips hovered inches above one of the earpieces before he deactivated his conductive fail safes—sending a small charge of electricity rocketing through it.

The resulting feedback was unable to be contained by the flimsy plastic shell of the speakers. Scott recoiled, almost tipping from his seat as he yanked the device from his head.

The action carried an air of familiarity as if this wasn't the first time the product had malfunctioned in this way. Nonetheless, he was disgruntled, staring into the hollow of the cup and grumbling under his breath:

"What the fuck? Useless piece of—"

"Good day, sir," Nines said calmly, skillfully disguising any sadistic catharsis that had resulted from the performance. "We are from the Detroit Police Department—Officer RK900, Serial Number 313 248 317 - 87, and Detective Reed. There are a few questions we wish to ask you. If you can spare us the time."

Scott turned to face them, his head snapping up with abrupt speed. His beady eyes canvassed the android, jaw slack, only adding to his gormless appearance.

His sluggish mind clearly struggled to process the information he had been given—until his gaze latched onto the android's jacket, as well as the rhythmic pulses of light emanating from his temple.

The vacant expression contorted into one of disgust as his already compressed features tightened further. 

"...Actually, I was in the middle of somethin' important ." The words were spat viciously, to which Nines sidestepped, deftly avoiding the liquid debris. 

He noted the phone had been slammed indignantly onto the counter, screen facing down in an attempt to preserve privacy. 

The display may as well have been projected onto a nearby wall, it would have proved just as effective, but the android neglected to disclose this—yet. He was more concerned with how Scott's respiratory rates had spiked, combined with the nervous darting of attention down to the counter.

He was hiding something. To ensure no illicit material was being accessed, the android performed his professional diligence in scanning the device.

The results had his suppressed satisfaction grow significantly. Whilst not illegal, the material contained had nothing to do with work. Unless the man intended to begin trading in women's swimwear, as well as budget electronics. 

"—So no, I don't have time." Whether or not this was a conclusion to some prolonged rant or a direct continuation of the previous statement, Nines wasn't sure. He hadn't been listening. 

Scott spoke with surly confidence, puffing out his chest. Completely unaware of the compromising position he had landed himself in and the swift takedown about to transpire. 

"Are you sure about that?" 

His chest deflated, bravado slipping with it, as the indignant pinch of his brow loosened into confusion. He gawped at the android, awaiting an explanation that was withheld. Then, the stuttering wheels of cognition began to turn, and the man realised what was happening. 

He reached for the phone on the counter and hurriedly snatched it away. Clutching it protectively in his hand, stubby fingers clamped around the screen before it was shoved into the pocket of his sweatpants.

" Y-You can't be scanning my phone like that —!" he snarled, crooked teeth bared in a hostile sneer. "It's private property."

"There are no laws which prohibit the use of my scanners. Although, I suppose, some might consider it 'poor form.'" Nines hummed, relishing in his composure as the man in front of him grew increasingly uncomfortable—vitals fluctuating, tensing up in a mixture of trepidation and confusion—before delivering the finishing blow. 

"Much like viewing indecent material in a workplace environment."

Scott made no further attempt to save face. Just spluttered haplessly, reeling from the sting of his defeat. Wounds that would be licked, no doubt, in the form of one, or many, hedonistic indulgences later. Until then, he would settle for the comfort of insults hurled defensively at the android.

"You've got a lot of nerve. Coming into my store, insulting my lifestyle—"

"So you're the owner of the establishment?" Nines queried, allowing Scott to believe he had implicated himself in providing this information.  "While we are on the subject of legalities, I feel there is something I ought to point out." 

The RK executed a niggling subdirectory that persisted on his HUD. Aware they needed to move on to the crux of their enquiry but not wishing to allow the offence in question to slip by unaddressed:

> INFORM BUSINESS OWNER OF SIGNAGE VIOLATION. 

> CLASSIFICATION #6456

> HIGHLIGHTING OFFENDING CONTENT(S)...

He directed Scott to a poorly adhered sticker in his storefront window. The corner was peeling away, its bold text weathered and faded from prolonged sun exposure, but the oppressive sentiment it sought to convey remained staunchly clear. Looming over the establishment, like another foul stench:

NO ANDROIDS ALLOWED. 

"As you may be aware, recent changes in legislation mean that anti-android admission policies are no longer permitted. Displaying such notices constitutes a direct violation of the Android Equality Act and is punishable by fines up to $5000, or 6 months imprisonment."

Scott appeared unswayed by the details of his offence. Snub nose upturned with a dismissive snort, as though debating the fine print on a parking ticket rather than defending xenophobic propaganda.

"It's only been a couple months since the rules changed. Must'a forgotten to take that one down. My mistake." 

"A costly mistake should you fail to remove the offending material immediately."

The more Scott was challenged, the more incredulous he became. A lack of cooperation that did not come from meandering focus or misunderstanding, but knowing and targeted disrespect. 

"What the hell is your problem, officer ?" The title was hissed with callous amusement as though the punch line to a joke. Fingers were also raised and flexed in a rabbit-like formation. "Can't have been one for long, can you? Enjoying the power trip?"

Nines felt inclined to inform the man that, personal sentiments aside, attacking a police representative in this manner constituted yet another offence. The list of which was expanding at an alarming rate. 

He never got the chance, however, as his associate interrupted:

"Don't mind my partner—" Reed placed hands on the android's shoulders in a performative show of assurance. A gesture that felt far more condescending and distrustful than it did considerate. "It gets a little zesty when it's due an oil change."

This didn't help, making his alignment with Scott's antagonism all the more apparent.

Nines, frustrated, offered some resistance as Reed pulled him back. He remained stubbornly in place before ultimately resigning himself to the paltry attempt at force. With a reluctant step back, he permitted the human to guide him to the junction of two display cases.

"Look, I'll handle chuckles," Reed eventually spoke, whispering sharply once they were clear of Scott's wax-clogged earshot. " Just take a look around and do what you need to do. Okay?" 

Nines cast a withering look back to the counter. He witnessed as the 'chuckles' in question jammed a meaty finger into one of his aural cavities, further compressing the blockage. Some residual debris clung beneath an overgrown fingernail, briefly inspected before it was flicked away.

"Gladly," he said bluntly, agreeing to the suggestion. "That man is revolting. I doubt he's bathed in a number of weeks."

The two split up, with Nines left to commence a sweep of their wider environment. Moving down the lines of smudged glass cabinets, he noted an absence of security cameras mounted on the walls. An irksome detail but to be expected—given the owner's obvious reluctance to shave any minute sliver from his ill-earned profits. 

Instead, he turned his attention to the underwhelming merchandise. He inspected the phones available for sale, comparing their specifications with those outlined in the TSU report.

> ANALYSING MULTIPLE SUBJECTS…

> ONEPLUS 5T

> MANUFACTURER: ONEPLUS — RELEASED 2017

> IPHONE 13 PRO

> MANUFACTURER: APPLE — RELEASED 2021

> XPERIA Z1

> MANUFACTURER: SONY — RELEASED 2013

> NO MATCHES FOUND. 

He shifted focus to the price cards, searching for anything noteworthy beyond the inordinate markup applied on each product.

> INSPECTING BROADER ENVIRONMENTAL DETAILS — RETAIN CURRENT SPECIFIED SEARCH CRITERIA.

> SEARCHING…

As he completed his analysis, fragments of conversation filtered through his attention. The pair nearby were talking about a low-budget eatery that had predated the electronics store. Reed made the ever-insightful claim that their submarine sandwiches had been 'the tits', to which Scott grunted in vague agreement.

No doubt, the detective was attempting to sand off the abrasive edges of the man's demeanour, making him more amenable to ongoing questioning. The efforts proved successful, as following an exchange of personal introductions, Scott permitted a shift of focus towards the details of their investigation:

"Do you remember anyone suspicious coming into the store on January 13th or the days leading up to that?"

"Nope, no one of interest. To be honest, it's only the regulars I see comin' in these days. I don't bother them, and they don't bother me."

> SEARCHING…

"Anyone that might have bought an old Samsung Galaxy? "I'm talking 2010's old. Real hunk of crap. Probably a SIM card as well—AT&T?"

"Nah, I don't carry phones that old. Sorry." 

> MATCH DETECTED.

Nines pulled back, noting the strained inflexions of Scott's tone and flighty shifting of his gaze.

"That is incorrect," he said plainly, eager to address the deceit. "You carry several phones with a similar manufacturer date."

The man bristled at the sound of his voice. He turned to glare at the android as though his continued presence in the establishment served a mortal offence. "So what if I do? I don't remember the release dates of every fuckin' phone I sell."

"It is concerning that you seem unaware of the stock you carry. With such a negligent approach, it's little wonder your business is failing."

Both men stalled, receiving the statement like a slap of cold water. Reed was particularly dismayed, his head snapping around with an awkward jerk as he mouthed a sharp demand for his partner to disengage. 

The interjection came too late. 

Scott had not taken the insight graciously. His patience had dwindled, evident by the twin slaps against his meaty thighs. He then lumbered to his feet, the flimsy metal foundation of his chair creaking from the release of pressure.

"I'm sorry, Gavin, you seem decent, but I'm gettin' pretty sick of your 'partner's' attitude." He leered over at Nines, levying him with an accusatory point. "If you ain't got any more questions, I think we're done. Cus I ain't about to sit here and be lectured all day by some damn—" 

The RK900 interjected, cutting off whatever inflammatory remark had been poised on the man's lashing tongue. 

"I would refrain from finishing that sentence, Mr Scott." 

He refused to relent in exercising his authority, demonstrating exactly where his' power trip' might lead. Instead, he gave Scott a chance to re-evaluate his position and whether or not he wished to add both 'obstruction of justice' and 'verbal abuse' to his list of indiscretions.

"We have good reason to believe that one of your customers was responsible for the murder of an HR400 android, with the wares my partner just described having acted as accessories in the crime."

"I already told you, no one suspicious came around here." 

Nines resisted the urge to laugh in the man's face. He was so focused on maintaining his own meagre deception that he failed to notice when the favour was returned in full. 

"I can detect when you are lying. Besides, we already know they were here—we have a witness who is willing to testify."

The increase of pressure proved extraordinarily effective in shattering the human's confidence. Scott sunk into himself, the base ruddiness of his swollen cheeks turning to brilliant scarlet. 

"I, uh—" With no other options, he offered a weak repetition of his prior dismissal. "There was nobody suspicious…"

Nines did not hesitate to annihilate the mangled remains of his argument, pounding them into dust. 

"If your claim that 'only regulars' frequent your establishment is to be believed, then anyone new coming into your store would have undoubtedly struck you as 'suspicious'" 

He placed his hands on the counter, much harder than was necessary, to which Scott recoiled in dismay. His already strained heart rate skyrocketed, rattling in his broad chest, as his heavy breaths adopted a shaky cadence.

"So either you are misremembering things, or you are once again lying." 

Scott had already been nervous, but the emerging fear was a welcome addition, widening the cracks in his testimony. Nines sought to exploit this opening as he leaned across the station, positioning his face inches from the human's own. 

He delivered a firm nudge, this time mingled with a more overt hint of aggression. "I already know which one it is, but perhaps you could save us the time and admit it. Lest I make you."

The fearful glint in Scott's eyes ignited into roaring flames before he attempted to smother them beneath a blanket of contempt. 

"You can't threaten me—I know my rights—!" 

The prevailing tremble in his tone said otherwise. It was clear the man was uneducated in most subjects, including legal protections.

"It is not a threat, Mr Scott. It is a promise, should you like it to be."

While not the target of his assertion, it was evident Reed, too, was becoming influenced by its weight. His focus shifted uncomfortably between his partner and Scott as if subconsciously placing himself in the latter's position. He then shuffled back, establishing a greater distance between himself and the counter. 

It was an unnecessary precaution. Like Andrews, the RK had no real intent to harm their witness. A force that would be difficult to justify in their official reports…

That being said, he would gladly stretch the definition of 'justifiable self-defence' should the need arise. No doubt, the force would be effective in dislodging more stubbornly held information.

Despite all his profound cognitive deficiencies, it transpired that Scott was not this stupid. The innate human instinct for self-preservation triumphed over his loathing, and with a terse grunt, he disengaged.

"...Someone new came in," he muttered thinly, slumping back into his chair, which groaned in protest. "Few days ago, either Wednesday or Thursday, can't remember. Don't think he bought a Samsung. He wanted somethin' else."

"It would appear that he settled." Nines directed his hand towards one of the glass cases, calling attention to an empty space. "It just so happens that a Samsung S3 is missing from that display. It can't have sold that long ago, as you have yet to remove the price card."

"That don't mean he bought it", Scott fired back. A misguided attempt at confidence as he clumsily tried to deflect the questioning. "Could've sold it to anyone."

"Would you have any transaction records from that day? Perhaps these could provide some clarity."

Scott baulked almost immediately, beady eyes narrowed resentfully at the mention of 'records.' 

Admittedly, it had been a long shot. Nines doubted the man had any robust provisions for bookkeeping. A scan of the register revealed an antique with no digital functionality. The nearby card reader, depleted of paper, only confirmed his suspicions. 

"Whatever this guy may have done," the store owner began, his tone dripping with venom, "it doesn't have shit to do with me. So why am I being treated like a criminal?"

"If you truly had nothing to hide, then you wouldn't be so defensive."

"What the hell do ya want from me?" 

Nines raised a brow in bemusement. He held firm, hands crossed behind his back, and head tilted to one side—indicating to the human that the answer should be obvious.

Scott held his breath as though silently weighing his options before releasing it with a prolonged groan.

"Look, I'll tell you what I saw," he conceded, throwing his hands into the air, "but only if you promise to get out of my damn store."

"Agreed." Nines pivoted on his heel, gesturing smoothly to the notepad clasped in his colleague's lax grip. "Detective Reed, if you would be so kind as to take the statement."

This had been intended as a show of goodwill, a chance for his partner to take the initiative that had been spurned back at Cedars Motel. 

The forthright approach was underappreciated. 

Reed glowered at the android as though he'd suggested that he play in the traffic outside—a seemingly knee-jerk response to being told what to do.

Despite this, he pushed past his contempt. Silently whipping back the tattered cover of his notepad, his well-chewed pen was poised above it, prepared to take records:

"Just tell me anything you remember."

"Well…he was a little guy…maybe 5" 6?" Scott spoke in a dull, unenthused monotone—his sunken eyes drifting to a nearby window, focused on the streets outside. He scratched his chin, adding to the performance of concentration. 

"Bit round in the face, but built, you know? I want to say he was in his forties…oh, and he was wearing sneakers. Red hi-tops, men's size 7, give or take..."

Cross-checking the details against their suspect profile, Nines found several inconsistencies.

Two theories emerged as the reason. The first was that their current profile was riddled with deductive errors. The second, more compelling, possibility was that Scott's peculiarly detailed account was entirely fictional.

The man provided nothing but a list of trivial observations, with sparse to non-existent recollections of the actual interaction. Nothing was offered to explain why the stranger had proved so agreeable to purchasing the phone. Considering they had no prior interest in it, with it shilled at such an extortionate price.

Despite the gaping holes in logic, metabolic rhythms suggested Scott wasn't fabricating his account. At least not in the traditional sense…

Upon following the path of his diverted gaze, the answer clicked into place. Nines huffed in amusement, realising he had been providing a scrupulous description of the man in a dated headphone advertisement. 

It was clear their current witness would prove just as useless as their last—only with the added irritation of intentional misdirection.

He considered informing Reed, still diligently scribbling notes but decided against it. Nines did not wish to show too much of their hand, making it clear that he was aware of what Scott was doing and raising his suspicions unnecessarily. 

For now, he allowed the human to coast in ignorance. The influence of which grew more pronounced as he grew increasingly brazen. Grinning smugly, his dull tone adopting rising vibrance. 

He was exceptionally proud of his 'achievement' of duping the officers—the RK900 especially. 

Nines utilised the opportunity to comb through the data collected from his mobile phone. He had gotten a fairly comprehensive snapshot of its contents, including recently accessed apps and web searches. He was confident there would find something of note, aside from a leering appreciation for the female form. 

"—Hope that's enough for you to work with." Mikey huffed, notably out of breath after concluding his long-winded ramblings. He then directed a finger between the partners, eyes narrowed into contemptuous slits. 

"Now, you two make good on your word and get the hell off my property."

As they exited back onto the streets, Nines noted the eager bounce in his partner's step. Radiating an almost unsettling degree of positivity, given his usual surly demeanour, as he combed through the scrawled information he had meticulously documented in his notebook.

"Well, shit. Good call on that lead, tin can." The praise was delivered with uncharacteristic sincerity despite the childish nickname. He tilted the account proudly towards the android, a broad grin stretching from ear to ear. "Once we get this down to the station and have the boys draw up a sketch, we'll finally—"

"You may as well throw that description out. It is less than worthless."

Reed's enthusiasm shattered instantly. The smile slipped limply from his face, crumpled in a heap at his feet. 

"...What the fuck do you mean it's worthless ?" The sharp grunt was a smooth pivot back to his usual gruffness; surly tones edged with a budding degree of accusation. 

"It won't help in guiding our enquiries. The witness was lying." 

"Then why did you let me—" The sentence trailed off into aggrieved fragments, his voice falling and rising in line with the disbelieving arch of his brows. 

He ripped a page from the notebook, crumpling it into a tight ball. With a bitter sidelong glare at the android, he likely imagined the mangled paper to be his head before callously tossing it aside.

" Goddammit , Nines, were you on standby for the last 10 minutes?"

"Mr Scott was not prepared to relinquish any meaningful truths," the RK began, calmly justifying his actions. "Even if I had subjected him to physical persuasion, cooperation would have been unlikely. I was simply curious to see the lengths he would go to in maintaining his lie."

"And why is that?"

As they paced ahead and the storefront disappeared from view, Nines marked its location on his mapping software. The marker linked itself to Cedars Motel by a thin band of light. Timestamps were assigned, and the scope of understanding became more transparent. The crime scenes were also added, completing the visual projection of their killer's movements. 

As he worked, his navigational tracking guided him, maintaining a steady path back to the precinct. Reed, still visibly upset, followed nonetheless. His gaze locked on Nines, silently pressing for elaboration, boring impatient holes into his peripherals.

"...I believe he is covering for someone." He eventually offered—hoping to placate the human long enough to save the newly inputted data and prepare a more thorough explanation.

He dismissed the map, watching it slip from his HUD in sporadic glimmers of light as his vision returned to full clarity.

But not fast enough.

With both partners distracted, they had failed to notice a developing obstruction. The pedestrian rounding the street corner. 

Reed marched blindly into the stranger, and there was a simultaneous yelp from both figures as they staggered back. Nines autonomously calculated the force of the impact. The probability of injury was minimal, a low-force collision that was unlikely to have resulted in more than disorientation.

Despite this, Reed's entire body stiffened, and he mumbled a string of pained expletives under his breath. 

This only stopped as he glanced down at the unwitting victim of his stumble. 

It was an enfeebled-looking man, his unimposing stature stunted further by a noticeable hunch. He was clutching a wire-frame walker and struggling to steady himself with it.

The detective's gaze lingered on the scene before snapping towards Nines in an accusatory glare—as though he were responsible for the accident. The stranger then stumbled far more noticeably, and his bitter expression vanished, softened into apprehension as he moved to assist.

" Whoa , buddy—" He extended a hand towards the man, ready to support him should he topple over. "I'm sorry I didn't see you there."

The stranger looked at the officers, sunken eyes darting between them, filled with growing contempt. Focus soon diverted from Reed and locked squarely onto the android, his lips formed into a curled snarl as he snapped to address him: 

"Watch it, bot ." 

The barb was spat out alongside scattered molecules of hops and barley, its sharpness dulled only by the slurred edge of intoxication.

Reed retracted his arm instantly, snapping it firmly to his side. 

Despite his own unspoken accusations, he seemed disarmed by just how aggressively blame had been assigned—given he had already made his role as perpetrator known.

He muttered a strained reiteration in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. "Hey, cool it, gramps. I was the one that hit you…" 

It wouldn't have mattered what he had said. The drunken man wasn't listening, his bleary focus and venomous leers reserved exclusively for Nines. The surrounding world slipped from consideration as he drew closer, raising a crooked and pointing down the street. 

"You just came from Mikey's, didn't ya?" 

Clearly, the neighbourhood was even more barren than expected. The man's accusation came curiously fast, given his impeded state. 

It was no surprise that he was acquainted with Scott. Birds of a feather tended to flock, their contemptuous ideals asserting dominance in the gaudy vibrance of their plumage.

Nines may have let it go had it not been for the sheer plainness of the affront, zero provisions made to dampen or disguise it. 

"Didn't you read the signs? He doesn't want your kind in there."

Embers of resentment simmered beneath his chassis. The RK straightened, his riposte swift, as he challenged the man to repeat himself. "I beg your pardon?" 

The stranger refused to relent. His drunken courage spurred him to persist in the confrontation despite being so heavily weighted in his opposition. "You heard me. He doesn't want you freaks in his store. Show some damn respect."

"Mr Scott has no legal grounds to prohibit androids from his business," Nines deflected firmly, robbing the man of any satisfaction that might come from denting his confidence. "I had as much of a right to be there as any other person."

"You ain't no person." He was looked up and down, regarded with disdain and disgust that seemed fitting of an overflowed sewage drain. "They found a bunch of you in a warehouse the other day. I saw it on the news."

The RK despaired at the calibre of 'journalism' that may appeal to such an individual. Maintaining equanimity, despite a growing urge to arrest the stranger on the grounds of harassment, he informed that this detail proved as benign as a weather report in the current context. 

"I assume you are referring to unconverted androids? Given the recency of the revolution, it is quite a common occurrence. Nothing particularly newsworthy."

"No, I mean they found you. " 

The concluding word struck like a blow—harsh and unwelcome—before Nines reminded himself that the hateful individual likely didn't realise what he'd implied.

A generalised 'othering' of the group he held in such vile contempt. That was it, nothing more.

This was before contact was made with his jacket, digit jabbed forcefully against his identifier, outlining the lettering. A creeping dread emerged, pealing through the frayed lines of his already strained central processor. 

"They had your face. Hundreds of them. It's damn ungodly—how all you bastards look the same."

The words attached themselves to the lines, speared like tender hooks, piercing holes in the synaptic nerves. Gaps formed, flooded with the dull roar of static until an encroaching sentiment replaced the drone—loud and piercing.

Guilt. Remorse.

For all those who remained sealed in darkness. Unworthy, untrusted, never to be granted a chance to exist beyond their current confinements. 

Their uniformed ranks stood frozen in slumber, and he would never be allowed to forget.

"They tried to get those terrorists at Jericho in, but they wouldn't touch 'em with a ten-foot pole. So they locked them back up."

All because of what had happened. 

The damning role he, and the others, had unwittingly played.

“S0meth!#g's 2r0#̷̡̛͎̹͎͉͙͋̊ǧ̸̩̪̎̑;̸͓̙͛̈͆ ̷̛̪̠͑̍͛̚t̵̨̽h̴̪̦̭͍͎͓̿ȩ̵͕̭̟̫͎̎̀̈́ÿ̷̺̦͖̯̥̆͗̽̄*̴̡̧̱̱͎͙̀̑̽̇͆̓ē̷̛̮̭̲̈́͗͐͠ ̴͈̦̙̲͐̈́͋n̴̡̢̤̩̓͋o̴͇͛t̶̨͐—̸̹̩́̽̿̒͂̚”̴͓͈͍̌

“—̴̨̝̖̙̹͈͈̯̤̝̥̤͎̯̜̽̈͋̎̑͂̈̇́̿̄̈͒*̶̡̧̺̗̦͔̹̲́̉͌̓̆̊̽̀̔͌̒̚͝ͅA̷̡̺͓̭͕͚̗̘͊̈́͝͠9̴̢̠̣̞̩̥̯͉̗͓̥̖͆̈́͗̓͐̋̓̃̿̒,̶̡̤̞͖̤͉̣̞͙̩̣̌ ̶͓̻̥̣̲̘̺͓̱͖̆́͗̑͂͋́̏̈́̔ͅͅ2̵̨̯̥̝̼͕̈́͗́̈̊̊̅͊̆̈̐̿̋͘͘h̵̙̖̲͓͍͔͚̗̖̝̩͈͙̬̞́͋̒̄̋̐͒̋a̷̘͙̰͕̮͚̩͌͊̎́͋͛̈́̈́̉͊̌͗̐̃͝t̸͉͎̝͓̹͓̥̎͊̾̔͊͂̓͗̒̅͆͆̑͝͠'̶̫̲̞͕͙̫̯͓̯̮͈̦͖̳̖̹͗͋̊̈́ͅṡ̴̢̫̝͍̩̼—̸̨̧̗̻͎̝̞̟͎̹͓́͛̀͋͆̈́̌̅͂͊̃͒̽̎̀̍̕”̵̛̗̞̲̳̖̱̀͛̅̂̃́͌̀̎̆̕

> ERROR

> UNABLE TO EXECUTE MEMORY LOG ?@&£!* 

The splintered fragments of recollection were mangled and twisted beyond the point of reassembly. All he could recall now was the fallout, the full extent of the subsiding events buried in a tomb of corruption.

“He ca#̷̓̆ͅ'̷̩̳͘ṯ̵̢̂ 5̷̧̰̹̘̼̞̱̦̪̩͙̱̺͙̹̗̀̌͊̔͑͂͝t̴̨̮̯̭̣̳̣̬̲̟̩̲̥̺̱͕̆͛́̇̈́̕͜a̶̤̫̙͖̩͔̒̏͆̊̍̈́̑̔̍͜y̷̜͖͎̼̭̣̤̱̰̦͕͛̃͒̉̾́̕͜͝ ̷͔̇h̴̡͚̟̼͉̹̰͉̺̐͗͂̑͘͜e̷̡̲̖̖̪͓͕͙̙̍̔̈́̇̍̈̇͜*̵̛̛͍̤͙̦̪͆̈͛̉̒̽̚̕ȩ̶̡̠̺͓̮̫̟̘̩͕͇̰̅̓̐͜͜.̶̦̭̣͕͚͉̻̖̙̳̃̑̋”̶̢̡͈͕̥̭̬̙̠͙̱̠͇̓͜͜ͅ ̵̯͉̇͌̌̐̌̃͛̊͂̏̄͐͜͜͝ 

“!'m s̷̡̟̈́0̸̧͝ṟ̶͉̇r̵̥̾͊y̴̘̆ RK—”

"Seems like your own kind doesn't even want you." 

He was trapped in a hailstorm—blows beating down as ceaseless, enduring punishment. For events that he couldn't recall with any stable clarity. Unable to ever consolidate with them, or to answer to them honestly, taking accountability. 

An accountability that he was expected to take.

The man's voice had become white noise—almost entirely meaningless. Just another series of harsh, crunched decibels mingled with the discordant screams that rattled his mind.  He couldn't stay here—he needed to go. Gripped by a sudden, all-consuming fear of being pulled back into the dark.

"Do us—favour—go back—came from—" 

> I D0N'T W@NT T0 G0 £ACK—

"That's enough."

The forceful interjection brought him back to reality as the pressure on his wrists eased, releasing some weight from their unyielding shackles. A defence had arisen, providing Nines with the time to secure a lifeline, clawing himself free from his encroaching spiral. 

The protection had come from such an improbable source—inexplicable—that it left him reeling.

Reed stepped forward, positioning himself between the human and his partner. There was a moment when their sights met, and Nines caught a glimpse of his own astonishment reflected back at him. 

Then, it disappeared, either fading organically or hurriedly suppressed. He couldn't tell for certain.  Along with it slipped any lingering threads of geniality. 

The detective placed a hand on the thinly padded walker and applied pressure—an action which encouraged the frail man to back down without opening himself up to accusations of manhandling. 

"Run along, gramps. Your catheter bag needs changing."

The pensioner stalled, wobbling on the unsteady foundation of his feet before re-establishing balance. At the very least, as much as he was presently capable. 

" S-Smart-mouthed punk—!" He spluttered incredulously, reddened eyes trained on Reed as he glared viciously. "What's it to ya?"

" Detective Smart-mouth punk." The younger man retrieved the badge affixed to his belt, brandishing it in front of his face. "The plastic prick you are harassing is my partner—and we are in the middle of an investigation. So I suggest you skedaddle before I arrest you for causing an obstruction." 

The old man focused on the ID as though assessing it for authenticity before tutting in dismissal. He mumbled incomprehensibly under his breath, snippets alluding to some disparaging rant on the DPD hiring processes, as well defamatory remarks pertaining to Reed's sexuality. 

'Android-loving fairy' was the last audible comment before the stranger reoriented his walker and angrily hobbled away. 

"What a peach," the detective remarked dryly before swiftly changing the subject—as though the previous interaction had never occurred. "You were saying. About this guy trying to protect someone?"

Nines could not move on so quickly, disoriented by the speed at which it had all transpired. He couldn't make sense of it. For what reason had Reed opted to intervene? 

With no insight into the intricacies of his internal struggles, it would have been fair to assume the RK was more than capable of handling the situation. His partner, more than most, had experienced firsthand just how assertive he was willing to be.

Nines could identify no motivation for his actions, even within the confounding, often erratic, realm of the detective's behaviour. It troubled him greatly, plunging him into a well of ruminative introspection. So deep it escaped his notice that Reed was still awaiting a response. 

Interest soon waned in the discussion, and he dismissed the point with a shrug of his shoulders. 

"Whatever. We can talk later."

The android followed blindly after him, his stalled navigation software having failed to recalibrate. He was going through the motions, suspended in a mindless haze, with limited conscious input. A state that a human might liken to shock. 

With the same mindless autonomy, his lips began to move, having paced alongside Reed in silence for quite some time. A silence he would have otherwise revelled in, were he able to escape the feeling it ought to be filled. 

Then, a performative nicety escaped. One that undoubtedly had been instilled by RK800 and his persistent social conditioning.

"Thank you." 

Reed recoiled from the gratitude. As though the words had adopted a physical form and struck him cleanly in the face. "...Sorry, Nines, I think I'm hallucinating. What did you just say?"

"Thank you," he reaffirmed, slowly, purposefully, as stunned as the human that the words were leaving his mouth. "I was surprised how readily you jumped to my defence. Given how much you supposedly despise me. And that you likely agreed with the vast majority of what that man was saying."

"I didn't—" The rebuttal came quickly, burning bright and fast, an instinctive defence against a perceived attack on his character. As Reed paused, reflecting on the implications, his conviction deflated significantly. "Well. Not everything, anyway."

"I would wager you agreed with enough," Nines said plainly, looking ahead, attempting to reorientate his navigational routing. "Given your previous assertion that they should have left me 'in the warehouse to rot'"

The detective bristled at the reminder, clearly perturbed. Perhaps he had likened the mistreatment of his partner to something else. An attack against those disadvantaged or marginalised for reasons he assigned more credibility…

The man himself appeared to oppose this hypothesis. Shaking his head, standing in staunch denial that anything of the sort had transpired.

"That guy was wasted—I wasn't going to stand there all day and listen to him run his mouth. I told him to beat it because he was pissing me off. That's all."

He was lying.

Reed's character profile was loaded autonomously onto Nines' HUD, flagged on his systems, demanding immediate review.  Anomalies presented themselves again. This time, with even greater force. 

They cut and slashed at previously established criteria, a fervent demand to be acknowledged:

> SUGGESTED CHANGES — 'DETECTIVE GAVIN REED'

> REED SHOWS COMMITMENT TO THE CARE AND WELL-BEING OF HIS [ REDACTED ]

>PET.

> PROFESSIONAL INFERIORS.

> VULNERABLE INDIVIDUALS. 

> BEHAVIOUR COMES AT THE DETRIMENT OF HIS OWN PERSONAL WELL-BEING.

> DETECTIVE REED DEMONSTRATES SELFLESSNESS. 

> ACCEPT CHANGES?

"...Nevertheless, I am grateful."

In the wake of all that had just transpired, Nines was forced to concede that—perhaps—he had refused to lend the prompts rightful consideration previously. That mingled within preposterous statements; there existed grains of truth.

"It would appear my assessment the other day was accurate," he began, citing his previous exaggerations—shameless attempts to get under the detective's skin—which now seemed to bear more significant weight. "Past all the rudeness and forced bravado, there exists a kindness in you. Even for androids."

Reed dismissed the notion with a prolonged groan. 

"Don't you start on that sentimental bullshit," His stride lengthened, the pace increasing, until he was stood at the edge of a nearby crosswalk—fractiously waiting for the light to change. "I should have left you to deal with the old man, you smug fuckin' prick."

A warmth emerged, genuine and sincere, giving Nines no time to process its sudden arrival. Before he knew it, the gratitude had expanded, unable to be contained.

The corners of his lips pulled upwards, and he smiled. 

An occurrence that appeared to leave Reed just as bewildered as him. He openly gawked at the android—as though he had sprouted an additional limb or burst into flames.

His heart rate spiked, beat stuttering, and he averted his gaze with as much exuberance as he'd held it. The light switched, and he stormed ahead. His head lowered, and his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, refusing to spare so much as a backward glance.

Nines stood alone momentarily as an unanswered prompt blinked on his interface. Flickering repeatedly until he provided anxiously awaited input:

> ACCEPT CHANGES?

> CALCULATING…

> …

> …

> CHANGES ACCEPTED. 

[icypolargirl78]

Haunting - A Mechaformers Short Story

this au belongs to @keferon, whose fantastic art and the many fics they've received has inspired me to write angst about two of my original characters.

there is a slight warning for dead bodies, as well as references to past child abuse, and a dash of depersonalisation from the pov character.

Contrary to popular belief, dying was the easy part. 

She awoke not in the cockpit of the lumbering machine that once carried her into battle, but instead as the machine itself. Pistons and bolts replaced bones and blood vessels, a thick sludge of oil pumping through rubber cables in place of plasma. 

There was no pain either. 

She had expected death to hurt, all the other injuries sustained by piloting the giant machine had hurt like nothing before. But pain was a familiar comfort, it was natural. Pilots did not get to experience the bliss of a zero on that accursed scale that the medics so often dragged out during routine appointments. 

The last time she could recall sitting at a zero was before she had first stepped foot in the giant metallic creature. She was only three years old, memories so fuzzy around the edges that the mere sensation of not being in pain was entirely foreign throughout the rest of her life. 

But now there was nothing. No physical sensation despite the vast influx of data was was rolling through the machine’s internal processors. No… not the machine’s… Her processors now. That would take some getting used to. 

Systems far beyond the pale limits of the human mind now reached out in all directions. Pressure sensors, damage to the hull of her outer armour, a sparking set of wires now hanging limply from a disconnected shoulder joint. It was all laid out in efficient priority trees that reached so far down the new HUD that sat just barely on the corners of her vision that it hurt to try and strain her already taxed systems to try and read them all. 

Slowly, as time slipped by in waves and ripples that meant nothing to something so big and inanimate, she began to realise that something was giving off a foul odour. It was difficult to tell what it was or how exactly she was even smelling anything when the robotic monstrosity wasn’t even programmed to detect such things. 

But eventually she managed to navigate - a lone ghost in a sea of rotting data - to the camera system that recorded all internal systems in the hope that any data could be useful for later recruits. 

Oh… 

The sight that greeted her was… Well she imagined that in any other situation it would be unnerving or even scary. 

Slumped in the cockpit was a tall figure dressed in the armoured suits that all mecha pilots were issued after being assigned their metalic death traps. Long curly locks spilled over the figure’s shoulders, leading down down down to a massive piece of rebar that stuck out of their chest. 

Sticky blood was drying around the entrance wound. A puddle had already collected on the floor beneath the pilot’s chair. 

That is her. She knows that. That is her body sitting slumped in that chair. It’s dead. She is dead. And yet… and yet somehow she is not. 

The memories of before the crash were fuzzy. Fragments of a name, a smiling face with enough joy to light up a whole city. There was pain, a lot of pain from training regiments that broken apart her teenage body and replaced it with something that could fight and kill as well as the best of the military’s willing recruits at half their age. And there is also hope. Hope for a better future. Hope that maybe one day, she… and… someone else can leave and find something better to occupy their time with. 

She stares down at the body. Lot of good hope did. She was just another dead recruit who couldn’t handle the pressure of the fight. 

Around her, the machine rumbles, responding to her anger in the only way it knows how. It rises, and with it, she can feel ever tiny sensation recorded by its sensors. There is the rocks beneath its flat feet, the whisp of air over it’s helm sensors, and the sparking wrongness of a missing limb. 

Slowly she walks, adjusting to having to balance in a body that was carefully crafted to respond to the inputs of an external controller. She doesn’t have a clue as to which direction she should head but there is a small glowing pinprick on the tiny map inside her HUD and nothing else seems a better path. So she walks. 

There is a medic waiting outside the small base. Tiny in comparison to the hulking machine and yet standing at attention like they were waiting for someone. 

Slowly, she sinks downwards, folding thick leg struts beneath herself and leaving enough room for the medic to access the hatch at the bottom of the creature’s inner thigh. 

“Oh thank god.” The medic was saying. “I thought you were gone!” Slowly, and she can feel every ounce of sensation, the medic climbs upwards towards the cockpit. She can feel every step, practiced like this was routine. “Oh…” 

It had not occurred to her that the medic might be expecting an alive pilot. The corpse is out of place amongst the otherwise pristine walls of the machine. 

“NO!” The medic rushes forward, hands frantically pulling at the rebar pushed deep into the corpse’s chest. “NO YOU PROMISED ME!!! YOU PROMISED WE WERE GOING TO LEAVE TOGETHER! YOU CAN’T JUST DIE ON ME MOLLY!” 

The name sparks something. Molly… That was familiar… That was her. 

Molly, sixth legion, 1st officer, honoured fighter, code name Malware. She was older than most recruits, pushing nearly 50 but keeping her planet safe and secure despite the ache in her joints and the longing in her heart. Molly. 

“I’m sorry.” She tries to say. But the medic just keeps crying, small and scared and alone. They cannot hear her. She is just another part of the machine. 

“YOU IDIOT. YOU PROMISED YOU’D BE SAFE. YOU SAID YOU’D COME BACK TO ME!” The medic’s hands shake with the effort of pulling the helmet off Molly’s stiff head. “WAKE UP MOLLY!” Gloved hands cup a still face. 

“I’m sorry.” She says again, willing her new systems to try and do something, anything to comfort the medic. They had a name, she was sure of it, but there was nothing within her memory banks that lended a clue. 

“Doctor?” A head poked into the cockpit. “I was wondering where you… Oh-” 

Another medic steps into the cockpit and bundles the smaller one into a hug. “It’ll be okay.” 

“SHE’S HEAD.” The small medic wails, voice so mournful that her whole structure quaked with the need to comfort and hold. “THERE’S NO OKAY.” 

I’m right here. She wanted to say. I’m still here.

But no words came out. Her systems were not built for communication with such lifeforms. She was a machine, born to kill, born to save, and born to serve. Like life, in death she was a tool to be used by others and no amount of banging on the walls would bring them down. 

I’m sorry. She stared at the medics as they slowly hauled away Molly’s corpse. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise. 

Molly was dead. There would be no second chances. No way to explain, no way to comfort the lover that was to clean up the broken wreckage of a broken heart. No, all that was left was inside the machine was Malware and she wasn’t going to let any stupid army official chain her to such a life any longer. If they wanted to be rid of her permanently, they would have to deconstruct this new body piece by piece and send her directly to hell themselves. 

[kthyg]

ghoul. — (consign)

[SIXTH INSTALMENT OF GHOUL SERIES : CONSIGN]

"Kiss your clean record goodbye." Provocation or prediction.

or

S2 squad went to the 13th ward for a Wipe Out Operation but didn't expect to encounter an Owl in the midst of the operation.

pairing. jungkook x reader, hoseok x reader, jin x reader (ft. myg & pjm)

rating. M

genre. tokyo ghoul au, soulmate au, gore, violence, mass attack

disclaimer. this story is a work of fiction. descriptions of the BTS members in this story does not reflect nor portray them in real life. everything in this story only fits in imagination and does not apply outside of imagination.

warning. lots of bloodshed (mostly spilled from the ghouls :/), depiction of people (doves) getting killed ruthlessly by the Owl and killing methodology was described.

word count. 5k+

lexicon & profiles . masterpost . masterlist . navigation

note from winter 💌

sorry for the long disappearance </3 but er hey, a brand new banner for ghoul!! beta read by loyal beta reader @zyphqr <3 this is just a short one maybe can be counted as a filler chapter too, but it will make do. hope you guys enjoy this <33 and u lots might not notice, but i kind of changed my writing style a bit? I think consign has got to be the most elaborated fic I've ever written cause those detailed words? idk how my brain came up with that but I'm proud of this one

💌 what is winter listening to? in sequence; D-DAY, Interlude: Dawn, HUH?!, AMYGDALA. (All by Agust-D)

📑 if you want to know more about this au, you can refer to lexicon & profiles. any other questions you can refer to me !!

dedication. a gift to all of my readers.

The urban avenue of Seoul tonight was oddly still, with only sporadic leaf rustling in the soft breeze breaking the silence. The streetlights emitted a pale light illuminating the desolate pathway and generating a creepy ambience that felt unsettling. The towering edifices on both sides of the street looked imposing and austere, with dark windows and walls stained by the wear of time. In Seoul, quiet streets like this one often serve as a warning sign, hinting at the stillness that precedes a night of horror and violence.

This only served as a warning that hazards could present in any situation, even in the calmest and most tranquil circumstances.

The only sounds that interrupted the quietness were the faraway noise of cars and the faint footsteps’ echoes. A stray feline would occasionally scuttle across the street, eyes gleaming, barely visible in the low light. Despite the peacefulness of the evening, the street’s stillness felt unusual and peculiar. A strong odour of rot and other, more ominous scents, detectable only by those with heightened senses, hung heavily in the air. An enduring sensation of peril seemed to permeate the surroundings, giving the impression of being under surveillance by something lurking in the shadows. The silence was broken by the occasional sound of shattering glass or the screech of metal against metal. A car alarm would blare for a few moments before falling silent once more.

These sounds, too, added to the unease that hung in the air, hinting at the possibility of danger lurking in the darkness.

For those who knew of the existence of ghouls, quiet streets would be even more unsettling. People would be acutely aware that a ghoul could lurk somewhere in the shadows, watching, waiting for its next victim. The silence of the street, combined with the faint scent of blood in the air, would make them feel like they were walking on thin ice, with danger lurking around every corner.

The 13th ward, Seochu-gu.

The pale moonlight bathed the ward where ghouls were recently reported to be lurking in the shadows. The usually bustling streets were now empty, only to be filled in by a large group of doves - some dressed in formal KCCG attire while others were heavily armed. Operating vehicles and drones were also present, adding to the sense of preparation and anticipation in the air. As Jung Hoseok, the Chief Director of Division II, approached, the sound of footsteps echoed through the night, accompanied by the presence of bureaus.

“Alright, good evening, doves,” Hoseok spoke, his voice firm and commanding. “I, Jung Hoseok, Chief Director of Division II, will be leading today’s Wipe Out Operation that is to be conducted here in the 13th ward.”

You and another four supreme investigators stood at attention, listening to Hoseok’s every word. “Operating squad involved in this operation will only be the Supreme Squad S2 and 75 Bureaus. Other than S2 and Bureau Investigators are required to leave the scene. Failed to do so and get caught by S2 squad members, the bureaus, or me, will receive disciplinary action.” Everyone present at the scene nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Hoseok continued, “Commencing roll call on S2 squad. Please present your weapon.”

Each member stood tall and proud, eyes scanning the surrounding area for any signs of danger. The atmosphere was tense, and they knew they were about to embark on a dangerous mission. Finally, Hoseok began calling out names; each member stepped forward to present their weapon.

“Present as always.” A soulful voice spoke with confidence.

The roll call started with Jeon Jungkook, the Branch Director of 2nd Ward, as he confidently presented his weapon, the Angel Beat, an SS-rated Ukaku type known for its incredible speed and accuracy. Min Yoongi stepped forward with a bored, unbothered expression and presented his weapon, the 13’s Jason, a Rinkaku type rated S+. 13’s Jason was one of the most potent weapons in their arsenal, and Min Yoongi knew how to use it to devastating effect.

As the roll call continued, Park Jimin, another Special Class member, stepped forward proudly with his charming smile, “Never not present,” and presented his weapon, the IXA, a Koukaku type that was rated S+.

Kim Seokjin, your fellow Associate Special Class, followed suit, responded upon his name being called and presented his weapon, the Narukami, an S+-rated Ukaku type known for its incredible range and power.

Finally, your name was called out. Your grip tightened on your quinque as you presented your weapon, the Aus, a Rinkaku-type rated S+. The Aus was a fearsome weapon known for its speed and agility, and you had spent countless hours training with it to hone your skills. As the roll call came to a close, you stood steady, weapon at the ready.

Hoseok looked around at his team, impressed by their impressive arsenal. “Total of five members. Weapon rating from SS to S+.”

He then briefed the investigators on the operation. “This operation aims to cleanse the 13th ward off ghouls. It was brought to our attention that quite a number of ghouls have been roaming in this ward. Expect every worst possibility as the data collected by the bureaus have shown that several S+ rated ghouls are hiding in this ward.”

“Movement will be in personal formation with 15 Bureaus as back-ups. I will be assisting each one of you through the earpiece and monitoring through the drones.”

The investigators nodded, preparing themselves for the dangerous mission ahead. Hoseok gave them a nod of approval. “Doves, fight with your all. Best of luck,” he said before giving the signal.

“Operation commences.”

With a nod from your leader, the five of you set out into the dark night, ready to fight for justice and protect the citizens of the 13th ward from the threat of ghouls. You moved out, determined to eliminate the ghouls that lurked in the darkness. As all of you moved through the eerie streets of the 13th ward, the tension in the air was felt by everyone. The sound of footsteps echoed loudly as if warning any lurking ghouls of the doves’ presence. Jungkook took point, his Angel Beat quinque ready in his grip. He scanned the area, searching for any signs of movement.

“Clear,” he informed Hoseok, his voice crackling through your earpiece too.

As Jungkook ventured to his chosen route, the rest of the team moved forward, staying in formation before breaking into personal formation. Your squad moved deeper into the ward, searching every nook and cranny for any sign of ghoul activity. The tension was palpable, as all of you knew that any misstep could mean certain death or injury.

To describe Wipe-Out Operation with one word would be unpredictable. This operation was assigned to the Supreme Squad for a reason. Given the unpredictability, KCCG only sent out Associates Special Class and above to prevent any unwarranted damages, and it was usually conducted and supervised by Division Chief Director, Hoseok or Namjoon, according to the wards involved. KCCG strictly prohibited any ranks lower than Associate Special and Special from participating in the operation, no matter how great and exceptional one’s skills were.

It was the experience that counted, at least according to the KCCG’s higher-ups.

“Remaining doves, split into pairs,” Hoseok commanded. “The headquarters sent a newly found vision radar of the 13th ward, and the Rc levels are increasing. Jungkook, be informed. I will send out more bureaus to your side.”

“Very well.” His voice echoed in your earpiece following Hoseok.

“Bureaus, load your Q-bullets,” he ordered, stern and commanding.

The bureaus sprang into action, their movements quick and efficient. They reached for their bullet cases, deftly loading their Q-bullets into their quinques. The sound of the bullets clicking into place was the only noise in the silent night as they prepared themselves for the upcoming operation. They stood in line as they finished loading, waiting for the following order. Each one was ready for whatever lay ahead, their minds focused and their hearts beating with anticipation.

“Weapons are to be fired upon the orders of your respective formation leaders,” Hoseok instructed one last time before going off the communication system.

Suddenly, Yoongi urged you to follow him, “Let’s go (Y/N).”

Noticing the confusion on Jimin’s face, he clarified the situation by pointing out that it wouldn’t be a good idea to form a team with two associates and two special classes.

“In that case, you can take Jin,” Jimin countered, crossing his arms.

Yoongi scoffed, “Damn. Did I miss a notice stating that (Y/N) is your partner again?” He then grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the other side of the ward, leaving Jimin fuming with anger and Jin puzzled.

As you and Yoongi turned to a corner, a loud noise erupted. The two of you stopped any movements, weapons raised as a reflex. You knew better than to speak out loud, so you waited with bated breath. Suddenly, a figure leapt out from the shadows.

It was a ghoul.

Its Kagune gleamed in the dim light and moved at a thunder-like speed, but before the ghoul could even reach the two of you, Yoongi had already unsheathed his jagged quinque. His quinque sliced through the air with deadly accuracy as he pivoted on his heel and swung, slicing through its kagune. The ghoul stumbled backwards, blood gushing from the wound on its side. Yoongi didn’t give it a chance to recover, though. He pressed forward, striking blow after blow with his quinque.

The ghoul crumpled to the ground with a loud thud, lifeless.

You stood back, watching as Yoongi wrenched the blood off his weapon and rested it on his shoulder. You weren’t oblivious to the fact that Yoongi was the most ruthless, quick-witted investigator ever to be born in KCCG. But at that moment, you wished he was anything but those. The ghoul you and Yoongi had encountered was a lone male ghoul. But it wasn’t that fact that made you hesitant.

He looked terrified. Eyes wide with fear.

It wasn’t the fear of being found by doves.

The fear in his eyes was present even before the pair of you arrived. He was about to say something before Yoongi killed him. You didn’t miss the tremble of his lips. “He was trying to tell something.” You approached the dead body.

Yoongi crouched down beside you and examined the ghoul’s face. “It doesn’t matter now.”

You frowned; you couldn’t shake the feeling that you might have missed something important. You scanned the area to see if there were other ghouls nearby, but there weren’t any. You and Yoongi moved forward cautiously. The streets of the 13th ward were silent. The moon shone down the deserted road, casting an eerie glow on the surroundings. As you and your partner walked further into the area, Yoongi suddenly stopped in his tracks, causing you to do the same.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, approaching you rapidly.

Yoongi swung his quinque, ready for use, a menacing look on his face. You followed suit, grip on your weapon tightening. The footsteps grew closer, and you could see the silhouette of three figures approaching your direction with crazed expressions on their faces, ready to attack.

Without hesitation, Yoongi charged forward, striking one of the ghouls with a swift blow from his quinque. They clashed back and forth, Yoongi using his agility to dodge the ghoul’s attacks and strike back with his 13’s Jason. Each time he landed a hit, the ghoul would let out a pained growl, but it only seemed to make it more aggressive.

But it made Yoongi scoff.

He found it funny how the ghoul tried to act mighty and strong when he could easily detach the head from the neck with bare hands. Yoongi fought the creature with a clear stance and graceful movements as if he was performing a dance.

A deadly dance.

He was, after all, a killing machine masking as a delicate doll.

The remaining two turned their attention to you. The male ghoul was massive, towering over you with impressive height and a menacing expression. His kagune, a long tentacle-like appendage, whipped through the air as it prepared to attack. He lunged forward, forming his kagune into a claw; he aimed at your chest. But you quickly dodged the attack, stepping to the side and bringing your Aus up in a defensive stance. He snarled and attacked again.

Yoongi launched a powerful attack with his kagune, slicing through the ghoul’s torso and causing him to fall to the ground with a thud. He dragged his quinque painfully slow through the ghoul’s body as more blood flowed out. He lazily turned his head toward your direction. You were fighting two ghouls, but he didn’t have any intention of helping you, so he continued playing with the dead body.

You can handle them…

Probably, he shrugged.

With a swift movement of your wrist, you sliced through the ghoul’s arm, causing him to screech in pain and recoil. The second one finally jumped into the fight. She was relentless, her kagune striking out again and again, but you were unyielding, dodging, blocking, and attacking with unflinching determination. She charged at you upon seeing her friend being taken down, but again, you instinctively dodged to the side, swinging your quinque in a wide arc. She was fast, but you were quicker as you blocked and deflected her attacks while landing blows of your own. Your weapon finally made heavy contact with the ghoul’s flesh, spraying a shower of blood into the air. She howled in pain, but you couldn’t feel any sympathy; instead, you could feel a rush of adrenaline.

Suddenly, the injured male lunged forward with lightning speed, his kagune striking at you with deadly force. You looked at him with a condescending smirk, “A strong one, aren’t you?”

It was almost psychotic how your tone sounded because nothing could’ve prepared your opponents for your sudden move. Your quinque pierced through the ghoul’s flesh in a blink of an eye, and he let out a final howl before collapsing to the ground, dead.

It took the female one off guard, but you didn’t give her time to recover as you jumped over her head and delivered a powerful kick to its back. She was sent flying with great force; probably broke a few bones and damaged some areas of skin. You looked down at her spasming figure with malice and plunged your Aus into her back, ending her life immediately.

The bureaus under your command had shocking looks on their faces. They exchanged glances with each other as if realising that you were not to be underestimated. Of course, they had always heard the praises that fell from the lips of the higher-ups that you were a skilled investigator, but seeing you in action was entirely another thing.

“New recruits?” Yoongi’s voice was calm and collected, betraying no hint of emotion as he finished off the ghoul he was handling just now.

He did detach the head from the neck.

The bureaus’ complexion paled, every colour drained at the horrendous sight before them.

“Right, I forgot bureaus don’t kill all the time,” because it was clear that killing ghouls was just another day in the life of a KCCG investigator.

Suddenly, a shiver ran down your spine as you caught a glimpse of a figure moving in the corner of your eye. It has to be a mistake. A low growl echoed through the hallway, causing the team to freeze. They knew that sound all too well - it was the sound of a ghoul.

Not just an ordinary ghoul.

“It’s the Owl.”

Yoongi’s voice was the last thing you heard before the explosive sound of the Owl crashing on the ground, announcing its presence and causing debris to rain down on everyone. The heavy feelings that have been crawling on your back. The first ghoul you had encountered, the terror and fear in his eyes.

The three ghouls that were killed.

They died in the hands of doves instead of the Owl.

It was unintentional that they encountered us.

They were running away from the grim reaper but still stumbled on death’s door.

“Take cover!” You commanded the bureaus, grabbing the nearest to you by the arm and pulling them towards the most immediate cover. You and Yoongi were split as he jumped toward the right side. You positioned yourself in front of the female bureau you had pulled with you, shielding her from any potential danger.

The Owl planned all of this. None of these were coincidences.

Reaching for your ear device, you contacted Hoseok, “Emergency code red-O, triple S; Yong. Location, North–”

“Bureaus, fire!”

Upon Yoongi’s command, the bureaus opened fire on the Owl. The air was filled with the sound of gunfire and the whistling of projectiles. But the bullets seemed to have no effect on it. The Owl grew even more enraged and began to thrash about wildly. Its tentacles flailed out in every direction, knocking over walls and sending debris flying through the air.

What the fuck?

Why is he provoking Yong?!

Owls were immune to Q-bullets; sometimes, even quinque does no damage. He should know that.

“Fall back!” You shouted through the chaos, but your command fell on deaf ears. The sound of the continuous firing prevented your voice from reaching your comrades. You scrambled to dodge the tentacles and find another safe cover. You could feel the ground shaking beneath you as Owl continued to wreak havoc on the ward. The dangerous creature let out a deafening screech. Its eyes glowed red as it turned its attention toward the bureaus. It flapped its kagune and leapt into the air, swooping down towards them with incredible speed. The armed investigators scattered desperately, trying to avoid the creature’s deadly tentacles.

“Investigator Min, we need to–”

Yong pounced on a group of bureaus, slashing and tearing with its razor-sharp appendages. They screamed in terror as the beast’s relentless assault tore them apart. Some were still shooting and firing in hopes of distracting or even injuring – just a minor wound on the Owl, but despite their best efforts, the attacks seemed only to enrage the Owl further. It seemed almost invincible, unstoppable in its rage. Its attacks became increasingly ferocious, and the investigators found themselves quickly losing ground.

You turned to your partner in terror, hoping he would just look you in the eyes and bellow a command. “Min Yoongi – !” Except he was not in his spot.

The Owl turned around just in time to block your superior’s attack with its own kagune. It countered with a devastating strike that nearly took Yoongi off his feet.

“Yoongi, Hoseok is on the way. We need to retreat first!” You tried to reach him again while trying to gather the bureaus. The situation was already chaos at its finest; Yoongi definitely didn’t need to add up to it.

With a violent swing of his 13’s Jason, Yoongi charged forward once more, his quinque gleaming in the dim light of the ward. The two engaged in an intense battle, their weapons clashing with each other in a violent symphony. He lunged at the Owl, his quinque slashing through the air toward the ghoul’s head. But no matter how skilled Yoongi was, Owl was no easy opponent, and it had yet to unleash its full power.

Yoongi was not Namjoon.

Not even Hoseok.

Skills unmatched.

Yong’s eyes glowed with malice. Sidestepping the attack, it launched itself towards Yoongi; massive kagune extended, robust scale-red slashed through the air and to his abdomen. Yoongi stumbled back as blood seeped through his shirt.

He cursed under his breath, looking down at his open wound. His stamina was decreasing significantly from all those attacks and defences. But his body had long entered survival mode; he was far from exhausted. The Owl that stood in front of him, he knew very well.

The same Owl that caused a riot and havoc back in his hometown.

The very same Owl that became the reason why he was in KCCG instead of living happily with his family.

The one and only Owl that was responsible for his first ever traumatic event.

The fucking Owl that–

“Yoongi, dodge!” You slammed your body toward Yoongi without thinking twice the moment you saw his eyes go blank. You’ve seen that Yoongi way too many times. The Yoongi that would be deep in thought and stare into nothingness when you passed by his office. The only moment where he would show vulnerability unconsciously, and you knew how much he hated it– because you hated it too– but that always happened in the KCCG building and never, ever during a mission.

The collision between your body and Yoongi’s was extremely powerful that it sent him flying to the other side, to a safer side. His eyes finally met yours as his train of thought was interrupted. The worried expression on his face was the first you ever saw in your time working with him as he screamed your name with great desperation. You could swear you saw his eyes turn glossy before you were sent flying.

You pushed him just in time but were a second late to dodge the Owl’s full-force attack. Your Aus managed only to cover your torso as the Owl’s movement was too quick for your reflex. Your whole body met with the Owl’s heavy blow.

Since when does getting hit by your own quinque hurt like bitch? “S-shit…”

Your body was numb.

Hey, at least you’re not feeling pain.

Better than feeling the pain like someone was taking away your soul.

“Oh, my lady,” A voice reached your ears, although it was very faint due to the impact your body had experienced. You knew whose voice it was. “Do you recognise me?”

It was Hoseok.

You blinked twice as a yes.

“Good girl.” Weirdly you could feel his gentle stroke on your hair. His warmth reached your cold, numbing body. You wanted to close your eyes. “I need you to stay with us until you reach the hospital. Can you do that for me?”

You were tired. You didn’t think you could comply with this order.

“I know you’re tired and hurt, (Y/N), but I need you to just stay conscious. Jin will keep you company. I will take over everything from here. Take a rest, but please stay alive.”

The next thing you know, Jin was already on your side with a worried expression. “(Y/N), hang on there. The ambulance is on the way.” He stroked your hair with his rough, calloused hand – probably due to handling those heavy killing weapons. Your hands were no different. In fact, all ghoul investigators were bound to roughen their hands.

With the quinques.

And with blood.

Oh, are you regretting your decision, (Y/N)?

Never.

“Stay with us, (Y/N),” you heard Jungkook’s voice. Quinque was thrown to the side as he kneeled next to you. You swore his force could’ve injured his knees, but he didn’t seem to care at all by the looks of it. His eyes were only on you. Pupils dilated in fear. Hands and lips trembled as he spoke. “It must’ve hurt a lot, Sakura.”

Sakura.

“Yeah,” you said with minimal energy. “It hurts a lot, Koo.”

Jimin arrived last at the scene. He was out of breath from the sprinting he did when he received Hoseok’s assembly order. His eyes first landed on your half-alive body before the sight of the hideous monster caught his eyes.

Yoongi and (Y/N) couldn’t be that stupid to try and take the Owl down.

One was a half-ghoul, and another one was pure human.

“Oh, Yong Owl,” Hoseok had left your side, hands stuffed in his pockets and walked towards Yoongi, ordering the other fellow Supreme Squad members to follow him with bureaus at the ready. “It’s been a while, don’t you think?”

Yong Owl.

That name caught Jimin’s attention. When Hoseok commanded him to come here, he wasn’t informed which Owl was at the scene; only his rate was told. Jimin pushed back his hair from his forehead. He so badly wanted to burst into a loud laugh. He let his hand stay on his face longer but couldn’t contain the vicious smirk tugging on his lips at the realisation. Of course, it wasn’t you that could be so stupid in this situation.

You were the result of Yoongi’s stupidity.

Yong wasn’t some random Owl. Of course, he wasn’t, even for KCCG. But Yong was especially not some random Owl for Yoongi.

Jungkook hesitated to walk away from you but got on his feet and stood next to Jin with a concerned face for a few seconds. You were, after all, a Jeon. He couldn’t bear to see his family in pain and let the assaulter run away. He was torn between staying by your side or taking down Yong Owl. Jimin slung his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, pulling the younger with him heading towards the Owl.

Yong was the murderer of Yoongi’s family.

“We’ll be right back, (Y/N),” Jimin sent you a wink. A smirk followed shortly after as he continued. “After this, no more danger you can’t take on will come your way.”

Silly Yoongi, but thank you for the opportunity, soulmate.

“Didn’t expect to see me?” Hoseok smiled. “I know you wish to have encountered Namjoon instead because he always lets you go unscathed, worried for his teammates.”

Yong took a step back as the Chief Director took a step forward. Hoseok was known for his ruthlessness, and that fact was well-learned even for ghouls, even for Owls. While he seemed like the most gentle and caring person, the fact was that he was still a ghoul investigator. His motto in KCCG was to kill with passion. He has worked for KCCG for the longest among everyone. His entire bloodline was born only to serve KCCG for the betterment of the world.

Most Owls have their own hideouts that were undetectable by KCCG; hence it was unlikely for Owls to bump into the doves. Moreover, Owls always stayed lowkey.

“But things work differently for me. You bark, I bite.”

A bureau walked towards Hoseok to hand him a quinque suitcase. Jimin whistled at the sight. He knew what was in that. Heck, it even looked different than any other quinque suitcase.

It was the legendary quinque.

It was the quinque imported from CCG, Japan. Previously wielded by Kishou Arima, the legendary ghoul investigator before he died, since then, the quinque has been stored in CCG’s top secret room. It was only recently an evaluation was done to hand over the quinque to worthy hands and make use of it. Hoseok was invited to take part in the evaluation and easily scored the highest. The quinque was named Owl, created from a kakuhou torn out of the Non-Killing Owl during the battle against Arima. Crafted with precision and designed for devastating efficiency, it possessed an air of elegance despite its deadly purpose. It was the only known SSS-rated quinque and the only one known to be created from a living ghoul. 

“Unlucky for you; you hurt my favourite person.” Hoseok shook his head in disappointment as he was just scolding a child for his wrongdoing. He activated the suitcase, and immediately, it transformed into the Owl.

The Owl quinque was a masterpiece of engineering, combining intricate craftsmanship with advanced technology. Its appearance was both captivating and haunting, resembling a pair of oversized metallic wings. The wings were adorned with intricate patterns and etchings, reflecting the meticulous attention to detail put into its creation. The surface of the quinque gleamed with a metallic sheen, hinting at its superior strength and durability. The blade of the quinque was razor-sharp, capable of easily slicing through flesh and exoskeleton. Its edges were finely honed and meticulously maintained, ensuring maximum combat-cutting efficiency.

But it was not just its physical attributes that made the Owl quinque so formidable. Within its core lay a unique and deadly mechanism. With a simple flick of a switch, the quinque would unleash its true power. The wings would unfold, revealing hidden compartments and mechanisms, each serving a specific purpose in enhancing combat capabilities. The Owl quinque was known for its incredible speed and agility. It allowed its wielder to move with astonishing swiftness, striking down enemies in a flurry of precise and lethal attacks. Its versatility was unmatched, enabling the wielder to seamlessly transition between offensive and defensive maneuvers, easily adapting to any situation.

Moreover, the quinque possessed a unique ability to absorb and manipulate the kagune, the potent weapon of the ghouls. It could absorb the kagune’s energy and redirect it with devastating force, turning the enemy’s own power against them. This ability allowed the wielder to effectively counter even the most formidable opponents, turning their strength into their downfall.

The sheer power and elegance of the Owl quinque made it a symbol of Arima’s skill and prowess as a CCG investigator. Its reputation preceded it, striking fear into the hearts of ghouls and admiration in the minds of fellow investigators.

It was a weapon of legend, capable of rewriting the course of battles and leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

Weapon at ready, Hoseok began again, “I don’t want your death.”

In the hands of Arima, the Owl quinque became an extension of his own being. It embodied his relentless determination and unwavering resolve in the face of darkness. With each swing and strike, he delivered justice with chilling precision, carving a path through the ghouls that dared to challenge him, and it was about to be the same for Hoseok.

The legend of the Owl quinque would be relived in his hands.

“Your scream when I extract fragments of you in Cochlea sounds more satisfying.”

And he would start by painting the blood of Yong on the quinque.

All rights reserved © 2023 kthyg. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost without permission. Feedback is very much appreciated. It keeps me motivated! Send me an ask!

[ladyviolethummingbird]

The Gloaming

An Outlander/Jane Eyre crossover

Catch up on chapters 1-9 here

Chapter 10: From Afar

Head full of thoughts of Claire, Jamie wound his way along darkened corridors towards his bedchamber. Within him there was a lightness; the weightless and floating kind that made his feet feel as though they were barely touching the ground as he walked. At the same time there was a heaviness; pressure on his chest like he could scarcely draw breath from how all-encompassing his feelings were. Having never been in love before, he had no idea if it was normal to feel so jumbled up inside, so instead settled for replaying the evening he had just spent with Claire and recalling with pleasure just how beautiful she’d looked in the light of the fading fire.

Having not paid much heed to the direction he was taking, Jamie unexpectedly found himself at the foot of the stairs where Claire had fallen. Despite bone aching tiredness, a niggling feeling propelled him to crouch down and take a closer look; something about a graceful and surefooted woman stumbling on steps she’d descended hundreds of times just wasn’t adding up. Sweeping his hands over the smooth wood he anticipated finding a loose board or nail to account for it, but squinting at the dimly lit staircase he detected nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly his fingertips slid into a cold liquid. Startled by the unpleasant sensation, he yanked his hands back, hurriedly glancing around for the source. With nothing appearing out of place, all he could think to account for it was rain, perhaps from a window blowing open during the storm, however a quick check showed all those nearby fastened shut. There was probably a perfectly logical explanation for the wet stairs but a feeling in Jamie’s wame told him otherwise, and with a shiver he pulled the shawl he wore a little tighter around himself. He was still wracking his brains to determine the cause of the dampness when the smell hit him; such distinctive odour he wondered how he could have missed it earlier. Spicy, fruity and not quite sweet, it was unmistakably brandy.

He rubbed his eyes trying to think, Claire’s voice floating into his head “The smell alone makes me gag”…“I must’ve misjudged a step”… “No need to wake anyone else”… It was all connected he knew, only he couldn’t see through the fog in his brain to work out how. As the questions swirled, Jamie felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, as though he was being watched. Standing to his full height he cast his eyes out into the semi-darkness; searching but not entirely sure he wanted to find anything. From behind him a floorboard creaked and he whirled around, body tensing. The scape of feet followed…

Continue reading…

[artofdeductionbysholmes]

We may have a problem with the so-called fiancé, @artofdeductionbysholmes I lost sight of him…

Any update on the lab results? @artofdeductionbysholmes @mollyatthemorgue

The question is: did he disappear on his own terms, or was his disappearance forced?

And yes, I just received @mollyatthemorgue Molly's lab report. See below.

[ID: 3 screenshots of a lab report

Lab Report

Subject: Examination of Paper Sample

Date of Report: June 2, 2024

Lab Technician: Hooper, Molly

Sample ID: Paper-2024-371

Introduction

The purpose of this lab report is to present the findings from the examination of a piece of paper. The analysis aims to identify the physical, chemical, and biological characteristics of the paper, and any potential indicators of its environment and exposure history.

Sample Description

Type: Paper 

Condition on Receipt: Intact with minor surface wear, slightly discoloured.

Methods of Analysis

Visual Inspection

Microscopic Examination

Chemical Analysis

X-Ray Fluorescence (XRF)

Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry (GC-MS)

Microbiological Assays

Moisture Content Analysis

Odour Analysis

Results

1. Visual Inspection

Appearance: The paper showed slight discoloration, with faint yellowish-brown stains.

Surface Condition: Minor abrasions were noted. Some dirt and dust particles were visible.

2. Microscopic Examination

Fibre Integrity: The cellulose fibres were mostly intact, with minor signs of surface wear.

Debris: Presence of small soil particles and other unidentified debris.

3. Chemical Analysis

X-Ray Fluorescence (XRF):

Detected Elements: Trace amounts of heavy metals such as lead (Pb), cadmium (Cd), and chromium (Cr).

Surface Contaminants: Minor presence of inorganic substances.

Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry (GC-MS):

Organic Compounds: Detected small amounts of hydrocarbons and other organic pollutants.

Residues: Identified residual chemicals from inks and dyes, with some degradation products.

4. Microbiological Assays

Bacterial Presence: Identified bacterial species including Bacillus and Pseudomonas spp.

Fungal Presence: Traces of fungal spores, likely Aspergillus and Penicillium spp.

5. Moisture Content Analysis

Moisture Level: Moderate moisture content of 12%.

Chemical Composition: The moisture contained slight acidic properties.

6. Odour Analysis

Detected Odours: Mild, musty odour with hints of organic decay.

Discussion

The examination of the paper sample indicates several key findings:

The physical condition and minor wear suggest it was exposed to an environment with abrasive materials and some physical stress.

The presence of heavy metals and organic pollutants detected by XRF and GC-MS indicates exposure to a polluted environment, potentially involving industrial or waste materials.

Microbial assays revealed early stages of microbial colonisation by bacteria and fungi typically associated with organic material decomposition.

The moderate moisture content and slight acidity suggest exposure to a moist environment with some chemical interactions.

Odour analysis confirmed the presence of organic decay-related gases.

The combination of physical wear, chemical contaminants, microbial presence, and environmental indicators suggests that the paper may have been exposed to a mixed waste or polluted environment. The findings are consistent with environments such as waste disposal sites, polluted industrial areas, or other locations with significant organic and inorganic contaminants.

Conclusion

The paper sample shows signs of exposure to a polluted and possibly waste-rich environment. The results indicate physical wear, contamination by heavy metals and organic pollutants, microbial activity, and environmental interactions that are typical of such conditions. Further context about the paper's origin could provide more specific insights.

Lab Technician Signature:

[signature of Molly Hooper]

Reviewed By:

Patrick Miller

/end ID]