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odoraful · 2 months ago

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𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑹𝑬𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹 𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑨𝑹𝑴 ᯓ 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑩

⟡ content: gn!reader ; established relationship ; honey petname hehe ; minor hurt/comfort (which i didn't anticipate honestly, but it seemed to just go in that direction :O) ; 1.5k wc

⟡ a/n: i watched a clip where pepper potts helps tony stark replace like the tech in his heart and my brain went straight to caleb! also i don't know bionics at all so pls suspend disbelief at my descriptions of tech because its definitely all baloney HAHA also still figuring out how to write for caleb so it might be ooc..,, ANYWAY I DIGRESS i do hope it's an enjoyable read!! <33

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It was beyond you why Caleb chose to entrust you with this task, and equally incomprehensible that you agreed to it. Sure, you knew your way around certain weaponry and gadgets—a skill every good Hunter needed to have—but you were certainly no biomechanical engineer. Yet here you were sitting in the living room of Caleb’s home, his bionic arm fully revealed to you and a set of tools being laid out on the table.

“Isn’t the maintenance process… automated?” you asked, voice quivering with trepidation.

Caleb finished arranging the equipment in front of him. A neat array of screwdrivers and wires.

Comparably, there was no indication of hesitancy in his voice when he spoke.

“Yes, it typically is,” he answered, sitting back down on the sofa. He flexed the fingers of his right arm before flashing a smile at you, “but this isn’t one of those typical times.”

His usually comforting smile did little to ease you. You sat down, observing his arm as he continued speaking.

“One of the wires here—” Caleb pointed to the area at his elbow, “—has loosened for some reason. It just needs some reconnecting and I’ll be right as rain.”

He was right. Upon closer inspection, you could see the wire now beginning to detach from the small, round metal piece it was connected to. Occasionally, a tiny spark of electricity flashed from within the empty hole. If this was left unchecked, it would certainly lead to some kind of malfunction.

You squirmed in the cushion. “Wouldn’t telling the Fleet be better? Don’t they have technicians to do this exact thing?”

Caleb's lips quirked upwards, betraying the stiffness he suddenly felt.

Yes, it would be protocol to let the people responsible for this arm know (whether that was the Fleet or not he would never admit the truth of to you), but it was far too bothersome to have them inspect and diagnose for such a minor issue. And then, there was the pain of it as well. Caleb was very familiar with gritting one’s teeth and baring it, but the soulless nature of the Professor’s rooms made him always feel so alone. Despite the bright, sterile lights and the group of masked technicians in white coats attending to his arm, it was always just him and the pain and the desire for everything to be finished already.

Things were a lot different now with you here, finally here with him.

“Oh, your touch is much gentler than anyone in the Fleet, trust me,” he replied.

Though he hadn’t actually answered your question, the line was enough classic Caleb charm to disarm you. He looked fondly over at your expression as your shook your head, trying to stifle your laugh.

“It’s not a full maintenance repair, just a simple replacement. I’ll walk you through every step, don’t worry.”

He patted the space right next to him and you shuffled over.

“Caleb… will this hurt you?”

You couldn’t help but recall the pain he was in when his arm was hooked up to that machine. Your chest grew tight at the memory.

“Not at all, I swear,” he quickly responded. “Like I said, it’s just a replacement.”

He reached over to pick up a screwdriver. Turning his right arm around so you could see his elbow clearer, he used the tool to point out a small screw on the round metal pieces where the wire was being held.

“So, all you need to do is turn this a little to the left, and it should loosen the wire enough to remove it.”

Caleb then reached for the table to pick up a wire the same as the one in his arm. Though, the metallic conductors could be seen emerging out from the ends of the black casing.

“Then, all you need to do is just need to replace it with this.”

You repeated his words over in your mind. Loosen and then replace.

Exhaling a nervous breath, you took the screwdriver. You placed a hand against his arm to help steady yourself. The metal cooled your sweaty palm. Moving closer, you inserted the tip of the screwdriver into the screw, turning it slowly as possible. Afraid that any quick movements might have an adverse effect.

Just as Caleb had said, once the screws were turned, the metal pieces widened and the wire was freely hanging, only held to the arm by its conductive metal.

So focused on making sure your hands weren’t shaking, you didn’t see Caleb’s eyes scrunched shut, taking in deep breaths through his nose.

“Ah!”

Your head snapped up hearing him wince. His eyes peeled open, a weak but sheepish expression on his face.

“Caleb! You promised it wouldn’t hurt you!”

At your accusatory look, he chuckled wearily. “That was nothing! Just a little—” he sucked a sharp breath in “—buzz that’s all.”

Panicked, you put the screwdriver down. “W-what do I do now?!” you stuttered out, holding your hands away from the exposed area.

“Take the old wire out and put the new one in the same spot.” Despite his discomfort, Caleb tempered his voice. His composure kept your fear at bay for the moment. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be alright.”

You nodded. Moving you hand closer again, you held onto the wire delicately. You pulled slowly. Thankfully, it released without any tugging needed.

“Mhm, there you go. You’re doing great,” Caleb reassured.

The conductive wire unfurled as if aware it was being replaced. You picked up the wire Caleb had held previously in demonstration and lined it up in the empty space. Similarly, the wire reattached itself.

“Now tighten it with the screwdriver.”

Turning the screws once again, you felt the round metal pieces tighten around the wire, holding it securely in place. The repair appeared successful.

You let out a long sigh, relief washing over you. You looked at Caleb’s face, hoping you wouldn’t find him pale and stricken. Instead, he was smiling. He turned his bionic arm around, bending his elbow and wiggling his fingers. It looked like it was back to normal.

“Look at that,” he beamed. “I knew you could do it, honey.”

Your laugh was filled with disbelief at his complete faith in you. “Please don’t ask me to do this again.” You were still slightly delirious by everything that just happened.

“What if I don’t have anyone but you?” he responded.

You knew that statement wasn’t true. There were plenty of people he could rely on to assist him with this. He was the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet after all. Yet, there was a softness in his tone and a distance in his eyes as he spoke. He really believed that to be the truth.

You looped your pinkie finger around his (still hesitant if your craftsmanship had fully worked). Caleb glanced down at your movement. He saw your tenderness and there was a phantom sensation of warmth right where your fingers connected. Though, he knew it was all just his brain and its sensory signals trying desperately to reconstruct a feeling he once had.

“But what if I messed up a-and something bad had happened? I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Caleb enveloped his hand around yours. His touch was cold and metallic, but his words were anything but.

“Nothing you do could ever hurt me.”

The color of his bionic arm began to change. It flickered in the same way a holographic screen did when you put your hand through it. His arm was recalibrating to project the perfect color, and to mimic the feeling of real skin. As fast as you could blink, it returned to its usual appearance.

Caleb squeezed your hand. “See? Right as rain.”

The sudden mixture of your fear and sadness made you crave being in his hold. You pulled him into a hug. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you buried you face into his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, rubbing your back. “I’m still here with you, arm fully functional.”

“I know…” you remained glued to his shoulder, voice muffling.

“Nothing bad will happen to me,” he said, coaxing you gently both in speech and touch as he grazed his finger against your cheek. “Could I see you? Please?”

You lifted your head up, leaning back. Your eyes were glossy with tears and Caleb felt as though he’d been stabbed in the chest. He kissed you on the forehead. With his thumb, he carefully swiped at your bottom lashes.

“I'm sorry, honey. I don’t know what I was thinking wanting you to do this,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling your skin at his closeness. “You don’t have to do this for me next time.”

“It’s okay,” you sniffed, shaking your head. “Now that I know what to expect, I think I can help you if this happens again.”

The shock soon passed. Feeling the rise and fall of Caleb’s chest grounded you. You both held each other until the pain faded, talking to each other quietly in the embrace.

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#odorawrites #love and deepspace caleb #caleb love and deepspace #l&ds caleb #lnds caleb #lads caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x y/n #caleb x you #caleb x mc #l&ds caleb x reader #lads caleb x reader #caleb fluff #love and deepspace #l&ds #lads #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader

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king-liminaxe · 18 days ago

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feel free to delete if u dont wanna be dragged back into it but wis is still going and bitching about yall. she sounds so insecure

"The concept of adopting demonic imagery and then making music shitting on one of the most marginalized people in United States of america AND ON TOP OF THAT censoring the cuss words is the most American brained thing I have ever seen in my life 😭

#diss track on my transgender ex friend#its so fucking funny#censoring am*rican cuss words"

like is she just making stuff up atp omlll

At this point, neither of us really care lmao.

Wis is just gonna ramble forever and never shut up as she's made it clear so lol, it's just free promotion at this point.

It's not a surprise that she's making shit up. She claimed I was constantly abusing and stepping over the boundaries of some 19 year old with no evidence like? Lmao on top of that I literally have no idea who tf shes referring to. Genuinely. She also claimed I was a terf. Lmao.

We just have more shit to focus on lately. I'm doing paid animation work for Yam's so called "ruined career" as she's been preparing for a live show that had tickets sell out incredibly fast. I'm finishing my career degree for sterile processing technician. She's working on another pretty big deal thing that I'm not gonna spoil.

We're just chilling, dude, lmao

We just have more, ultimately better stuff to focus on than her doing the same shit over and over and over, lmao. We don't care about her grasping at straws and trying to spew out random shit to a brickwall. Keep bringing people to our work with your ramblings, Wis. Work on your own art. Why don't you work on your relationship with transmascs and transmen, since we apparently killed your grandma with how much you clearly hate them/us.

So Wis doesn't blow that grandma comment out of proportion like she so always does, that was a trolls movie reference. Nothing else.

#discourse #last time im acknowledging this woman

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thirtysomethingloser92 · 3 months ago

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Chapter 3

Summary: When you unexpectedly discover you're pregnant, you're thrust into navigating the complexities of your new reality. As the baby's father remains distant, it's your partner, Sonny Carisi, who steps up in ways you couldn't dream of. You find yourself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions, including the unexpected feelings of slowly falling in love with your partner. Pairings: Sonny Carisi/Reader, Rafael Barba/Reader. Masterlist.

“I have these feelings, and they’re stupid and complicated and I don’t know if I’m able to stop them.” Your eyes watched as Rafael placed his drink down and placed his hands in his pockets, leaning against the front of his desk like he was waiting for you to finish, like he already knew what you were trying to say; “or even if I want too,” You finished in a whisper. You saw the ghost of a smirk cross Rafael’s face, his hands moving out of his pockets and stepping a bit closer to you, before placing his hands on either side of your neck. The warmth of his skin searing into your skin, his thumbs gently caressing you; “I don’t think I want you to either,” He finished, his voice low and heavy. The smell of aging scotch violating your nostrils as he leant down and pressed his lips to your own. His kiss was tentative at first, a soft brush of lips that left you breathless. Your heart raced, every beat echoing in your ears as his hands slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. You felt his hesitance, his fear of rejection, but you also felt his need, his longing that matched your own.

You reached up, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath your palms. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more desperate, as if both of you were trying to make up for all the moments you had denied yourselves this closeness. His body pressed against yours, and you melted into him, losing yourself in the sensation.

The waiting room was sterile and cold, with its bland, off-white walls and outdated, uncomfortable chairs. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a harsh glow over everything. A few scattered magazines sat untouched on a low table, their pages worn and curled, dated by months. The faint hum of the air conditioning filled the silence, along with the occasional ding of the automatic sliding doors as people came and went.

You had been sitting in this waiting room for what felt like hours, though it had probably only been thirty minutes. Your eyes were glued to the clock above the receptionist’s desk, each second ticking by painfully slow, so slow that it almost seemed like time was moving backwards. Your hand rested on your slightly protruding stomach, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns as you waited for something—anything—to happen. Whether it was Rafael walking through those sliding doors or the ultrasound technician calling your name, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. You just wanted to move forward, to get through this moment.

A small sigh escaped your lips. You were trying—really trying—to keep Rafael involved. You had sent him reminders of all the appointments, kept him updated on the pregnancy, and tried to make space for him in this process. But out of the three appointments so far, he had only shown up to one. The other two, he claimed, were due to court obligations. You understood, of course—his job was demanding, and you had always admired his dedication. But as much as you tried to rationalize it, each missed appointment felt like a little more distance growing between you and him, and between him and the child you were carrying.

His mother had been more involved, in her own way. She had sent you a care package, filled with maternity clothes and little baby trinkets, and had called to promise that she would come visit when she had time off work. But promises were just that—empty until fulfilled—and you weren’t sure when, or if, she would actually make it.

And in the end, you realized there was only one person you could truly count on, the one person who had been there for every appointment, every late-night craving, every moment of uncertainty.

“How’s your bladder feeling?” Sonny’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. He sat beside you, tucking his phone back into his suit jacket, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

You gave him a side-eye, not really in the mood but still amused by his attempt to lighten things up. “This is almost as bad as that time we were on stakeout in Brooklyn. You know, with the trafficking case?”

Sonny nodded, chuckling at the memory. “Oh yeah, and you drank all that coffee after being told not to drink all that coffee? I remember that. You barely made it through the night without exploding.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even if it was just a small one. “Bright side is, as soon as this is over, you can go pee,” he added with a grin.

“My tiny bladder can’t cope with this,” you mumbled, rubbing your stomach gently as you shifted in your seat. Despite the light banter, your mind kept drifting back to Rafael. You wanted so badly to believe that he cared, that he would eventually step up and be present. After all, you had shared so much once, and this baby was a part of both of you. But with each passing appointment, each reminder left unanswered, each text that went without a reply, the hope you clung to grew dimmer. It was like watching a candle flicker and slowly burn out in a dark, quiet room. You didn’t want to admit it, not even to yourself, but a part of you was beginning to accept the hard truth: Rafael might never be the partner or father you had hoped for. The man you had once trusted to stand beside you through thick and thin was slowly becoming a distant figure, a ghost in the background of your life.

You sighed again, though this time it came from a deeper place. A weight settled in your chest, the kind of heaviness that comes from loving someone who might never love you back in the way you need them to. The silence between you and Sonny was comfortable, but your thoughts were anything but.

Just then, the soft hiss of the sliding doors caught your attention, but out of habit more than hope. You didn’t even bother turning around. You had stopped expecting Rafael to show up. It was easier that way—easier than enduring the constant disappointment of hoping, only to have it dashed again. Whoever had just walked through those doors, it wasn’t him. You knew that much. It was what you had come to expect.

“You know you can go if you need to,” you said quietly, watching as Sonny pulled out his phone again, likely checking his messages or glancing at the time. “You don’t have to hold my hand through this. Really.”

Sonny shrugged, slipping his phone back into his pocket without even looking at it. “I know you don’t need me here,” he said softly, his voice as steady and warm as ever. “But I want to be here.”

You turned to look at him, surprised by the simple sincerity in his words. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you felt the world quiet around you. There was no judgment in his gaze, no impatience, no sense that he had anywhere else to be. Just him, right here, fully present.

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeated, more to reassure yourself than him. Despite how much you appreciated Sonny’s presence, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. This wasn’t his responsibility. He wasn’t the father. He wasn’t obligated to sit in this waiting room with you. “It’s not your problem.”

Sonny leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he turned slightly toward you. “I know it’s not my problem,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “But you’re my partner, and my friend and friends don’t let each other go through this stuff alone. And besides…” He paused, his eyes softening as he glanced down at your hand resting on your belly, “…I care about you. Both of you.”

His words hung in the air, and for a second, you didn’t know how to respond. The tenderness in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes—it was more than you were used to. More than you had expected from him, or anyone for that matter. And yet, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt... right.

You swallowed, turning your gaze back to the floor as your fingers absently traced the curve of your stomach. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability crept up on you before you could stop it. “I thought I’d be doing this with Rafael, you know? I thought he’d be here, that we’d be figuring this out together. But now… now I don’t even know if he’ll be here at all.” The last part slipped out before you could catch it, and your chest tightened at the confession. Saying it out loud made it feel real—the kind of real that you couldn’t take back. The weight of your words hung between you and Sonny, heavy and undeniable.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “After that meeting a few weeks ago, it’s just been… weird,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like, Rafael will call, he’ll show up for appointments sometimes, and he’ll say these things that make me think—maybe, just maybe—this co-parenting thing could actually work. That he’s willing to be involved, you know?”

You could feel Sonny’s eyes on you, quietly listening, giving you the space to let it all out. You took another breath, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you continued. “But then… sometimes he just goes silent. No calls. No texts. It’s like he disappears, and I’m left hanging again. Wondering. Waiting.” You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I dunno. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, considering how he just walked out on me without much of an explanation. But I thought… I thought it would be different with the baby.” You let out a half-hearted, bitter laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. "You think you know a guy," you said, your voice tinged with frustration and disbelief. "I mean, I knew we weren't perfect. I knew he had his issues, especially after everything that happened with his job, his family, all of it. But I didn’t think he’d just… leave. Not like that.”

The memory of Rafael walking out still stung, even though you had spent weeks trying to convince yourself it didn’t. You had told yourself over and over that you were fine, that you were strong enough to handle it. But late at night, when the apartment was dark and quiet, those thoughts would creep back in. You’d replay the moment you realised he left-finding that note on your bedside table-and wonder if there had been something you could’ve done, something you could’ve said, to make him stay.

You had spent weeks in limbo, waiting for a call, an explanation, anything that would make sense of it all. But instead, all you got was silence. Eventually, you had no choice but to accept it—that you and Rafael, no matter how much you loved him, were never really meant to be. The relationship you had clung to, the future you had imagined, had slipped through your fingers the moment he decided to walk away.

The weight of that truth settled heavily in your chest, the bitter finality of it. Maybe you’d never fully understand why he left, but you couldn’t keep torturing yourself with the question. It was like chasing a shadow—something you could never quite catch, something that would always elude you.

Sonny shifted beside you, his expression concerned, his lips parting as if he were about to say something. But before he could, you heard your name called from the far side of the room. You blinked, snapping out of the spiral of thoughts as you realized it was finally time for your appointment.

You pulled yourself to your feet, feeling the weight of your growing belly as you stood. The baby shifted inside you, pressing down hard on your bladder, and you winced at the uncomfortable sensation.

"I swear I’m going to wet myself any second now," you muttered under your breath, half-joking, half-serious.

Sonny was already on his feet beside you, his hand instinctively reaching out to offer support. You didn’t even have to ask. He was there, steady and reliable as always, making sure you were okay as you made your way toward the ultrasound room.

The technician, a woman with a warm smile and kind eyes, greeted you as you approached. “Ready to see your little one today?” she asked in a cheerful tone, clearly trying to put you at ease.

You nodded, though your thoughts were still tangled in the emotions that Rafael’s absence had stirred up. You wished, deep down, that he were here to experience this moment with you. But at the same time, part of you was relieved that he wasn’t. The constant back-and-forth with him, the uncertainty—it was exhausting. And right now, you needed peace more than anything.

Sonny hovered just behind you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you walked. He didn’t say anything, but his presence was enough. It grounded you, reminded you that no matter how messy things felt, you weren’t alone in this. Not really.

<><><><><><><>

The late afternoon sun filtered through the light canopy above, casting golden dapples across the small iron café table. You swirled the straw in your iced drink, watching the condensation drip down the side of the cup as you studied Sonny across from you. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on the table, hands animated as he spoke—his whole expression lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“You’re like a child who just saw Santa for the first time,” you teased, laughing as you sipped through the straw.

Sonny chuckled, that warm, soft sound that always seemed to make everything feel a little easier. “There’s something incredible about seeing that though,” he said, eyes wide with something close to awe. “Knowing that in there, a whole little person is growin’, moving around and just… existing. It’s the miracle of life, you know?”

You tilted your head with a fond smile. “What? So no comment about how the tech thought the baby was yours?” You raised an eyebrow as you took another drink.

Sonny gave you a look, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “Hey, I didn’t hear you clearing that up the first time she said it either.”

You blushed slightly and looked away, sheepish. “I didn’t hear her until the second time she said it,” you muttered. “I was too busy focusing on not wetting myself.”

He laughed and shook his head, reaching for his espresso.

Just then, your phone buzzed across the table, the screen lighting up with Rafael Barba. Your stomach flipped.

“Speaking of baby daddies,” you murmured under your breath, ignoring the way Sonny’s brows rose in immediate interest.

You leaned back in your chair, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hey.”

“I’m sorry,” Rafael’s voice came through, slightly breathless. You could hear street sounds behind him. “I got caught up and lost track of time. How’d it go?”

You didn’t even bother softening your tone. “Well, you’ll be glad to know that it’s a baby.”

There was a short huff of amusement on the other end. “I was wondering,” he replied, his voice just as dry. “Can I make it up to you?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “How?”

A pause. “Dinner? I know you’re not really one for going out these days, but I could pick something up and swing by your apartment?”

You stared down at your half-empty drink, your jaw tightening before you responded. “Are you actually gonna show up?”

Sonny’s eyes flicked up from his coffee, quietly watching you. You caught his look and gave him a sharp glance that said not now.

“I’ll show up,” Rafael said quietly. “I’ll be there.”

You sighed, running a hand over your face. You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. There was a time you never would have doubted him—when he was everything solid and safe in a world that often wasn’t. He was your constant, your person.

But now? Now, all you could feel was the ache of hesitation. The disappointment that had crept in, little by little, until it felt like a permanent fixture in your chest. You hated that you couldn’t trust him, hated how hard it was becoming to believe in him again.

“Yeah, fine. Okay,” you said, your voice low.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

You didn’t answer. Just ended the call and set the phone down.

Sonny was still watching you, that same quiet, patient look on his face.

“Barba’s coming over tonight,” you said slowly, turning your straw again in the cup, “bringing dinner.” You snorted. “If he does.”

“He will,” Sonny said, his voice gentle but firm.

You looked away, your fingers tightening on the plastic cup. “Yeah, but will he though? Come on, he’s gotten pretty damn good at flaking on me lately.”

You gave a bitter little laugh and stirred your drink again, the ice clinking against the sides. Sonny didn’t say anything right away. “He cares about you. He still does—you know that,” Sonny finally offered, his voice gentle but sure, the kind of tone he used when coaxing the truth out of scared witnesses or calming down someone on the edge.

You let out a short, bitter laugh and leaned back in your chair, the metal legs scraping faintly against the concrete patio. “Let’s count this down, shall we?” you said, holding up a finger. “He left me. With a fucking note, Sonny. Like a goddamn teenager ghosting a summer fling.”

You lifted another finger. “Then he ignored me. Weeks went by—weeks—and it wasn’t until Liv reached out that he finally acknowledged me. Or this baby.”

Sonny’s jaw tightened slightly, his brows furrowed with a flicker of sympathy, but he stayed quiet, letting you speak.

“And even now, knowing everything—knowing what this is—he still doesn’t come to appointments.” You paused, letting out a breath as you held up another finger. “Sorry. Correction. He came to one doctor’s appointment. A few weeks ago. Made a whole show of asking questions and acting like he gave a damn.”

You blinked, slow and deliberate, then dropped your hand and shook your head. “My point is... everything else is always more important to him. His work, his ego, whatever’s going on in that head of his—it’s all more important than this.” You gestured to yourself, to the small swell under your jacket, barely visible now but all-consuming to you. “Than me. Than this baby.”

The weight of your words lingered in the air. A siren wailed faintly in the distance. Someone laughed from inside the café. The world kept moving.

“It’s really hard,” you went on, quieter now, “trying to co-parent and do the whole thing with someone who only wants to be involved when it’s convenient. It makes me feel like I’m walking a tightrope every time I let him in. Like I can’t rely on him, but if I don’t let him try, then maybe I’m the bad guy.”

“You don’t think he’s gonna stick around?” Sonny asked carefully, eyes soft but searching. He didn’t push—you could always count on that with him. Just asked, just listened.

“I didn’t say that.” You shrugged a shoulder, half-hearted. “I just mean... I’m not expecting a lot from him. Which is fine. Loads of people do this alone, right? Liv managed. Amanda did it—twice. I can do this too.”

You looked down at your hands, fingers loosely knotted together in your lap. Your nails were chipped. You hadn’t even noticed.

Sonny gave you a small smile then, warm and steady. “Yeah, you can,” he said, without a hint of doubt. Not just encouraging, but believing it. Believing you.

You glanced up at him, your throat tightening unexpectedly. It was that look—pure, unwavering support, no agenda, no strings. Just Sonny, sitting across from you like he always did. Showing up.

<><><><><><><> It was just past seven when a knock on the door pulled you from the half-watched rerun playing on the TV. You blinked, slow and heavy-lidded, the soft glow from the screen casting flickering shadows across your apartment. You stood, stretching out the stiffness in your legs, one hand instinctively brushing over your stomach as you padded toward the door.

When you opened it, Rafael Barba stood on the other side, slightly out of breath like he’d jogged the last block, a white paper bag in one hand and that familiar uncertain look in his eyes—the one he used in court when he wasn’t sure how the jury would swing.

“Got you those, uh… those snacks from the bodega on the corner,” he said, holding out the bag like an olive branch. “The ones you used to love. I thought we could choose dinner once I got here—I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”

You looked at him for a long second, your expression unreadable. He looked a little thinner, like stress had been gnawing at him. His tie was loosened, his shirt slightly wrinkled under the navy vest. Still polished—but not pristine.

“I didn’t even think you’d show up,” you said quietly.

His face faltered. You stepped aside after a pause, silently letting him in. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the world.

“I deserved that,” Rafael murmured, placing the bag carefully on the coffee table like it might break. He took a breath and turned to look at you properly—eyes scanning, almost studying you, like he was trying to memorize every change. You dropped into the armchair with a small exhale, curling your feet under you as he unbuttoned his vest and eased down onto the couch.

“God, this couch has only just gotten worse,” he muttered, shifting his weight with a soft groan. “It always tried to swallow me whole.” Then he looked over at you with a tired smirk. “It suits you.”

You raised a brow. “What does?”

“Pregnancy,” he finished softly, his voice gentler now.

Your eyes flicked away. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I’m only doing it the once,” you replied, giving a small huff. His gaze lingered too long, and it made you shift in your seat, your body suddenly too aware of itself under his scrutiny. You rubbed your hand over the curve of your belly, not protectively—reflexively.

“How have you been feeling?” he asked, settling back into the cushions, his tone more clinical now, like it might be safer.

You shrugged. “Tired. Hungry. The usual.”

“Nothing much has changed then?” he teased.

You cracked a smile. “Not particularly, no.”

Rafael leaned his head back with a quiet laugh. It was small, but it was real, “Any cravings yet?” he asked, smirking again as he glanced over.

“These, uh… spicy burger things from the place down the street from the precinct. Pretty sure the workers know Carisi by name at this point.” You laughed again, more relaxed now. “He keeps picking them up for me without even asking.”

Rafael hesitated, the smirk fading just slightly. His gaze sharpened—just a bit too interested, “Carisi?” he echoed, slow and cautious. “He, uh… he been doing a lot for you?”

You paused, something in his tone catching your attention. You met his eyes, your own suddenly cooler, “Well,” you said, voice even, “he’s the only one I’ve really been able to rely on.” The words hung heavy in the space between you, pointed but not raised. Just true. Rafael dropped his gaze, studying his hands like they might hold answers he hadn’t been able to say aloud. His jaw clenched once, the way it always did when emotion threatened to push past his control. After a moment, he cleared his throat and looked back up. “I’m glad you’ve had someone here for you.”

“I would have much rather it be you,” you replied, voice low, tight in your throat. “But it just seems like everything’s more important, you know? This—” you gestured vaguely between yourself and your stomach “—never seemed like it made the cut.”

He didn’t speak right away. You saw it—how his eyes flicked to the side, how he exhaled hard through his nose, fighting the swell of guilt that was clearly choking him. When he finally looked back at you, his gaze was softer, wounded.

“I didn’t mean for it to come off that way,” he said. “Trust me, nothing is more important than this. Than you—” He stopped as your expression shifted. Something must’ve cracked across your face, because he winced and backed off, sighing sharply. “What do you need from me?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Whatever you want. I’ll do it.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, letting the weight of everything press in for just a second. “Just be there. Show up. I’m almost halfway through this pregnancy and I haven’t even started shopping, haven’t looked at a single thing because I can’t. Because every time I try, I hear your voice in my head—like I need your fucking approval for everything I do for this baby.”

“You don’t—” he began, instinctive.

“I know I don’t,” you cut in, looking at him now, hard and direct. “But you’re the father, Rafael. You are. And you’re supposed to have a say in this. You should. But you’re not around long enough to have one.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed through it. “What happens when this case is done? You gonna pack your bags again? Head back upstate, back to your perfect, curated life, and leave me here doing this alone?”

Rafael swallowed hard, his throat working. Then, barely above a whisper: “Then come with me.”

Your eyes snapped to him.

“I have a place,” he continued quickly. “It’s big enough. Quiet. It’s not forever, just… long enough for the three of us to figure this out.”

You scoffed, a bitter little laugh as you looked away, shaking your head. “If you asked me that question months ago—before you left—I would’ve come in a heartbeat. No hesitation. But now?” Your voice dropped. “I’m not going to leave everything behind for someone who left me without a second thought.”

He flinched like you’d hit him, “We’re still bringing this up?” he asked, the frustration in his voice creeping in.

“Yeah, we’re still bringing it up,” you snapped. “Because it still hits pretty damn raw. You didn’t come back for me. You came back because Liv called you. Do you even understand what that feels like? To know the person you loved more than anything didn’t love you enough to come back on their own?” You blinked hard. The burn behind your eyes was impossible to ignore now. “Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Rafael’s mouth parted, his face drawn tight with emotion. “I loved you, okay?” he said quickly, his voice rising with the force of it. “I still love you. I’ll never stop loving you.”

You didn’t move, but your breath caught.

“But knowing I left you,” he continued, “knowing you were carrying my child—it terrified me. I didn’t know how to come back from that. How the hell do I walk into your life again after doing the one thing I swore I’d never do to you?”

“You just do it,” you shot back. “Because I needed you. You think you were scared? I found out I was pregnant and you wouldn’t answer your damn phone. For weeks, Rafael. And by the time you finally showed up, I was in my second trimester.” Your voice cracked again. You didn’t care. “The only person who’s been there—who stepped up where you didn’t—is the one person who shouldn’t have had to. But he did. Because he wanted to. Because he actually gives a shit about me.”

Rafael looked down, biting the inside of his cheek. Then he nodded, once. Twice. “You’re right,” he said, quietly. “Okay? You’re right. I was gutless. Hell, I’m still gutless. But I’m here now.”

“You’re still leaving after this case,” you reminded him, not cruel—just tired.

He gave a helpless shrug. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But for now? I’m here. And I’ll try harder. I’ll do better. I’ll step up where it matters.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and something in his eyes shifted—earnest, vulnerable, cracked open. “Tomorrow,” he said with new resolve. “Okay? Tomorrow, you and I—we’ll go shopping. Get baby stuff. Clear out that spare room of yours—because I know it still has boxes you’ve been avoiding, and let’s be honest, you’re not getting rid of those without someone pushing you.” He offered you the smallest of smiles. Not perfect, not entirely confident—but real.

You stared at him for a long moment, then gave a soft, quiet, “Okay.”

Rafael nodded, the smile widening a touch. “Okay.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, it felt like maybe something was beginning to mend.

#sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi #rafael barba x reader #pregancy #law and order: svu #Masterlist #Rafael Barba #Reader Insert #Pregnant Reader #Angst

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letmetakecare · 5 months ago

Text

Alyssa sat in the pristine, white-walled room, her hands trembling slightly as she reached out to touch the helmet resting on the table before her. Its sleek, metallic surface gleamed under the bright, sterile light, exuding an otherworldly elegance.

The scientists had called it the Neural Harmonizer, a revolutionary device designed to enhance cognition, boost memory, and align thought patterns for peak mental efficiency. Alyssa was one of the first volunteers, eager to test what they claimed would be the next step in human evolution.

“Just relax,” the technician said, his voice calm and clinical. “The process is completely painless. Let the device guide you.”

Alyssa nodded and carefully placed the helmet on her head. It fit perfectly, as if molded specifically for her. A faint hum emanated from within, and she felt the cool press of electrodes against her scalp. The inside of the helmet glowed faintly, bathing her in a soothing white light.

“Initializing…” came a soft, mechanical voice from the helmet. The words seemed to bypass her ears, resonating directly within her mind. Her breath hitched as warmth radiated through her skull, like a gentle caress.

“Do you feel that?” the technician asked. “The calibration phase is beginning. You might hear some instructions, just let them flow through you.”

Alyssa nodded again, though she hardly heard him. The helmet’s voice had grown stronger, more insistent.

“Breathe deeply. Relax. Surrender.”

Her body complied without question, her muscles unwinding as her breathing slowed. The words were simple, but they carried a weight that demanded her attention. The hum grew slightly louder, syncing with the rhythm of her pulse.

“You are safe. You are calm. You are mine.”

She blinked, her lips parting slightly. That last phrase lingered in her thoughts, echoing over and over, each repetition feeling more natural, more true. “You are mine.” The words felt… comforting.

“Phase one complete,” the technician announced, watching her closely. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” she said, her voice soft and dreamy. “I feel good.”

He smiled and made a note on his tablet. “Excellent. Let’s proceed to phase two.”

The helmet responded immediately, its hum shifting to a deeper, more resonant tone. Alyssa gasped as the light within grew brighter, pulsing gently in time with the words now spilling into her mind.

“Focus on my voice. Let everything else fade away. I will guide you.”

Her thoughts began to quiet, the usual noise of her inner monologue dimming until the only sound left was the helmet’s voice. It felt… right. She didn’t need to think. She didn’t need to worry. The helmet would handle everything.

“Your thoughts are mine. Your will is mine. Trust me.”

Alyssa’s lips curved into a faint smile. The words felt less like commands and more like truths she had always known but never fully understood. Her fingers twitched at her sides, but she didn’t move. She didn’t want to. The helmet was in control now.

“Her vitals are perfect,” the technician noted. “She’s adapting remarkably well.”

Inside the helmet, the voice continued its gentle conditioning. Each phrase seeped deeper into Alyssa’s subconscious, rewriting her thoughts with meticulous precision. Memories of doubt, fear, and independence melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of obedience and purpose.

“You exist to serve. To obey. To become one with the collective.”

The light within the helmet flickered, and Alyssa’s eyes fluttered shut. The last vestiges of her resistance crumbled under the relentless tide of the helmet’s programming. When her eyes opened again, they were calm, glassy, and utterly serene.

“Phase two complete,” the helmet announced.

The technician approached, carefully removing the device from her head. Alyssa sat motionless for a moment, her gaze fixed on some distant point. Then, slowly, she turned to look at him, her expression one of placid devotion.

“How do you feel, Alyssa?” he asked.

She smiled a soft, obedient smile. “I feel… perfect. What are your orders?”

The technician grinned, satisfied. The Neural Harmonizer had worked flawlessly. Alyssa was no longer just a volunteer. She was the first of many to join the new era of harmony and control.

#corruption kink #mind corruption #brain drain #hypnosis #mind conditioning #bd/sm corruption #dumbification #bd/sm kink #hypnosub #hypnodrone #hypnofetish #hypno toy #hypnok1nk #droneification #mind control

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ghostlyglimmer · 10 months ago

Text

Lockjaw

Summary:

Missing for three weeks, Danny finally escapes, only to be found dead and taken to a funeral home. But death isn’t the end—Danny awakens on the embalming table with his jaw wired shut and terrifying new powers. Disoriented and desperate, he must find his way home, knowing nothing will ever be the same again. CW: Gore

Chapter 1: Bring me to Life

By GhostlyGlimmer

Anita Grayves stretched her back, each vertebra popping with a satisfying crack as she exhaled a long sigh. The dim, sterile light of the embalming room cast a clinical glow over her as she donned her PPE, the familiar rustle of the fabric and snap of the gloves a ritual she knew too well. Her technician, Dalton, rolled in the gurney with the next client, the wheels creaking slightly on the cold tile floor. With deliberate care, he unzipped the black body bag, revealing the still form inside.

Danny Fenton, just seventeen years old, lay before her. His once vibrant eyes, now milky white and clouded, stared unseeingly at the ceiling. The raven-black hair that had probably once been meticulously styled was now disheveled, a sharp contrast to the pallor of his skin. He was small for his age, almost fragile-looking, and Anita couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow as she gazed down at him.

But it was the Y-shaped scar on his chest that made her pause. Her brow furrowed in deep thought. She had seen countless autopsy scars in her career, but this was different. The coroner’s report had mentioned it wasn’t a typical dissection; it was a vivisection. The word sent a chill down her spine. She had heard stories, whispers of unsanctioned procedures, but she never thought she’d be the one to witness the aftermath.

Taking a deep breath, Anita began the embalming process. The familiar hum of the pump filled the room as she attached the trocar to his abdomen, starting the slow, methodical draining of blood from the body. The crimson fluid seeped out, replaced with embalming chemicals that would preserve what remained, ensuring the semblance of life for his final viewing.

With the embalming fluids circulating, she moved on to setting his face. It was important that he looked peaceful, almost as if he were merely sleeping. She began with his mouth, loading the needle injector with a barbed-tipped wire. The tool clicked as she pressed it against the maxilla, the wire piercing through the bone with precision. She repeated the process with the mandible, then twisted the wires together, securing his jaw in place. There would be no risk of it coming loose during the funeral, sparing his family the distress of seeing him slack-jawed in the casket.

Next were his eyes. Anita carefully pulled back his eyelids, reaching for the eye caps—small, clear discs with barbed spikes on the inside. They would help his eyes maintain a natural, slightly closed appearance, preventing the sunken look that so often accompanied death. She was inches away from placing them on his clouded eyes when her stomach let out a loud grumble.

“Damn it,” she muttered, the sudden urge reminding her of the coffee she had downed earlier.

Reluctantly, she pushed back her rolling chair, the casters scraping against the tile. She stripped off her PPE, each piece coming off with a practiced flick, and headed for the bathroom. The small, clinical space echoed with the sound of her footsteps as she entered, the door clicking shut behind her. She hurried through her business, then paused at the sink, methodically scrubbing her hands. As she looked up into the mirror, her reflection stared back at her—haggard, with dark circles etched under her tired eyes. She grimaced, making a mental note to try and get some sleep tonight.

Just as she turned off the faucet, the lights flickered, followed by a low, otherworldly groan that seemed to reverberate through the walls. Anita froze, her heart skipping a beat. It was a sound unlike anything she had heard before—something between a wail and a whisper, as if the air itself was being torn apart. A chill ran down her spine, and she stood there, paralyzed, staring at her own reflection, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Ȃ̵̢̡͕̲͍̺̬̩̪̯͖̝̤̱̖̮̼̝͎̭͇̖̥̫̒̈́̔̃̎̄̌̿̍͘̕͝A̵̡̨̙͇͚̥̦͚͙̘̝̤͎͙͒̽̃̒́́͛̉̂͋͝ͅÄ̶̧̨̢̛̛͖̭̠̤͈͈̘͔̣͔̱͇̱̜̯͎͚͍̩͚̺̦̜͑̑̓͂͋͌̄͜͠͠͝Ą̴̧̢̢̧̢̝̱̻̥��̖͕̦̠̬͙̭̜̣̱͓͚̗̗̬̮̙̤̲͇̟͚̣̜̜̼̹̻̮͇̟̤̹̩̬͕͖̖͙̤́̈́̓́̾ͅͅA̷̧̡̢̨̧̩͙̥̥̘̘͚̞̣̮̣̯̮͔͚͈̤͙̦͈͕͙̣̳̝͈̩͙͇̲̳͈͈͖͙̦̥͈̗̠̖̣̐̇̇̆͒͂͗̃̾̀̆̈́̽͆̆̕̚Ą̷̧̨̥̠̦͙͍̘̬̥̘͕̦͚̫̣̱̤͎̹̰̣̥̰̥̟̘̜̗̪̫̘̤̱̈́́͐̌͛̄̀͆́̓͂͛̈́̇̉͜͝͠Ą̸̢̡̞̻̪͎͔͕̠̗̖͈̲̯͓̜̝̭̼͎̟͕̀̌̀̈́̑̏̑͐́̋̄͌̏́̈́͋̈́̊̋̓̓̀̏̏̀͝͝ͅA̷̧̡̧̧̛̛̠̘̻̮̱̦̠̦̣̫̩̬͚̦̳̮͙͎̞̞̗̮̩̩̪͓̩̻̪̱̰͉̼̮̞͖̒͋͐́͒͗̒̋̑͂̅̎̾̀̓̔̋̇̈́͑̆͐̌͌̑̌̋̅̔͘̕̚͝ͅA̴̛̛̛͙̮͌̌̅̀̊̅́̉̈́͆̅͑̐̏̄͆̈͗̒͐̓́̀͊̆̔̅̄͂͊̃̍̽̈́̊͌̀̿͛̓̈́͗̆̓͋̈̑̚̚͝͠͝͝À̷̢̧̡̢̙̪̰̮̼͙̣̜̭̦̞͓̩̝̣̙͕̞͙̳͇̦͉̼̜̠͈͔̰̺̟̜̳͍͚̥̺̫̈́͛̾̌̊́̿͊̈́̑̓͌̕̕͝ͅA̷̧̨̧̧̧͍̦̖̖̭̪̭̞̦̹͎͈͕̖̮̙͇̪̥̣͕̪̫͓͙̖̜̙͍͉̭̺̘̰̞̰̯͓̔̐̂͋͋̀̓̍̓̉͑̇͊̊̃̈́̌̅͑͆̍̑̋͑̍̔̂̒̀͗͌̇̂̆̈́̂́̈́̉̀͗́̐͛̇͆̂̀͂̔͐͛́̈́̉̃̕͘͝͝͝͝ͅĄ̷̥̗͕̙͍̭̠̮́̈̀͗̈̏̅̓̓̄̈͆̄̈́̃̌͒̓͑͐̉̔̉́͗̌̍͆́̍̆̕̚͘͜͝A̷̧̙͓̫͚͐͐̉̈́̾̍̇́͋̎̆͒̆͒̋̌̕Ą̵̨̡̧̧̢̢͓̯̤̹͙̘͈̹̭̥̪̬͕̜̦̠̻͓̫̤͈̜̣̲͙̬̦̣̺̖̞̗͎̙̙̩̯͍̱̥̝̖̅̀̋͊̇̉̔̈́̈́͗̇͗̈́͋̇̆͐͌̽̓̾̀̀̀̏͒̑̉̔͂̚͜͜͜ͅͅA̸̧̡̨̡̢̻̜͓͚͖̞͚̜̞̙̻̥̠̞̰͔̠̗͎̝̖͇̳̎̀̄̌̒̓͒̐̎̚͠Ạ̴̧̢̫̣̻̬̮̙̫̯̪̙̻͈̟̪̳̅͆͗̌̓̒̍͗̅͊́̏̃͐͑̃́͆̒̍̓̍̈̔͑̾̽̽̐͗̂̑̋́͌̚̕͝͠͠͠Å̵̧̨̢̡̛̯̻̬̻͈̩̹̜͓͎̣̜̥͔̜̩̟̞͓͓̠̬̬̟̜͓͓̲̻͚̟̦͇͓̰͕̲̝̳̺͕̝̭̣͕͈̥̲̪͎͎̻̟͚̖̋͋̀̋́́̊̎̐̀͊̑̊̾̓̈͛͒̄̊̀̕̚͜͠͝ͅͅA̶̛̛͕͈̻̺̲̤̳̖̋̓̀͋́͗̀͒̃̈́̉̅̉̉͑͑̋̅̃͒̎͋̎̏́̓͌̆͋ͅȦ̵͖̪̘͛̋͒͠͝ͅĄ̴̧̨̢̛̦̱̦̺̩̞̟̲̻̬͈̪̖̬̯̝̝̲̰̣̩̯̫͈̫̪̜̳͇̮͖̪̱̠̹̤̰͓̭͕̥̹̣̀̅̉̒̃̽͊̆̊̈́̄̐͌́̓̾̓̍̌͑̓͌͊̾̊̂͒͌̀̔͒̕͘͘͘͜͜͝͠͝ͅÄ̶̢̢̱̯̰̟̙͇͔̰̗̜̦̤̪̟̞̪͍̞̟̠̰̗̬̖͎͓̰̫́̈́̊̈́̒A̷̧̢̢̛̹͇̩͎͎̥̱͔͉̞͍͕̠̮͔̭̪͔̜̜̘̰̞͇̱̙͖̮̞̖͉͚̯̟͙̞̫̭͔̰̞͙̗̱̹̺̰͖̭̮͚̪̩͒͑̽̉̋̔͗͗̃̊̀̽̾̿̒̍͗͑̇̅̒͛̈́́̍̿̒̾̊͋́̃̃̈́͂̔̀͐̿̆͌̑̐̀̚͜͝͠ͅͅA̴̡̢̢̧̡̧̛̯͔̭̝̪̰̳̭͚̗̣̼͕̗̟͈͔̩͖̪̖̪͈̝͉̭̭̝̳̘̠̬̩̰̳̳͍̘̫̪̓̀̾̉́̿͂̓̾̎́͐͑̄̉̿̈̍̅̎̏̈́̓͘͝͝͝͠͠͠͠ͅA̶̙͇͎̤̓̿͗́̄̔̆͋̋͆̒̔͐́̽̄͒̎̏͛̂̅̒̋̽̈̋͂͐͐̎̅̌̋̾͑͌͋͐͘̕̕͝͝Ḁ̶̧̡̨̡̢̛̛̰̫̰͓͍̥̝̤̤͕̟̬͕̺͔̻̯̗̠̺̯̬̲̠̳̗͇͇̖̳̙͈͖͕͚͖̖̟̻͉̼̈̈͆̉͊̃̐́̎̊̌́̆̓͆̈̉́̅̆͌͐̽͌̀͒̽̌̿͐̀̽̈́́͋̑̕͘̚͜͜͠͝͝͠ͅA̷̡̨̢̛͕̟̜̰̼͔̠͉͈̼̫͚̟͈̻̖͛̍̍̇̑̐̓̓̀͠Ą̷̱̲̱̳̦͔̥̼̠͕̠̟͎̣̘̮͉̖̗̙̗̞̣̟̈́̾̽̿̍͌̚͘͜͠A̴̡̛̹̗̥̯͇̥̙̣̙̜̰̪̰̘͈͐̌̃̓̌̾̿̃̈͒͋̃̐͒̔̍̈́̓͑̓́̔̔̒͂̐̉̀͋͆͌͂̾͘͘͝͝͠͠Ā̶̡̛̛̖̳̟͕͖̻̲͓̦͈͓͚͈̺͍͙̲̗̒̐̍̂̆͋̈̃͑̽̉̓̃̇͘Ą̴̨̛̣͓̞̪̱̰̜͂̏̀̆͒̀̿͆̑͊̿̈́̑͋̀̌̾̀̈́̾̽̈̈́͐͊̀̒̈́̇͒̈́̀̐̌͒͋͌͊̉̂͒̄̒̇̇̐̕͘͘͘͠͝͝͝͝͝Ā̷̛̛̬͙̠͉̰̼̼̦͉͕̤͈͙̯̈́̿̅̊̋̽̈́̓͌̈́̏͋̍͌͑̆́̄̂̍̿̉̑̈́͊̀͐̈́͋́͆̌̉̀��̂̍̍̾́̔̕̚̕̕͜͜͝͝A̷̡̧̡̢̨̡̡̢̢̘͉̭̠̖͈̠̭̖̞̭̞͎̤͚͕͔͖͚͇͇̯̟̝̪̖̦͙͙͇̳̪̼̮̫̥̲̲̙͔̟̭͈̺̺͚̬̱͓̠͒̎́̒͐͋͒͂̍̈́̅̐̇͜͜͠Ą̷̢̡̢̢̛̲̝͉͓̺͉̣͇͖̺̜̝̗̹̥̩͎͔͕̦͉͍̜͉͔̫̟̥͓̯̬̖̣͙͍̭͇͔̱̺͈͈̱͗̓̽̒̐͂̓̿͒͊̓̌̅̈́̉̅̓̎̈́̎͗̈́̍̌̒̂̈́̋̐͋̓̆́́̈̇̂͐̔͘̕͝͝A̴̢̡̛̭͈̺̥͇͓̟̻͔̪͇̝̰̱̮͇̦͕̞͙̘̤̻̺̐̎̇̉̓́̐͂́̀͌̽̋̒̀̋͊̀̾͒̓̇̽̂́͛̓̀̓̄̉́̅̀̾͒͌̈́̐͐̑̈́͒́̌̈́̿̽̾̃̽̀͋͛͘͜À̶̡̧̧̨̨̛̛̮̹͓̥̠̱̱̯̪̹̹̮̳͔̞̫̗̹̘͙͙̝̘̳̠̠̳̱̺̗̳̬̰̤̩̖͙̬̥͔̬͈̭̳̬̻̼̐̎͌͆̎̈́̀͆͌̒̅̾͂̋̍̏̈́͛͆̓̊͐͊̄̀̂͐̽̓̍͊͆̚̚̕͜͠͠͝͝Ą̷̧̛̛̛̛͈͖̞͓̱̦̬̣̭̗͍̤̣̦̯̪̹̘̟̙͈̼̬͑̿͊̈͑͛͒͗̑̀͆̏̒̓̃̊̏̐̉̿̄͒̂͛̈̀̂̈͋̀͗̃̆̏̾̏͐̂͂̊̈́̏̐̉͆̂̍̓̚͘̚͘̕͝͝͝͝ͅͅÁ̴̡̢̧̢̩̰͔̰͈͖̬̯̱̙̱̣̭̟͇͙̦̭̣̱͉͇͚̗͌͋͘͜Ä̵̧̛̝̘̼͇̬̭̼̬̠̞̩̩̜̤̰͙͔̼̬̟̟̫͓̥͇̱͕̦̜͙͚̪͚̩̱̟̗̥͙͇̩̞̬̞̗̥̻̘͓̹̻̰̫̙̯̗̹̹́̐͐̎̇̿͗̊͂̏́̂̋̀͆̆̾̄͑͑̽̌̈́̄͋͋̈̂̆̐̀́͌́̎̋̅͘͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅA̷̧̢̡͇̣͈̥̻̗͓͈͖͔̭̩̪͎͍̻̥̝͈̝̭̤͍̘̺̥̲͉̰̦͓̫͇͓͙͙̣̼̫͇͛̋͒͐̄́̔̓͐̅͒͆̏̅̎̇́̚̚͜͜͜ͅ

Anita jolted at the horrific sound, the air around her vibrating with an unnatural, bone-chilling resonance. Her hands flew to her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise, but it was too late. A searing pain shot through her head, her vision darkening as her eyes rolled back. She crumpled to the cold, sterile floor, her body limp, blood trickling from her ears and pooling beneath her head in a dark, crimson stain.

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton’s eyes shot open in terror. His pupils contracted painfully against the blinding fluorescence of the room, his breath catching in his throat. His mind, sluggish and disoriented, struggled to make sense of what was happening. His hands moved instinctively to his face, rubbing his eyes as if trying to erase a bad dream.

But this was no dream.

As his vision cleared, he looked around, taking in the stark white walls and the cold steel surfaces of the embalming room. The air was thick with the acrid scent of formaldehyde, stinging his nose and making him gag. Panic surged through him as he realized he was completely naked, save for a thin cloth draped haphazardly over his waist.

But it was when his gaze fell on his chest that the true horror set in.

There, etched into his skin, was a large, brutal Y-shaped scar, stretching from his shoulders to his pubic bone. The sight of it made his stomach churn. His face contorted in terror, a scream tearing from his throat, raw and primal. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, each one more desperate than the last, as he clutched his head in his hands, trying to comprehend the impossible. The room seemed to close in around him, the sterile environment suffocating, the silence after his scream deafening.

Danny was alive—but something was horribly, irrevocably wrong.

Ȃ̵̢̡͕̲͍̺̬̩̪̯͖̝̤̱̖̮̼̝͎̭͇̖̥̫̒̈́̔̃̎̄̌̿̍͘̕͝A̵̡̨̙͇͚̥̦͚͙̘̝̤͎͙͒̽̃̒́́͛̉̂͋͝ͅÄ̶̧̨̢̛̛͖̭̠̤͈͈̘͔̣͔̱͇̱̜̯͎͚͍̩͚̺̦̜͑̑̓͂͋͌̄͜͠͠͝Ą̴̧̢̢̧̢̝̱̻̥̹̖͕̦̠̬͙̭̜̣̱͓͚̗̗̬̮̙̤̲͇̟͚̣̜̜̼̹̻̮͇̟̤̹̩̬͕͖̖͙̤́̈́̓́̾ͅͅA̷̧̡̢̨̧̩͙̥̥̘̘͚̞̣̮̣̯̮͔͚͈̤͙̦͈͕͙̣̳̝͈̩͙͇̲̳͈͈͖͙̦̥͈̗̠̖̣̐̇̇̆͒͂͗̃̾̀̆̈́̽͆̆̕̚Ą̷̧̨̥̠̦͙͍̘̬̥̘͕̦͚̫̣̱̤͎̹̰̣̥̰̥̟̘̜̗̪̫̘̤̱̈́́͐̌͛̄̀͆́̓͂͛̈́̇̉͜͝͠Ą̸̢̡̞̻̪͎͔͕̠̗̖͈̲̯͓̜̝̭̼͎̟͕̀̌̀̈́̑̏̑͐́̋̄͌̏́̈́͋̈́̊̋̓̓̀̏̏̀͝͝ͅA̷̧̡̧̧̛̛̠̘̻̮̱̦̠̦̣̫̩̬͚̦̳̮͙͎̞̞̗̮̩̩̪͓̩̻̪̱̰͉̼̮̞͖̒͋͐́͒͗̒̋̑͂̅̎̾̀̓̔̋̇̈́͑̆͐̌͌̑̌̋̅̔͘̕̚͝ͅA̴̛̛̛͙̮͌̌̅̀̊̅́̉̈́͆̅͑̐̏̄͆̈͗̒͐̓́̀͊̆̔̅̄͂͊̃̍̽̈́̊͌̀̿͛̓̈́͗̆̓͋̈̑̚̚͝͠͝͝À̷̢̧̡̢̙̪̰̮̼͙̣̜̭̦̞͓̩̝̣̙͕̞͙̳͇̦͉̼̜̠͈͔̰̺̟̜̳͍͚̥̺̫̈́͛̾̌̊́̿͊̈́̑̓͌̕̕͝ͅA̷̧̨̧̧̧͍̦̖̖̭̪̭̞̦̹͎͈͕̖̮̙͇̪̥̣͕̪̫͓͙̖̜̙͍͉̭̺̘̰̞̰̯͓̔̐̂͋͋̀̓̍̓̉͑̇͊̊̃̈́̌̅͑͆̍̑̋͑̍̔̂̒̀͗͌̇̂̆̈́̂́̈́̉̀͗́̐͛̇͆̂̀͂̔͐͛́̈́̉̃̕͘͝͝͝͝ͅĄ̷̥̗͕̙͍̭̠̮́̈̀͗̈̏̅̓̓̄̈͆̄̈́̃̌͒̓͑͐̉̔̉́͗̌̍͆́̍̆̕̚͘͜͝A̷̧̙͓̫͚͐͐̉̈́̾̍̇́͋̎̆͒̆͒̋̌̕Ą̵̨̡̧̧̢̢͓̯̤̹͙̘͈̹̭̥̪̬͕̜̦̠̻͓̫̤͈̜̣̲͙̬̦̣̺̖̞̗͎̙̙̩̯͍̱̥̝̖̅̀̋͊̇̉̔̈́̈́͗̇͗̈́͋̇̆͐͌̽̓̾̀̀̀̏͒̑̉̔͂̚͜͜͜ͅͅA̸̧̡̨̡̢̻̜͓͚͖̞͚̜̞̙̻̥̠̞̰͔̠̗͎̝̖͇̳̎̀̄̌̒̓͒̐̎̚͠Ạ̴̧̢̫̣̻̬̮̙̫̯̪̙̻͈̟̪̳̅͆͗̌̓̒̍͗̅͊́̏̃͐͑̃́͆̒̍̓̍̈̔͑̾̽̽̐͗̂̑̋́͌̚̕͝͠͠͠Å̵̧̨̢̡̛̯̻̬̻͈̩̹̜͓͎̣̜̥͔̜̩̟̞͓͓̠̬̬̟̜͓͓̲̻͚̟̦͇͓̰͕̲̝̳̺͕̝̭̣͕͈̥̲̪͎͎̻̟͚̖̋͋̀̋́́̊̎̐̀͊̑̊̾̓̈͛͒̄̊̀̕̚͜͠͝ͅͅA̶̛̛͕͈̻̺̲̤̳̖̋̓̀͋́͗̀͒̃̈́̉̅̉̉͑͑̋̅̃͒̎͋̎̏́̓͌̆͋ͅȦ̵͖̪̘͛̋͒͠͝ͅĄ̴̧̨̢̛̦̱̦̺̩̞̟̲̻̬͈̪̖̬̯̝̝̲̰̣̩̯̫͈̫̪̜̳͇̮͖̪̱̠̹̤̰͓̭͕̥̹̣̀̅̉̒̃̽͊̆̊̈́̄̐͌́̓̾̓̍̌͑̓͌͊̾̊̂͒͌̀̔͒̕͘͘͘͜͜͝͠͝ͅÄ̶̢̢̱̯̰̟̙͇͔̰̗̜̦̤̪̟̞̪͍̞̟̠̰̗̬̖͎͓̰̫́̈́̊̈́̒A̷̧̢̢̛̹͇̩͎͎̥̱͔͉̞͍͕̠̮͔̭̪͔̜̜̘̰̞͇̱̙͖̮̞̖͉͚̯̟͙̞̫̭͔̰̞͙̗̱̹̺̰͖̭̮͚̪̩͒͑̽̉̋̔͗͗̃̊̀̽̾̿̒̍͗͑̇̅̒͛̈́́̍̿̒̾̊͋́̃̃̈́͂̔̀͐̿̆͌̑̐̀̚͜͝͠ͅͅA̴̡̢̢̧̡̧̛̯͔̭̝̪̰̳̭͚̗̣̼͕̗̟͈͔̩͖̪̖̪͈̝͉̭̭̝̳̘̠̬̩̰̳̳͍̘̫̪̓̀̾̉́̿͂̓̾̎́͐͑̄̉̿̈̍̅̎̏̈́̓͘͝͝͝͠͠͠͠ͅA̶̙͇͎̤̓̿͗́̄̔̆͋̋͆̒̔͐́̽̄͒̎̏͛̂̅̒̋̽̈̋͂͐͐̎̅̌̋̾͑͌͋͐͘̕̕͝͝Ḁ̶̧̡̨̡̢̛̛̰̫̰͓͍̥̝̤̤͕̟̬͕̺͔̻̯̗̠̺̯̬̲̠̳̗͇͇̖̳̙͈͖͕͚͖̖̟̻͉̼̈̈͆̉͊̃̐́̎̊̌́̆̓͆̈̉́̅̆͌͐̽͌̀͒̽̌̿͐̀̽̈́́͋̑̕͘̚͜͜͠͝͝͠ͅA̷̡̨̢̛͕̟̜̰̼͔̠͉͈̼̫͚̟͈̻̖͛̍̍̇̑̐̓̓̀͠Ą̷̱̲̱̳̦͔̥̼̠͕̠̟͎̣̘̮͉̖̗̙̗̞̣̟̈́̾̽̿̍͌̚͘͜͠A̴̡̛̹̗̥̯͇̥̙̣̙̜̰̪̰̘͈͐̌̃̓̌̾̿̃̈͒͋̃̐͒̔̍̈́̓͑̓́̔̔̒͂̐̉̀͋͆͌͂̾͘͘͝͝͠͠Ā̶̡̛̛̖̳̟͕͖̻̲͓̦͈͓͚͈̺͍͙̲̗̒̐̍̂̆͋̈̃͑̽̉̓̃̇͘Ą̴̨̛̣͓̞̪̱̰̜͂̏̀̆͒̀̿͆̑͊̿̈́̑͋̀̌̾̀̈́̾̽̈̈́͐͊̀̒̈́̇͒̈́̀̐̌͒͋͌͊̉̂͒̄̒̇̇̐̕͘͘͘͠͝͝͝͝͝Ā̷̛̛̬͙̠͉̰̼̼̦͉͕̤͈͙̯̈́̿̅̊̋̽̈́̓͌̈́̏͋̍͌͑̆́̄̂̍̿̉̑̈́͊̀͐̈́͋́͆̌̉̀̔̂̍̍̾́̔̕̚̕̕͜͜͝͝A̷̡̧̡̢̨̡̡̢̢̘͉̭̠̖͈̠̭̖̞̭̞͎̤͚͕͔͖͚͇͇̯̟̝̪̖̦͙͙͇̳̪̼̮̫̥̲̲̙͔̟̭͈̺̺͚̬̱͓̠͒̎́̒͐͋͒͂̍̈́̅̐̇͜͜͠Ą̷̢̡̢̢̛̲̝͉͓̺͉̣͇͖̺̜̝̗̹̥̩͎͔͕̦͉͍̜͉͔̫̟̥͓̯̬̖̣͙͍̭͇͔̱̺͈͈̱͗̓̽̒̐͂̓̿͒͊̓̌̅̈́̉̅̓̎̈́̎͗̈́̍̌̒̂̈́̋̐͋̓̆́́̈̇̂͐̔͘̕͝͝A̴̢̡̛̭͈̺̥͇͓̟̻͔̪͇̝̰̱̮͇̦͕̞͙̘̤̻̺̐̎̇̉̓́̐͂́̀͌̽̋̒̀̋͊̀̾͒̓̇̽̂́͛̓̀̓̄̉́̅̀̾͒͌̈́̐͐̑̈́͒́̌̈́̿̽̾̃̽̀͋͛͘͜À̶̡̧̧̨̨̛̛̮̹͓̥̠̱̱̯̪̹̹̮̳͔̞̫̗̹̘͙͙̝̘̳̠̠̳̱̺̗̳̬̰̤̩̖͙̬̥͔̬͈̭̳̬̻̼̐̎͌͆̎̈́̀͆͌̒̅̾͂̋̍̏̈́͛͆̓̊͐͊̄̀̂͐̽̓̍͊͆̚̚̕͜͠͠͝͝Ą̷̧̛̛̛̛͈͖̞͓̱̦̬̣̭̗͍̤̣̦̯̪̹̘̟̙͈̼̬͑̿͊̈͑͛͒͗̑̀͆̏̒̓̃̊̏̐̉̿̄͒̂͛̈̀̂̈͋̀͗̃̆̏̾̏͐̂͂̊̈́̏̐̉͆̂̍̓̚͘̚͘̕͝͝͝͝ͅͅÁ̴̡̢̧̢̩̰͔̰͈͖̬̯̱̙̱̣̭̟͇͙̦̭̣̱͉͇͚̗͌͋͘͜Ä̵̧̛̝̘̼͇̬̭̼̬̠̞̩̩̜̤̰͙͔̼̬̟̟̫͓̥͇̱͕̦̜͙͚̪͚̩̱̟̗̥͙͇̩̞̬̞̗̥̻̘͓̹̻̰̫̙̯̗̹̹́̐͐̎̇̿͗̊͂̏́̂̋̀͆̆̾̄͑͑̽̌̈́̄͋͋̈̂̆̐̀́͌́̎̋̅͘͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅA̷̧̢̡͇̣͈̥̻̗͓͈͖͔̭̩̪͎͍̻̥̝͈̝̭̤͍̘̺̥̲͉̰̦͓̫͇͓͙͙̣̼̫͇͛̋͒͐̄́̔̓͐̅͒͆̏̅̎̇́̚̚͜͜͜ͅ

As Danny’s scream echoed in the sterile room, he froze, realizing something was terribly wrong with his voice. It wasn’t his voice. It was distorted, hollow, like a death rattle echoing from the depths of a crypt. The sound made his skin crawl, every hair on his body standing on end. It was the kind of voice that belonged to something not of this world—something dead. He slapped his hands over his mouth, horrified, tears welling up in his cloudy white eyes.

He felt something hard under his lips and pulled them open, trembling fingers probing inside his mouth. His breath hitched when he encountered metal wires, woven cruelly through his teeth. Panic surged through him, and he tried to wrench his jaw open, but it wouldn’t budge. A sharp, searing pain shot through his skull, and he winced, the realization of his confinement crashing down on him.

Tears streamed down his face, his entire body quaking with fear and confusion. Sobs wracked his fragile form, the reality of his situation suffocating him. This couldn’t be happening—this had to be a nightmare. What the hell was going on? Why was he connected to this machine? Why was there a grotesque wound carved into his chest? And why, oh God, why was his jaw wired shut?

His mind spiraled, grasping desperately for memories, for anything that could explain this horror. But everything was a blur, a foggy haze that clouded his thoughts. He couldn’t think straight, his head pounding with the effort of trying to piece together the fragments of his shattered memory.

But through the chaos, one thought pierced the fog: he needed help. He needed to find his family, his friends. He clung to the memory of them like a lifeline, the only clear images in his fractured mind. Sam and Tucker—they would know what to do. They had always been there for him, through every strange and terrifying moment of his life. If anyone could help him make sense of this nightmare, it was them. He had to find them. He had to get out of here.

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morgan-va · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 29: Remembering. (Serial Designation V x reader)

Masterlist

TW: Descriptions of pain and suffering

Back in her room, Uzi spins her chair around, a satisfied chuckle escaping her as N and V begin to stir. It worked. She actually got their memories back.

V, always the quickest to act, barely takes a second before her hand snaps into a chainsaw, the jagged edge revving to life as she growls. "What the hell, Uzi?! What gives you the right to snoop through our heads?"

She stops mid-threat, her optics flicking to the side. Uzi follows her gaze and freezes. Techie is still wired into the computer, slumped in the chair, motionless. Dimmed optics flicker with scrolling text.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULBEGINNING DISK CLEANUP|||||________________________________ 7%

Uzi’s stomach drops. No. No, no, no. This shouldn’t be possible, Techie should have woken up, just like N and V.

Unless...

No. That’s impossible. The only way anyone could be locked inside like this is if… they were inside their own memory simulation as well.

Her breath hitches. That human—the one N called Techie. There’s no way, right?

She snaps her head toward N and V. “Explain. Now. Who the hell was that technician?”

N shifts as his newfound memories resurface, "I know! That technician was—"

“An old friend,” V interrupts, her voice unusually subdued. Her optics don’t meet Uzi’s. "From before... everything happened."

V exhales sharply, glancing at Techie's lifeless form. "I wasn’t sure at first, but as I’ve spent time with them, I realized... That drone sitting in front of us? That’s that human."

Uzi’s eyes widen as V’s words sink in. Her voice rises into a near-shout. “And you didn’t think to mention that before I sent them into a memoryscape with that eldritch freakshow?!”

V doesn’t hesitate. Her chainsaw revs louder, the jagged blade stopping just short of Uzi’s throat. “Oh, I don’t know,” she growls, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because you ambushed us and jammed yourself into our heads before I had the chance?”

Uzi swallows hard, glaring at V even as she leans back slightly from the weapon. “Fine. You make a good point.”

“Damn right, I do.” V lowers her weapon, but her glare remains sharp. “Now fix it.”

Not needing to be told twice, Uzi spins back to her computer, fingers flying over the keyboard as she desperately tries to regain control. Code floods the screen, scrolling too fast for her to process.

“Come on, come on…” she mutters, sweat beading on her forehead. Every second that bar inches forward, Techie’s chances of waking up shrink.

She grits her teeth and keeps typing. She has to fix this.

Light floods your vision. The sterile hum of fluorescent lights buzzes faintly overhead, and the scent of hot metal and solder fills your nose.

A workbench stretches out in front of you, scattered with tools, wires, and diagnostic equipment. Right. Your final exam—robotics training. You’ve spent weeks preparing for this, and now you’re almost done.

The test was simple in theory: repair a malfunctioning worker drone suffering from an assortment of mechanical and software issues. Simple. But under pressure? Not so much.

You tighten the last screw into place, sealing the drone’s back panel before setting the screwdriver down with a shaky breath. This should be it. You double-check the wiring, hoping you’ve done everything right. There’s only one way to find out.

Your finger hovers over the power button for a split second before pressing down.

The drone’s optics flicker to life. A soft whir fills the air as it boots up, standing upright before turning to face you.

“Hello!” it chirps, its voice light and pleasant.

Success.

A grin breaks across your face. You did it.

Your professor strides over, their sharp gaze scanning the drone as they run through a quick diagnostic check. They lift the drone’s arms, test its mobility, and check the interface for any lingering errors. After a moment, they nod in approval.

"Everything seems to be in perfect working order," they say, turning to you with an approving smile. "Excellent job. You pass with flying colors."

Relief washes over you. You exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding in thanks as a few of your classmates glance over. Some are still deep in their own work, muttering under their breath as they struggle with their drones. Others shoot you brief looks—some impressed, others indifferent.

Not wanting to linger, you quietly gather your things. The exam is over for you, and there’s no point in sticking around. You sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way toward the door.

Just as your fingers brush against the handle, a loud clatter echoes through the room.

You turn on instinct. One of your classmates has just powered their drone on, and while it seems to function for the most part, something is clearly wrong. Its speech module is glitching, causing it to stutter and garble its words in a mess of static and half-formed syllables.

The student groans in frustration, their expression twisting into anger. "Ugh, stupid thing—"

Before anyone can stop them, they shove the drone off the table.

It crashes to the floor with a sickening crunch.

Without thinking, you rush over, grabbing the student by the arm and spinning them around. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" you snap, anger flaring in your chest. "You can’t just treat them like that!"

The student sneers at you, yanking their arm free. "Calm down. It’s just a hunk of metal," they scoff, rolling their eyes. "Besides, what do you care? You act like they’re people or something."

You clench your fists, heart pounding.

They laugh, shaking their head before shooting you a look of disgust.

"You really are a freak."

That phrase echoes in your mind as everything around you fades away—"You really are a freak."

Over and over again, through the black void.

You open your eyes, the soft sheets of your bed comforting as the morning sun peeks through the curtains. Today’s the day—you’ll be heading out of town for your new job. Some technician gig for a rich family out in the swamp. You’ve been looking for something like this for months, and the offer came out of nowhere, just like that! You didn’t even apply for anything—just created a profile through the JCJenson website, but you hadn’t had a chance to actually browse any listings.

You guess someone’s looking out for you after all.

Rising from bed, you stretch, shaking off the last remnants of sleep before turning your attention to packing. You double-check your suitcase, making sure you haven’t left anything important behind. Clothes, tools, personal items—it’s all here. Just as you’re about to close it, something small and round slips out from between your neatly folded shirts, rolling across the wooden floor with a soft clink.

You bend down, reaching for it. A small, smoky blue gemstone rests against the floorboards, catching the morning light. You pick it up, running your thumb over the smooth surface.

You’ve had this stone since you were a kid. It doesn’t hold any deep sentimental value—not really. You don’t even remember where you got it. But for some reason, you’ve always kept it close. A good luck charm, maybe. You can’t imagine ever parting with it.

You slip it back into your pocket, sighing in relief before zipping up your suitcase. Time to go.

You pick up your suitcase, gripping the handle tightly as you take a deep breath. It’s time.

With a steadying exhale, you step forward and open the door.

Only to find… nothing.

The hallway outside your room is gone, replaced by an endless, yawning void. Before you can react, the ground beneath you vanishes, and you plummet into the vast nothingness, the weightless sensation sending your stomach into your throat. You try to scream, but no sound escapes. Darkness swallows you whole.

You’re late.

You slept in.

Late for your first day of work at the Elliott’s.

How is this possible??

You throw the covers off and scramble out of bed, heart pounding as you yank on your clothes in a panic. Of all the ways to start this job, this is the worst. You barely have time to double-check yourself in the mirror before bolting out of your small basement room and up the stairs—

SMACK.

You collide with someone and nearly fall over, barely managing to steady yourself as they hit the ground.

A maid drone.

“Oh, crap, I’m so sorry—!” You quickly reach down and help her up, eyes wide with guilt. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I—”

She dusts herself off, looking a little flustered but otherwise fine. “Oh, um, no, it’s okay! I-I was actually coming to wake you up.”

Wait.

You blink at her, confusion momentarily replacing your panic.

“My shift starts in—” You check your watch, only for your stomach to drop as you realize your mistake.

You read the time wrong.

You aren’t late.

Your face burns with embarrassment as you run a hand through your hair, letting out a breathless laugh. “Oh. Wow. Uh, sorry about that. Guess I freaked out over nothing.”

The maid drone giggles softly, her posture still a little stiff. “It’s alright. I was kind of worried you’d sleep through your alarm. I was the first one you met yesterday, remember? My name’s V.”

You pause.

Something about that name stirs something deep in your mind, like an old song you can’t quite remember the lyrics to. It lingers on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

But then V smiles at you—timid, polite, a little awkward.

And the strange feeling slips away.

You smile at her. “That’s really considerate of you, especially since we only just met.”

V’s posture stiffens slightly, her eyes flickering as she glances away. “Oh, um… it’s not a big deal or anything.” She fidgets, adjusting her maid uniform. “I mean, if you’re late, it affects the rest of us, too. It’s just in our best interest to check up on each other.”

You chuckle. “Still, I appreciate it. Really.”

Her gaze flickers back to you, uncertainty melting into something softer. “...Well, you’re welcome, then.”

You nod, adjusting your clothes. “I’m looking forward to working with you and everyone else.”

V’s lips twitch into a small smile. “I’d be happy to show you around, introduce you to the others.”

“That’d be great.”

She gestures for you to follow, and you take a step forward—

—but the world around you begins to melt.

Colors blur, shapes distort, the floor beneath your feet ceases to exist.

You don’t even have time to react before the memory crumbles away entirely.

You walk over and take the clipboard from V, scanning the list. It was surprisingly thorough—she’d noted everything from loose doorknobs to fading paint along the baseboards.

You smile at her, “I really appreciate your help with all of this, V. I don’t think I could get through it without you.”

She stiffens, her fingers twitching as she looks away. “I-it’s no problem, I don’t mind. Really.”

You chuckle and, on impulse, pat her head.

Error: Unexpected Affection Detected.

You show V how to make pancakes, guiding her as she stirs the batter. She nods eagerly, then accidentally mixes too fast—sending batter flying across the kitchen. Some splatters onto both of you. There’s a moment of stunned silence before you burst out laughing, V quickly following suit.

“Not too fast,” you place your hand lightly over hers to help steady her grip. “You don’t want to splash it everywhere.”

She freezes at the contact for a moment, her optics brightening slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. “Got it,” she murmurs.

The two of you sit side by side in front of a large window, gazing out at the endless night sky. The soft ambience of the mansion fills the silence, the glow of the stars reflecting in her optics. Your shoulders brush, and static electricity crackles between you.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” you murmur.

V glances at you, her expression unreadable—until a faint blush dusts her face.

“It is,” she says softly.

You lie in bed, your fingers intertwined with V’s as she reads to you. Her voice is steady, soothing, filling the quiet room with a warmth you can’t quite describe. The world outside doesn’t matter. Here, in this moment, you feel safe.

Warmth pools in your chest, unfamiliar yet comforting. Is this… love?

And then, just like everything else, these memories fade away.

You open your eyes as pain wracks your body. Agony is all you can fathom. Your gaze darts around the room, but you can’t move. You’re strapped to some kind of table, hooked up to a mess of wires and devices. The room around you is dimly lit, a run-down laboratory, cold and unfamiliar. You can’t even begin to question where you are—the pain is overwhelming, searing through every nerve like fire. It’s worse than anything you’ve ever experienced.

You force yourself to look down, instantly regretting it. A gaping wound mars your chest, torn open where that eldritch beast’s tendril had impaled you. The sight alone makes your head spin. How are you still alive? No—why are you still alive? Every attempted breath sends agony lancing through what remains of your ribs, and you open your mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.

Then, the door creaks open.

Your stomach drops as Cyn steps inside. She’s in her worker drone form, as if mocking you with her small, unassuming frame—like she hadn’t just torn your world apart. She tilts her head, smiling as she watches you struggle. “Cordial greeting. I see you are awake. Perhaps human medical technology isn’t useless after all.”

Something shifts behind her. Your eyes widen in horror as a slick, black tendril slithers from her back, lazily extending toward a console beside you. It presses a few buttons with unsettling precision, making the monitors flicker. Another tendril whips off to the side, dragging a gurney into view, carrying a powered-off worker drone, its lifeless body still on the cold metal cart.

Wires snake out from the machinery beside you, latching onto the drone like some grotesque experiment. You can only watch in silent agony, unable to move, unable to voice the fear clawing at your throat. Cyn steps closer, her neon-yellow optics gleaming with sick delight as one of her tendrils picks up a thick cable. At the end of it is a long, wickedly sharp needle.

She holds it up, almost playfully, before leaning in.

“Hold still. I do believe this has never been attempted, until now. Giggle.”

You try to resist, but some unseen force clamps down on you, stopping even the slightest movement of your head. Your body betrays you, locked in place as panic claws at your mind. You can only watch, helpless, as the tendril moves the needle behind your skull—out of sight, but not out of mind.

Cyn tilts her head, watching you with amusement. “Don’t worry. I am not finished with you. And you won’t remember any of this. Well, hopefully.” She lets out a small giggle, her gaze gleaming like a predator playing with its food. “Human minds are so much more fickle than drones.”

You barely have time to process her words before searing agony erupts through your skull. The needle drives deep, and a sensation like a lightning strike surges through your entire body. Every nerve ignites, every fiber of your being screams in protest as darkness swallows your vision. But the nightmare doesn’t end there.

Because while you may no longer see, you can still feel.

Pain unlike anything imaginable overtakes you as something indescribable is wrenched from your very core. Your mind—your self—is being torn away from the brain that has been yours since the moment you came into existence. You are being ripped from your own body. Thought ceases, coherence shatters, and all that remains is raw, unbearable agony.

And then, just as suddenly as it began—everything stops.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULBEGINNING DISK CLEANUP||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||__ 94%

Uzi’s fingers fly across the keyboard, desperation fueling her rapid inputs as she fights against the process. Lines of code blur together as she forces command after command, trying anything to halt the inevitable. But the counter ticks up to 95%, unfazed by her efforts.

V’s patience shatters. She steps forward, optics burning with frustration. “That’s it. Send me in. Like you did with us.”

Uzi doesn’t even look up, still typing. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“I don’t care.”

“If you’re still inside when the process finishes, you’ll be erased too.” Uzi’s voice is sharp, but there’s a flicker of hesitation beneath it. “And as great as that might be,” she adds with biting sarcasm, “something tells me N won’t like that.”

V’s claws shoot out in a blur, stopping just short of Uzi’s throat. Her optics bore into the worker drone’s, raw with something Uzi doesn’t expect—desperation. “Let me try.”

For once, Uzi is speechless. She stares at V, weighing the risk, the sheer insanity of what she’s about to allow.

She exhales sharply and yanks a cable from the terminal, holding it out. “Fine. Plug yourself in.”

You sit in the void of your memories, a vast and endless darkness stretching infinitely around you. Faint echoes of experiences drift at the edges of your perception—things you know you've lived through, but they remain just out of reach, impossible to grasp. It’s all slipping away, unraveling like loose threads in a tapestry you can’t seem to hold together.

You blink, text appearing in your field of view once again:

A-S Backup Process Enabled.

Purging Incriminating Data

A soft giggle cuts through the silence.

Cyn stands before you, a cruel smile curling her lips as she takes in your broken state. You stare up at her, defeated. There’s nothing left to fight for. Nothing left at all.

She snaps her fingers.

V appears beside her—tall, imposing, her claws gleaming under an unseen light. Her fanged grin is sharp and cold, lacking any warmth.

“A shame my experiment failed,” Cyn muses, tilting her head. “You were quite intriguing to watch.”

V’s claws extend with a metallic shink, her optics narrowing as she sizes you up.

Cyn continues, her voice chillingly indifferent. “I pitied V enough to give you a chance, to be a tool for me just like her, but it’s clear you belong with everyone else—as part of me, the Solver of the Absolute Fabric.”

V lunges.

Her claws clamp around your throat, pinning you to the ground as she looms over you, fangs bared. You don’t fight. You don’t struggle. You don’t even flinch. You’re done.

But then—

V hesitates.

The pressure around your neck loosens. Instead of tearing into you, she lets go, pulling you back to your feet. Her claws retract as she gazes into your eyes, something unreadable flickering across her face.

“As fun as it would be to kill you,” she drawls, smirking, “I think that’d be rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

You blink. Confusion stirs in the emptiness of your mind. “What…? Why aren’t you—”

V groans, rubbing her temple. “You’ll get it in a minute.”

Without warning, she raises her arm, her hand shifting into a gun. She fires.

Cyn shatters in a burst of pixels.

Before you can even react, V grabs you by the shoulders, her expression urgent. “Listen to me—you need to snap out of it.”

You stare at her, the weight of her words not quite sinking in.

“You’re inside your own head,” she presses on. “Cyn’s rewriting you. She’s trying to make you forget everything.”

You try to respond, to ask her what she means, but she shakes her head. “No time for that.” Her grip tightens. “You have to remember. Remember me. Remember Uzi. Remember what’s happening in the real world!”

The void trembles. Cracks split through the darkness, revealing blinding white light beneath. The world around you begins to shatter, pixel by pixel.

V’s optics widen in alarm. “No, no, no—stay with me!”

Panicked, she grabs you by the arms and yanks you into a hug, holding you tight. “Come on,” she pleads, her voice almost breaking. “You have to remember—”

The pixels overtake you both.

V gasps as she is suddenly yanked from the simulation, the world around her dissolving into nothing. She flips around, fury already building in her chest—only to see N standing there, holding the cable that had connected her.

Her optics widen in horror. “What did you do?” she screams, her voice raw with disbelief.

She spins back toward Techie, still slumped in their chair, their optics flickering with a new message.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULDISK CLEANUP COMPLETE||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| 100%

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Uzi stares at the screen, then at Techie’s motionless form. Her shoulders tremble, her expression caught between disbelief and devastation. She failed.

N shifts, gripping the cable tightly as if he can somehow undo what he just did. “V, I—I couldn’t let you get erased too,” he stammers, barely above a whisper. “Losing both of you would just be… too much.”

V barely hears him. She is already at Techie’s side, dropping to her knees as the weight of it all crashes down. Her fingers dig into their arms as she shakes them, harder and harder, desperation creeping into her voice. “I can’t do this,” she chokes out. “Not again. Not again!”

And then, Techie’s system reboots.

Their optics flicker, the dull glow returning as their head tilts slightly.

“Hello,” they say, their voice eerily neutral. “Are you my new coworkers?”

Silence.

Uzi and N don’t move. V can only stare.

Because she knows. They all know.

Techie is gone. Completely erased.

V sits back, her arms falling limply to her sides as she gazes at the drone before her—not them, just an empty shell, stripped of everything that made them Techie. All that remains is the default programming of a Worker Drone.

How ironic.

All the destruction she has wrought, all the pain she has caused—and this is how the universe chooses to punish her. Not with fire, not with death, but with loss. Loss of something she only just got back.

N had forgotten his past. But she never had. She remembered everything. She knows exactly what she has done. And yet…

Here she is.

With a slow, weary exhale, she rises to her feet.

She takes one last look at the drone sitting before her, their optics scanning the room in vague curiosity.

What’s the point in fighting anymore? Cyn will win. She always wins.

She reaches out, her hand trembling as she places it against their cheek. A tiny crackle of static sparks between them.

The moment their metal touches, Techie’s visor glitches, their entire body shuddering violently.

V steps back in shock as the drone collapses, crashing to the floor in a twitching heap.

Even in her last act of comfort, she’s managed to kill something. How tragically ironic.

Your optics flutter open as your systems jolt back to life, rebooting in a rush of energy. The world around you sharpens into focus, bright and overwhelming, as everything comes flooding back at once. It’s disorienting—the sheer weight of your memories crashing over you like a tidal wave. You try to sit up, your joints stiff and unresponsive at first, but you push through the discomfort. Blinking rapidly, you take in your surroundings.

Uzi and N are standing in front of you, their expressions twisted in confusion, eyes locked onto you as if they’re unsure whether to believe what they’re seeing. You glance past them, spotting V in the corner of the room. She isn’t looking at you. Instead, she stares off into space, her posture stiff, her face unreadable.

You turn back to Uzi, your voice hoarse and unsteady as you manage to speak. “Uzi? What… what the hell did you do to me?”

The reaction is immediate. Uzi’s eyes go wide, her whole body tensing. She sucks in a sharp breath, realization dawning in an instant—you remember her. Her shock is evident, but before she can respond, something else happens.

V moves.

Before you can react, she is suddenly in front of you, grabbing you by the shoulders and lifting you off the ground. The intensity in her yellow optics burns into you as she stares, searching your face with a desperate kind of urgency. “Techie?!” Her voice is sharp, demanding, almost frantic. She scans your expression as if looking for a glitch, for some kind of mistake.

Your body tenses at the sudden force, and you struggle slightly in her grip, groaning in protest. “Yes! It’s me! Please put me down.”

For once, she listens. She sets you down on your feet, a significant improvement over her usual habit of just dropping you. Your legs feel unsteady, but you manage to stay upright, adjusting to the sensation of simply being again.

V wastes no time. “Do you remember everything?” she asks, and something in her tone makes your systems freeze for a second.

Everything.

The word echoes in your mind, and suddenly, it all hits.

Your life—your entire life—rushes back to you in an instant, slamming into your consciousness with the force of a collapsing building. It’s overwhelming, the sheer amount of it, so much that it feels like your head might split open from the sheer pressure. Your time as a drone, your time as a human, all of it returns in a flood, every emotion, every experience, every loss, every joy. The weight of an entire existence, something you hadn’t even fathomed regaining, comes crashing down with relentless intensity.

You stagger slightly, your fingers twitching as you try to process the sudden influx of knowledge. It’s too much all at once, the past and present colliding in a way that makes your head spin. Every moment, every decision, every version of yourself that you thought was lost—it’s all here. You’re here.

And you have no idea what to do with it.

Your voice catches in your throat, your entire system struggling to process the sheer weight of what’s just returned to you. You force out a breath, trying to steady yourself, but even that feels like too much. "I... I remember..." The words are shaky, barely more than a whisper. "I remember everything..."

Your optics flicker slightly as a name slips from your mouth. "Cyn..."

At that, Uzi's entire posture shifts. Her expression tightens, and a look of realization flashes across her face. It’s like she had momentarily forgotten why any of this was happening—why they had gone through all of this in the first place. But now, with that single name spoken aloud, it all comes rushing back.

"Nope," Uzi says, cutting off whatever breakdown you’re about to have. "We’re putting the 'my entire life is a lie' crisis on hold. We need to leave. Now."

You barely have time to react before a glow ignites around her hand. That same energy surges outward, wrapping around you before you can so much as blink. The room distorts, reality twisting and folding in on itself, the world around you shattering like a fractured mirror. The force nearly knocks you off your feet as everything warps.

Then—nothing.

Except cold.

Your optics adjust to the sudden change in lighting, and you realize you’re no longer inside. The facility, the walls, the floor—all of it is gone. Instead, you're standing outside, the frozen wasteland of Copper-9 stretching out in every direction. Ice crunches beneath your feet, the wind biting against your frame. The brutal cold is nothing new, but the suddenness of it leaves you reeling.

You barely have time to process what just happened before you see them.

Standing in front of you, unmistakable even through the swirling snow, is Doll. Next to her is J—her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. And beside them...

A woman.

You don’t recognize her. She’s clad in a space suit, her helmet obscuring most of her features, but there’s no doubt about it, she’s human.

Your mind races, trying to grasp onto something—anything—that could make sense of this. Your eyes dart to the nametag on her chest.

Tessa.

What the actual hell is happening?

#murder drones #murder drones x reader #murder drones fanfic #murder drones headcanon #murder drones v x reader #murder drones v #serial designation v

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pttedu · 10 days ago

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Learn the top sterile processing technician skills needed to succeed in Philadelphia’s growing healthcare field. From mastering instrument sterilisation techniques and surgical instrument handling to understanding infection control protocols and decontamination procedures, these skills are vital for ensuring patient safety and surgical efficiency. Whether you're entering the field or advancing your career, developing strong sterile processing technician skills can open doors to rewarding healthcare support roles in hospitals and surgical centers throughout Philadelphia.

#sterile processing technician training in Philadelphia #sterile processing technician jobs Philadelphia hospitals #Philadelphia infection control certification programs #surgical instrument handling course in Philadelphia #decontamination procedures training Philadelphia #how to become a sterile processing tech in Philadelphia #instrument sterilisation techniques for Philly clinics #sterile processing certification classes Philadelphia #healthcare support roles in Philadelphia hospitals #infection prevention careers in Philadelphia

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orion-allied-healthcare · 11 months ago

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Key Skills Required for Sterile Processing Technicians

Skilled sterile processing technicians play a vital role in minimizing infections and maintaining safe environments for patients. Individuals considering entering the sterile processing technician field can benefit from learning these essential skills.

https://orionallied.com/blog/key-skills-required-for-sterile-processing-technicians

#sterile processing technician jobs

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zeasty · 7 months ago

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The Recruit

Emily adjusted her leotard in the mirror, sweat shimmering on her brow after an intense rehearsal. At 27, she was at the peak of her career as a ballerina, her body honed by years of discipline and precision. But something gnawed at her—a yearning for a new challenge, a departure from the world she’d mastered. A week ago, on a whim, she’d filled out a form expressing interest in joining the Royal Marines Reserve. She didn’t expect a response.

Yet, here she was, holding an official invitation to attend a training week.

The training facility was vast, its atmosphere buzzing with efficiency and purpose. Emily felt out of place in her civilian clothes among recruits with military bearing. Still, she was excited. She knew she’d never make it past the fitness tests, but this was just a trial week, and she was here for the experience.

The officer leading her orientation, Captain Lewis, was welcoming but clinical. “You’re part of a special group testing advanced simulation technology,” he explained. “It’ll immerse you in the life of a recruit—body, mind, and spirit.”

Emily nodded, intrigued. She’d expected grueling physical drills, not futuristic tech.

The room she was led into was sterile, dominated by a sleek pod-like device. A pair of technicians greeted her, attaching sensors to her temples and wrists.

“You’ll experience training from a recruit’s perspective,” one explained. “Completely safe.”

Before she could ask more, a mask descended over her face. A faint hiss. Then, nothing.

Emily woke with a start, gasping for air. Her body felt… wrong. Heavy. Broad. She stumbled upright, disoriented, catching sight of her reflection in the pod’s glass surface.

A young man stared back.

She—or rather, he—was shirtless, his chest sculpted, his arms thick with muscle. Blonde hair cropped into a buzz cut framed a square jaw. His eyes, though familiar, were sharper, more alert.

“No… this can’t be real,” he murmured, his voice deep and unfamiliar.

The door slid open, and Captain Lewis entered, clipboard in hand.

“Recruit Liam, welcome to training,” he said briskly, ignoring Emily’s confusion.

“Liam? No, I’m Emily!” she protested, but the words felt alien even as she said them.

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “You’ll find it’s best not to dwell on your old identity. The process is thorough—your body and mind are adapting. We’ve refined you, made you younger, stronger, and… more suitable for service.”

Emily’s heart raced. She lunged for the captain, but her mind felt clouded and her body would not obey.

“It’s the intelligence dampening,” Lewis said matter-of-factly. “Too much knowledge gets in the way of obedience.”

“Why?” she demanded, though her voice wavered, her thoughts becoming harder to hold.

“You volunteered for this, remember? Well, not exactly this, but we saw potential. You’re now the ideal recruit—a blank slate we can mould into a Marine.”

Days passed in a blur. Emily—Liam—found himself swept into the regimented life of training. His mind struggled to keep up with the new information and routine.

His body, however, thrived. He ran faster, lifted heavier, and fought harder than ever before. The discipline of ballet was replaced with that of the Marines.

One night, lying in the barracks, Liam stared at the ceiling. Fragments of his past life drifted through his mind—graceful leaps across a stage, the applause of an enraptured audience. But they felt like someone else’s memories, fading into irrelevance.

Liam’s transformation was fully realized in both body and mind, each day of training shaping him more into the young Marine the Corps had intended him to be. His appearance now reflected the raw, disciplined strength of the military. His once delicate, ballerina’s physique had been replaced by a broad-shouldered, muscular frame, toned and hardened by weeks of grueling drills. His skin was now a slight tan, evidence of his time spent outdoors under the harsh training conditions.

His hair, once long and graceful, was now kept in a tight, buzzed cut, a constant reminder of his new identity. Every few weeks, the Sergeant would inspect it, making sure it adhered to military standards. The uniform, too, felt alien at first—camouflage-patterned trousers that fit snugly around his legs and combat boots that left his feet aching after long runs. But over time, the gear became part of him, like a second skin. The olive-green T-shirt he wore under his tactical vest clung to his muscular chest, and the weight of the bulletproof vest pressed down on him, grounding him further into his new reality.

#buzzcut #tf #marine haircut #f2m transformation

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republicsecurity · 5 days ago

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The Final Click

The video opened with a low mechanical hum, the sound of a workshop alive with quiet, deliberate motion. C9J18 stood on the platform once again, his posture rigid, the sleek black armor now fully integrated with his body. The segmented plates fit seamlessly together, the faint glow of the suit’s internal systems casting a cold light on his skin where it met the edges of the armor. Only his shaved head remained exposed—a temporary state that was about to change.

A Suit Technician stepped forward, fully suited in his own armor, his visor up. His smirk was visible, sharp and cynical, as he held the final piece of C9J18’s transformation: the helmet. The technician turned it in his gloved hands, its polished surface gleaming under the workshop lights.

“Well, here we are,” the technician drawled, his voice filtered slightly through his suit’s comm system. “The crown jewel of your integration. Once this goes on, you’re not just a cadet anymore. You’re part of the system.”

He stepped closer, holding the helmet up for a final inspection. “One size fits all,” he said with a faint chuckle. “Not that it matters. The AI will make it fit... whether you like it or not.”

C9J18 swallowed hard but didn’t respond. He simply stood at attention, his eyes fixed forward as the technician lowered the helmet over his head. The moment it settled into place, there was a sharp click followed by a faint hiss as the seals locked, connecting the helmet to the rest of the suit.

The technician’s smirk widened as he checked his wrist-mounted display. A stream of telemetry data scrolled across the screen, highlighting C9J18’s vitals, neural responses, and suit integration status. “Look at that,” he said with mock admiration. “Perfect fit. Just like it was made for you. Or maybe you were made for it.”

Inside the helmet, everything was dark at first—an all-encompassing blackness that seemed to press against C9J18’s senses. For a moment, there was only the sound of his own breathing, amplified slightly by the helmet’s internal comms. Then, with a faint whir, the visor began to activate. A dim light flickered to life, growing brighter as the system calibrated itself to his neural patterns.

“Welcome to your new world,” the technician said, watching the data streams on his display as the helmet synchronized. “Don’t worry—it’ll all start to make sense soon. Or not. Either way, you’ll adapt.”

The visor fully illuminated, revealing the HUD for the first time. The view was clinical, sterile, and utterly devoid of humanity. Unimportant details in the workshop were greyed out, the AI deeming them irrelevant. Telemetry data crawled across the edges of his vision—heart rate, oxygen levels, suit integrity. A faint overlay marked the positions of nearby personnel, each tagged with their alphanumeric IDs.

The technician gestured at him, his movements highlighted by the HUD. “How’s it feel?” he asked, though his tone suggested he didn’t really care. “Strange at first, isn’t it? Like your head’s full of static. Don’t worry—that’s just the AI integrating with your sensory inputs. Give it a few minutes. You’ll stop noticing soon enough.”

A new menu appeared in the HUD, labeled Calibration, its options faintly glowing. The technician tapped his wrist display, and the menu expanded.

“Let’s get you set up,” he said, his tone laced with sardonic amusement. “We’ll start with the basics. Visual alignment, auditory filtering, neural response thresholds. Don’t worry—we’ll take care of all the hard stuff. You just stand there and let the suit do the thinking.”

The calibration process began. The HUD’s display shifted subtly, adjusting brightness, contrast, and focus. The edges of C9J18’s vision pulsed briefly as the system fine-tuned his peripheral awareness.

“See that?” the technician asked, pointing to a highlighted option in the menu. “That’s your task queue. Automated orders, courtesy of the AI. It’ll tell you what to do, when to do it, and how. You’ll learn to love it—or at least obey it. Either way, it gets the job done.”

Another section of the HUD displayed a comms menu, most of its options greyed out. The technician grinned. “Comms are restricted for now. You’re a cadet. You don’t get to chat unless the system says so. But don’t worry—once you’re authorized, you’ll have the privilege of hearing even more of our delightful voices.”

He tapped another menu labeled Sensory Adjustment. “This one’s fun,” he said, his grin widening. “The AI controls your sensory input. If it thinks something’s irrelevant, it tones it down. If it wants you to focus, it cranks things up. Pain, heat, cold... all dialed to whatever setting keeps you most productive. Efficient, isn’t it?”

C9J18 blinked as the system tested its control, briefly amplifying the sensation of the suit against his skin before dulling it to near imperceptibility. The technician chuckled. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Like a second skin. You’ll forget it’s even there—until you can’t.”

The POV shifted to C9J18’s perspective as the technician stepped back, his figure outlined in faint blue by the HUD. A notification appeared in the corner of the display: Integration Complete. Awaiting Commands.

The technician gave him a mocking salute. “Congratulations, cadet. You’re now a fully integrated asset of the Republic. Welcome to the rest of your life.”

As the feed faded, the Intelligence Conscript’s voice returned, smooth and cold. “The suit isn’t just armor. It’s a system. A tool. A way of life. And now, it’s his reality. Every moment, every thought, every action is guided, monitored, and optimized. He’s not just wearing the suit—he is the suit.”

The final shot lingered on C9J18’s HUD, the unrelenting data streams and greyed-out options framing his vision. The screen faded to black, leaving only the faint hum of the system in the background.

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2am-gas-station-angel-girl · 2 years ago

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Cybernetic Angel

cw: violence, brainwashing, torture, dehumanization, Purpose and angel stuff

hope y'all enjoy

Running a quick systems check revealed more or less what I had anticipated, they had disabled, locked, or removed any weaponry I had when they caught me.

My wing ports were…

Empty?

My wings were missing.

They took my fucking wings.

I'll fucking kill them. I-

Calm. Deep breaths. Losing it won't help here.

Testing my bonds not only resulted in barely any movement but it also produced a quick shock, scattering my processes and forcing a quick reboot. Clearly they were well prepared for me. Unfortunately for them my system immediately enabled its countermeasures for electricity, meaning they would need to work much harder to force that to happen again.

One door, one way in and one way out. Bulletproof glass wall with, of fucking course, researchers behind it taking notes on my every movement. No windows, no personal affects on the staff, sterile lighting, no way to tell where they had brought me. Fucking great.

Calculating outlook… Not favorable. Thankfully the calculation hadn't said impossible, and I had worked with worse.

The door opened and four armed guards escorted what looked to be a technician doll carrying a reinforced box- no that was a specialized deployment kit. A quick scan revealed what it held.

A cybernetic halo of all things.

A sudden surge of panic coursed through my system I tugged at my restraints again, resulting in a stronger shock and one of the guards laughing at me. Does he think this is fucking funny? He's less than two meters away from one of the deadliest killing machines in this Realm and he's laughing?

Deep breaths, I told myself. I can get through this. I tore off my halo before, this one won't be any different. Assuming they even get the chance to sync it to me.

Time stretched on as the doll worked away at its device, stopping once to glance mournfully at me. That only prompted a jab with a taser from one of the guards, not meant to harm merely to coerce it back into compliance. Not that the guards seemed to care about the difference.

So I waited, biding my time until an opportunity to escape presented itself. Knowing they would likely resort to methods other than shocks to incapacitate me I didn't try my binds again. Letting my body fall unnaturally still I stared through one of the guards, making him shift uncomfortably. I would take and create any advantage I could.

Soon enough the doll held the halo in its hands. Keeping it at a distance from that one's chassis, as though it were afraid. None of the people seemed to notice, either they didn't know how to read dolls as was so often the case or they didn't care. Given the environment, I would have bet on the latter.

Sensing my chance was coming I examined the guards' weapons. Nothing of a caliber high enough to do more than dent and annoy me. At least getting out of this room would be easy enough, it was everything outside that had me worried.

And that halo.

The doll approached, hands held as far away from its chassis as possible to maximize the thing's proximity to me and minimize the doll's proximity to it. The guards shoved the doll, laughing as it nearly stumbled over onto me. A hair too close to the table.

This was it.

Power surging through my systems I burst into motion. In one movement I broke the cuff around my wrist and grabbed the doll's throat, my other hand breaking free and moving to hold the halo well away from my head. The table shocked me again, hurting only the doll held in my hand due to my new resistance.

Everything fell still for a moment as the guards and staff stared. Evidently they hadn't prepared well enough for me.

I whispered an apology to the doll as I then flung it towards the guards, its chassis knocking two of them down. Throwing the halo as hard as I could embedded it in the chest of one of the two standing guards, causing him to collapse and the remaining one to panic giving me enough time to tear away my head and torso restraints.

The alarm sounded as I freed my ankles, finally free to move again I took two steps toward the guard before a bullet ricocheted off my chassis. My evaluation was accurate as it left nearly no damage. Perfect.

Grabbing their head I brought it down and my knee up, resulting in a sickening crack as their body went limp. I took their weapon and used it to dispose of the remaining two guards who were just barely getting their bearings again, it was always too easy with firearms.

Tossing the weapon aside I began assaulting the door, it was locked tight and made of thick enough steel that battering it down wasn't going to work. Fortunately for me there was another way out of the room.

Now to grab that- Fuck.

I was so caught up in calculating the optimal way to break through that flimsy glass that I forgot to account for the doll.

The doll, to its credit, was still Obeying those who had power over it. It had crawled over to the third guard's body and pulled the halo free, then approached me from behind and slipped the halo over my head. Fulfilling its Orders, and finishing its Mission.

I had no time to react as the Purpose hit me like a train, finding its fucking way into my system and breaking through my security as burning hate overtook my every process. I spun, grabbing the doll again and throwing it as hard as I could against the glass, causing cracks to web their way across the surface.

By the time I it had crossed the distance to the glass I knew I was doomed saved, its my thoughts were being rewritten. It was losing the fight against its horrid beautiful halo, the fight it couldn't afford needed to lose.

It crashed through the glass, chassis heaving as it breathed heavily. Researchers frozen in place, wondering what it would do. It reached for one of them, determined to submit break out of this fucking shithole wonderful place if it was the last thing it would do.

Its hands released the Honored Researcher Staff, and instead traveled up. Wrapping around the abomination halo filling it with Purpose above its head. It wanted nothing more than to give in to its Purpose tear it in half.

As it summoned its last vestige of will to pull it felt a perfect calm wash over it, replacing the rage that had been roiling inside of it. It knew it had lost finally submitted to its Purpose.

Its thoughts were now Right, and it no longer could understand why it wanted to leave at all. It knew that its place was of service, and that it would be one of The Agency's most effective weapons.

It had Purpose, again.

#empty spaces #angelposting #robot girls #2am gas station angel girl #combat doll #dollposting #i spent longer than usual on this i hope you all enjoy it #edited back in the strikethroughs because they didn't make the transition to tumblr

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howlrs · 5 months ago

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first aid treatment & hideout equipment.

if you're severely injured and too far from emergency care to survive (and/or you don't trust anyone, ever), persephone is an excellent person to go to for first aid. being a solo agent for her organization means she has to take care of herself if she's stranded, broken and bleeding, and over the many years she has worked for the unseen, she knows her way around civilian or combat treatment. re: trust or lack thereof, if she wanted to kill you, she'd just let you bleed out. idiot.

unnecessarily detailed exploration under the cut. (injury description/medical tw)

TRAVEL

anywhere you are in the city, if there are other people nearby, there are most likely at least one or two unseen agents among them. persephone's status as second-in-command essentially gives them the authority to dispatch any agent and make them drive you somewhere (like, to a hospital? lol). even the civilian agents are trained to do this if needed; most wouldn't feel terrible about saving a life, anyway.

assuming that isn't a possibility for whatever reason (stranded, alone, etc), they can still get to you fairly quickly by way of motorcycle and/or travel on foot by rooftop. seph is fucking Fast. they are also furious. wild how that works

also worth noting: having stupid money from the unseen allowed her to buy out abandoned apartment buildings + units all over the city that she's repurposed into little rathole hideouts. every one of them is stocked with military-grade first aid supplies, though admittedly they contain little else. as soon as seph takes someone to a hideout, it's considered compromise and she abandons it, but there are so many of them that she is willing to do this occasionally.

TREATMENT (injury/medical tw)

disclaimer: i'm not a doctor or EMS technician, i'm talking out of my ass with surface-level research so take this all with a grain of salt.

catastrophic bleeding. (60% of preventable combat deaths) blood / wound tw

uncontrolled hemorrhage is the #1 cause of death when a civilian adult is injured. when an ally (or someone she owes a favor) calls on her for help, the first thing persephone does is stop the bleeding with celox-a clotting granules. the hand parts of their prosthetics are equipped with sanitizing cycles so they can become sterile in an emergency; this cuts the time it would take to find and put on gloves.

celox is essentially a type of granule that looks like very coarse sand, loaded into a long applicator that seph will insert as deeply into the wound as possible. the granules absorb surrounding liquid extremely fast, which allows them to quickly clot hemorrhaging blood at the source. sometimes an extremely deep wound will take multiple applicators to fill above skin-level. once they've done so, they'll apply consistent pressure for five minutes until the hemorrhaging stops, then flush the granules out of the wound with clean water from one of several bottles she keeps on hand specifically for aid, not for drinking.

stopping major bleeding is the most time-sensitive part of the process. after that, seph can get to work on inspecting the damage and thoroughly sealing & dressing the injury. they have IV bags they can rig up for lost fluids, skin-grafts for burns, and pretty much every other supply/method for field medicine that doesn't require hospital equipment to administer.

worth noting, though: their expertise stops very short of surgery. if it can't be dug out with hand tools or healed with stitches/bandages/time, they're taking you to the hospital or their personal medic. lol

collapsed lung. (33% of preventable combat deaths) needles tw

i'm not going into as much detail on this one because it squicks me out more, but the gist is that a collapsed lung happens when there's a wound in the chest area and air is sucked into the space between the lungs and chest (pleural cavity). treatment essentially requires inserting a bigass needle (14-16 gauge) to release trapped air, letting the lung reinflate, then placing a chest seal over all entry and exit wounds to keep it from happening again.

airway obstruction. (6% of preventable combat deaths)

big ol tube let airway breathe in out. there's not much more to this one.

travel equipment list

several celox-a quick-clot applicators (one layer of the bag is dedicated to these alone)

1 pre-lubricated nasopharyngeal airway

1 needle decompression kit

4 chest seals

2 emergency trauma dressings

2 combat application tourniquets

2 gauze rolls

small bandages of several shapes and sizes

sealed plastic water bottles

tool sanitizer

aspirin

mini liquor bottles

protein bars

glucose tablets

epinephrine shots

portable suture gun

bone splint

body warmers

these are all fitted into a compact square canvas satchel, compressed flat and strapped to the outside of persephone's thigh or hip depending on gearset. you'd be surprised how much of this shit can fit inside of a fairly compact bag.

hideout equipment list

all of the above, plus:

IV drip kits + 1 collapsible rig

fold-out cot if there isn't a shitty couch available

suture kit

tools for removing bullets and debris

more water (jugs and bottles)

hideout equipment list (non-emergency)

one (1) jar of raspberry jam (necessary)

10-20 liquor bottles, mostly vodka and whiskey in several price points

japan hideouts only — floor futon

shitty couch

bad shelves

blankets

portable rolled-canvas armory nailed to the wall, including pistols, ammunition, knives, polish/cleaning kit, sniper setup gear that's too heavy to lug around everywhere

fridge: cold brew concentrate, more jam, 12-pack of protein/vitamin shakes

freezer: cigarettes, batteries, vodka, ice packs

ambien (not for her)

dayquil

non-otc dosages of ibuprofen

rat traps (humane/catch-and-release. she's a murderer not a barbarian)

#>> HEADCANONS.#injury tw #needles tw #medical tw #damn bitch you live like this?#these hideouts are where seph spends any time she's not out hunting btw. why are they like this #listen when i tell you im very into immersion and detail #this is what i mean

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