#this time next year i should hopefully be in a welding job and away from customer service finally

[infernalfae]

i start school to get my welding cert at the end of the month!

[blankdblank]

Brother Dearest Pt 78

Home a day early Norma exploded with anxious energy to be near her daughter who was confused to the meaning of the day, her first birthday. A cake was able to distract her mother and herself from that awkward energy for the beginning of their three day weekend together so Victor could take you to a stop at the studio to help with a possible new bout of ideas to refurbish the Cap comics. Still no one seemed to be able to come up with anything substantial except for a cross of the Howling Commandoes who would run into your animated family alongside Peggy’s alter ego. Which you all took off with that idea had came up with at least five different issues worth of them to mingle in the planned plot lines already animated and ready to be sent out when it was due to be printed. Quite gladly the guys had loved your pregnancy as now with these new ideas you had editions well through this year and into the next if anything should distract from the creative process.

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Just past the hall with your last projects on display atop podiums you entered the workshop as people still milled around each choice inspecting each. Including yours which was a miniature town. Half a mine complete with a track for little carts and the other half a town encircled by a river. All of it powered by the waterwheel that moved the mechanics in the layer beneath the surface of the entire town. Streets between homes had lights on each corner with antique style lamp posts with two bulbs in them that switched colors at the filling and emptying of water tubes fed by that same wheel. Cars on tracks drove between the wooden homes to finish off the scene and impressed your Professor for how complex the mechanics were to the simplistic upper display.

Your place in the class came with questions but with ease at home in the shop the men around you relaxed at fears of tears or pestering questions to distract them. Now the main distraction came for the awe striking ways you got around the difficulties your size a half to a whole foot shorter than all of them to get things done and how naturally you knew various advanced tools and had no fear in using them. Today however you came with a spare bag of clothes that to the amusement of your classmates out of your heels you stepped and flicked unfolded at your side the trousers you brought. Pulling them on over the skirt of your dress you tucked that and the flannel you added into the top and secured the cloth belt you added next. Thick socks and your work boots came next showing much use to each press of your feet into the opposite knee to tie them and lower to repeat the step.

Unable to help it as you tucked your heels into your bag the Professor gave you a once over after having seen the others had swapped their dress shirts for thicker work shirts and as you wound your ponytail and bangs back into a bun underneath a bandana he greeted you all. “Good to see you’ve all come ready to get some grease on those elbows. We have a new project for you to finish off the summer semester. Out of solid steel each of you will be creating something that has a function. It must be a minimum of six feet tall and two feet wide, please no windmills, there will be a supply near each of your stations and in the supply room. I want you all to think long and hard about what you want to make and how you would create that function in hopefully an ingeniously new way. You will only have the time in class when we meet so no spare after class time or weekends. So manage your tasks properly and keep to a schedule as best as you can.”

His eye shifted to you as you raised your hand and he nodded your way in his usual signal to speak, “Does it have to do a job or just do something?”

Across his lips a smirk tugged and he answered, “It just has to do something, make it light up, make it move, be unique. I repeat no windmills.” He said and motioned his hand to the side for you all to head to your stations. Right away he and his aid chuckled at your usual pop up onto the counter that reached your ribs to reach the gloves and apron in your cubby assigned with your name on tape laid across the edge of it.

Sons of mechanics, car enthusiasts, electricians and builders filled the class on their way to get their Engineering degrees to join the family profession and to their amusement with your own ideas you seemed to be fairly at the same level of skill as the group who was used to building models and things since they were little. Once the spare layers were added and you had taken a few minutes to simply stare at the sheet of steel resting on the mount there to hold it upright to think of what to make. The smirk that tugged across your lips intrigued the Professor and his aid that something interesting was coming as your mind had come up with something. In the same stunning fashion your tiny self eased the sheet of metal a foot taller and two feet longer than your body off the mount and onto the cutting stand you had made the first week in for your shorter self. You knelt on top of that to use just a couple feet off the ground compared to the waist high ones the guys used with ease at possession of longer arms and legs.

With cutting torch in hand over the numerous chalk outlines the sound of metal falling echoed in your ears between sounds of the others at their own stations working with hammers or torches of their own who weren’t still on the design on notepads. Around each station the Professor moved with his aid in opposing paths to get a sense of what you all were doing, notepads in hand to make notes while students as usual stood outside the windowed wall to peer in at what you all were doing. That angle especially helped to add images of yourself and the guys for the yearbook the school had for even the summer semester as well. When the metal was spent and left to just outlines into sections you cut what remained with a smirk hidden by your face shield at the perfect alignment of metal shapes to be part of the body you required. Just one layer but as usual you strove to not waste an inch of the metal or supplies given and set those aside to begin on the mechanics.

Gears, rods, all fashioned down with sanders and buffers for a smooth finish and even on a few securing grooves to be used later to lock things into place all were wound together with or near to wires and conduits for pathways of motion. All the Professor could see but the end of the day was the sheets of metal in the cutout mount along the wall. Noted with tape to not be used for scrap by others and a clump of a motor nearly the size of your body with octopus like mess of limbs that he saw you link small switches and levers to the whirring core that after the charge from the center mechanics you had wound like a clock began to slow left no hint at all what any of it could be meant for. But that was it and for the next day he would have to simply steal glances at the chunks of your projects to try and figure out what they were meant to do until the next class when he could see some more progress on the lifeless piles of metal.

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“You look excited,” Victor hummed as James took hold of your bags with a kiss on your temple.

James smirked saying to the scent of metal shards on your hair and skin, “You’ve been welding again.”

“I’m building a moose.” You said making them chuckle as you delved into the new project you had been given.

James said, “Well a moose will certainly be large enough for the size requirements. What are you going to make it do?”

“Walk and move around,” you said widening their grins. “It’ll be risky but I think I can pull it off even if I have to sneak in some magic to do it.”

“I’m certain you can, Pipsqueak.”

Ten days had gone and flew by as again before the crack of dawn tears came and the now the three spotted children showed the final steps of the chicken pox that had upheaved the household. And after a trio of oatmeal baths for 20 minutes the babies now with socks tied into their hands were put back to bed until they woke for the next round of baths and calamine lotion to soothe the itchy patches away until they were gone.

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Mr Fenske again had your morning. And through the afternoon while you couldn’t work on your project you brainstormed and practically filled a notebook with diagrams and plans for what exactly to do when you got back to the shop the following day to hopefully get done with plenty of time to spare and polish the giant moose up for its big debut. Sleep wasn’t hard to gain with the rain. Though by morning said rain made it a bit difficult to want to leave your still groggy girls who barely made it through breakfast but you still did simply to get the next attendance points closer to credits to get you your Bachelor’s degrees by next summer and onto the way to your Masters then Doctorates. You made plans and in sticking to them you could only make a great example for your girls to be what they wanted to, even if it didn’t involve as much schooling as you were pushing yourself through.

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Back inside the second Art History class notice of a change was evident on everyone’s faces to the lack of a model or item to focus on and the Professor’s place in the front of the floor to say when you had all arrived. “For your final projects there will be no model given to you. You will supply your own muse and in the style of a painting Master you will complete two paintings of at least 12x16 each that will center around a single memory. Something that is not well known about your life, a moment of unadulterated trust. They must be a pair and be supported by a description of the memory that you all will present at the gallery at the end of this semester where each of the pieces you have completed in every class will be displayed for others to view and comment. This is your final exam, take it seriously and do not disappoint me.”

Monet’s style seemed to be something you could adapt into whatever you decided to paint. Back to Monet’s paintings your mind wandered and in the various chosen models for each of those with people in them his main focus on landscapes had you think of something that would not be another copy of one of his works. Your brain however looped back to that brothel and onto the first sheet of your sketch pad to mock up what you would paint James with his coat over his head and cigar in hand made an amusing image with details of a plume of smoke along with the beams of light from the milky curtain coated window could make for something unique. And with it would be James in that bathtub with his boots and uniform on the floor still with hold of that cigar.

There wasn’t much of your private life you wanted to share, namely your courtship with James, but you hoped he wouldn’t mind having the back of his arms, head and shoulder blades in display for however many people would be attending this gallery showing. On major project turned to two and you just wanted to get this over with. Normally you liked your Professors but this class couldn’t come to an end soon enough even if you did get along well with those from your other courses. Basic details on the first scene with him against the door was begun on a fairly decent sized easel above the required size in a means to get what details you wanted included without compromise. Anatomy and Physiology was a welcome distraction and after Communication you were free to get back to your moose.

Once in your work layers to the side of your list of necessary parts you crouched with cutter in hand to add more body pieces to the pile to assemble later. Some you left flat while others made use of the rolling press the Professor and his aid enjoyed the glimpses of hidden strength you displayed in warping the metal to your needs, each rotation of that crank took a certain amount of strength to get the bend required. While others were slid into the other metal press that with a lever bent the sections at whatever straight angle possible with enough force. Every piece only added more mystery for how they blended together until from the mess after a bit of welding around the internal support rods and gears to work the joints properly and still be able to withstand the weight of all needed to in every movement.

With the internal mechanism and the cutting mainly done now it was easier, simply overlaying the outer shell. Carefully each leg was fashioned together and down every joint tested for smooth motion you required from the different swaying sections that while still seemed a whole piece until the motion began and every joint showed its purpose to shift and then come back to its place in smooth circular motion similar to how actual moose move in real life. Rope in hand once the supporting frame you’d worked out that looked more like axels on a car of simple rods fashioned together you stood tying a wrench to one end then looking up at the only higher form of support you had, the metal beams in the rafters. There was a pulley but the chain had snapped and it was too far up and too little used to warrant replacing it yet somehow a decade later. So this was what you were left to. One end of the rope was tied to one of the legs and with a good toss the wrench flew up and over the beam above your station to fall straightening the rope with it.

The motion and fall of the wrench helped to lift the leg a couple inches off the ground at one end and with a hold of the wrench with an easy pull the leg came upright off the ground and lured the gaze of the amused Professor at your self made pulley. Securely on the ground around the support rods, that balanced on top of a stool, the hoof was settled and with an easy loop of some twine from one of the cutouts through the holes drilled into the end of the support rod the hopeful anchor was tied with an easy to remove bow. Grip of the second front leg proved you were making a hooved creation and off your shoulder you moved the leg into perfect alignment and tied it off after a few confirming checks that it was straight.

Three legs soon grew to four and from the ground and from the leg the rope was removed to fashion like a noose around a series of hooked straps linked to the belly plate now welded to the inner mechanism that with a good firm grip what a woman your size shouldn’t be able to lift the three hundred pound motor and plate with ease was gradually lifted from the ground where you had left it to be. Once the rope was tied at the right height to the leg of your workstation it was wiggled into the right alignment to lessen the strain of the rope as each edge came to rest perfectly in the connecting mounts.

Both bolted and welded down into place the security was tested amusingly for those who looked over at your grips on each leg and end of the lower half of the body to give it several firm shakes to test the stability of everything with mental checks of how it felt to ensure it wouldn’t collapse or move in a way that anything would get locked up. Down the legs the mechanics were lowered and using long necked allen wrenches you secured the screws into place before you began to work the body frame up for the sides and back with a start on the neck mount to go around the support rod from the belly mount that the mechanics there were anchored to.

The basic shape of the head came to life and atop that came antlers that rather uniquely was where the controls there was mounted underneath to be closer to the ears that it would control. Kneeling atop the workstation that you merely used to house the next part up or the tools needed the head came to life widening the grins on the faces of the Professor and his aid. Both who were beyond amused at the creature you had chosen. Amongst the other students who chose things from a giant nutcracker to a mechanical hammer wielding figure that did little else than lift and lower said hammer opposite the rotating carousels and even a tree with branches that wiggled and could be used to hold items on the trays welded atop them you had chosen the boldest design. And the most curious. Surely you had to have something up your sleeve, there had to be more to the moose than what they were able to see.

“Well, well, well, it would appear you all are getting along swimmingly in just two days.” The Professor stated as you all began to clean up for the day, including yourself who accepted help from another taller student to cover your moose with a sheet as others had done for their own projects. Turned around when you released the end of the sheet in your hands you looked the Professor over seeing that he was clearly up to something with that spreading smirk of his. “And when we meet again you will find a fresh supply of sheet metal at each of your work stations. Those supplies will be pertinent in creating a second miniature partner of what you have already produced. Four feet tall and one foot wide minimum. It does not have to be an exact copy but it does have to be related to the initial creation.”

Groans from the guys however were muddled by giggles from yourself in a momentary rest of your head against the side of your moose out of the sheer amount of work that would have to go into making a second moose from scratch the next day you would be in this class. The day was over for you at least and when you got home you could focus on your girls again and simply leave the planning to the weekend while they napped for a game plan to get the ball rolling on a baby moose. Need for a good meal and a nap read across your face and had James ask, “Who am I punching?”

In a giggle you shook your head and melted into his offered hug. “I have to make a second moose.”

The pair chuckled and when James took hold of your things Victor gave you his own hug and he hummed, “We stole a glimpse at your moose. Well done. Have to be the same size?”

“Half the size of it. It doesn’t have to be a moose, just has to be related but the only thing my brain can think of moose related is moose.” The pair smirked and you said, “We’ve just got two more classes until semester is over and we have to present things.” You glanced up at James, “I can paint you in the tub, right?” That had an awkward grin split across his face and you said, “We have to paint a memory, I picked at the brothel that one time. But you won’t mind?”

“You can paint me however you like, Darling,” he said leaning in to steal a quick kiss. “I look forward to seeing it.”

“Two its, so I have to paint two paintings and build two moose. Then show them in presentations.”

Victor smiled asking, “Do we get to keep the moose?”

“I don’t know,” you answered in a giggle. “I don’t know what they expect them to be used for or if they will want us to destroy them.”

“We are not destroying your moose,” they both said.

Victor, “We’re gonna find the perfect spot for them in our home. Do we get your art too after the gallery or do they expect people to buy them?”

“I think so. We have to share a story for the paintings but I’m not sure if they sell them off, there hasn’t been any talk of that so far.”

Victor, “Hopefully we get to keep those too. And we have cake at home.” He said making you grin up at him, “Petal’s spots are gone. Herc’s giving her a full workup along with the triplets.”

You glanced at James who said, “Belly time tests, they’re doing well, necks are nice and strong, arms show signs that they are almost ready to roll over.”

“At least I haven’t missed that yet.”

James chuckled letting you into the car to sit between them saying, “Well you missed a hell of a tantrum from Teddy.”

“Aww,” you said and they both chuckled.

“He needed a nap. Just got too overwhelmed after his last bath and took a good seven minutes to climb down from that mountain. He has a set of lungs on him that boy. Dawn held firm but Eddie had to take a walk.”

“He always hated it when kids cry. Mama Brock used to joke he’d hate the terrible two’s, but so far he has been a little angel.”

“He has,” Victor hummed. “He calmed down and apologized for throwing his toy. Then said he just wanted to go to sleep and didn’t want to have his check up until after.”

“Well I’ve been on the edge of tears from a check up myself.”

James chuckled, “We all empathize, he spent most of last night up with those baths and calamine lotion applications. Even Eddie needed a nap. Dawn’s mom came over to watch him and Marigold for a bit so they could breathe. It does seem they are all in the clear.”

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Tummy time was the beginning of your days off and as the trio of girls exercised their heads, necks and arms smiles spread at your nodding off on top of the quilt for a nap that afterwards gave you enough energy to delve into those plans of yours. Alone once the triplets had been put to bed a stolen grip of James’ hands had his smile spread then melt away in the ease of his hands behind your back to lean in and accept the kiss you rose up on your toes to claim. Up from his jaws into his hair your fingers worked in a blind tug to bed as you mentally closed the doors to the room his body followed you to the bed.

Three months had blew by and nearing the end of the summer for the first time since before your belly had begun to grow lost to muffled giggles and broken smile laced utterances of adoration fixed firm in your arms he remained. All night he refused to pull back and break the hold you had on him to savor the romantic return to amorous evenings that were mutually focused. Months you had focused on him as he held himself back to keep you safe and when he had ensured he had pulled on his pants and eased his shirt over you into his arms your body nestled to drop off to sleep. Safe in his arms to whirling dreams as he savored the mixture of his scent and that of his wife’s to the burrow of his forehead into the top of your head. That mixture that while you were in school he could catch hints of on those three girls that by the day improved leaps and bounds to one day be independent little people who would shake up his days to keep them all safe and content.

Herc already had shared that Beserkers never had babies back to back and genetically there would be little chance to conceive before the girls were two years old. Yet that doubt still lingered and pretending as if the same methods of the pill and sleeves that had failed to keep you from conceiving the triplets those methods were picked up again as a sort of call for hope that they might be able to find that goal of two years true before another baby or babies could be arriving. It was just one more year and you would be on the way to graduate studies to do with as you pleased. Seven years wouldn’t be that long for an entire estimate of time to earn them, and there were so many years after that could be quite indescribable for how many possibilities there were with freedom of no school to shuffle between. Even traveling the world could be possible any time you wished if that was what you wanted. He didn’t care as long as you were together and could end each day in one another’s arms.

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Following final exams with Mr Yarbrough for your History, Geography and Religion courses at home Tuesday again brought on the next to last time you would be on campus. Both your paintings had greater detail and fed into a successful task of carrying out the beginnings of your smaller moose. Thanks to the ample planning the internal mechanism and basic body shape was fashioned on a smaller pallet beside its larger parent. Mother and child as you had intended now was swapped for father and child due to the antlers that were needed to help counter balance the body’s movements.

Followed by a long session with Mr Fenske to take the final exams for your Economics, Government, Political Science and Anthropology on Wednesday the rest of the summer here in Canada would be far simpler as the courses here were in their final week.  

On Thursday more exams however would be waiting for you. Art History came first and was a lengthy exam that let you out a bit early to head for your next Art class and mentally prep the plan for the finishing touches on the paintings. Anatomy and Physiology came next for another complex exam you felt a bit anxious for how you might fare on the few essay questions at the end. Communication came last before your final class that held you from freedom with a hefty exam of its own. And when that let out past freed students rushing to savor the end of their own summers with your classmates you walked to head for your Engineering course.

Once there the same Professor who seemed excited to watch the second sculptures come to life began this final class by his posture alone had the guys around you mutter, ���No.”

The word making him chuckle and smooth his palms together. “I have one final requirement one final sculpture that is a foot tall or less to go with the previous two.”

Unable to help it you let out an exasperated giggle and hung your head to smooth a hand over the back of your neck for a pose that had one of the guys tease, “Come on Bunny, you can break out another moose.”

Which had his friend say, “Just a tiny one.”

After another giggle you answered, “I am not making another moose.”

Your eyes shifted to the Professor who said, “All your supplies are at your station and in the store room. Good luck.”

At the tall station you stood tapping your pencil to the notepad you had doodled up a few choices and decided on something a bit wild. Gears were the first to be cut again and the inner mechanics were worked out with the bodies to follow. An absurdly large duck was crafted and behind it on wheels that tiny feet were faked to rotate around each rotation and a mechanical chain three ducklings would follow after their mother that would waddle around to the command of the controller you had fashioned at the end of a long string of wires to connect to the inner mechanism.

You weren’t the only one adding smaller details in hopes to not be asked for more to add for the final grading. Each project that spread his proud grin for this latest batch of students who showed promise if they continued this field. All together when the final touches were completed every student cleaned up the stations and made certain all the projects on their pallets were coated with sheets to keep them protected for the following day when they would all be shown for all who chose to come.

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Early home amongst the rest of your siblings and Erik Norma smiled widely in a stroll through the projects that lined a vast courtyard and surrounding halls the Professors took a stroll through to inspect each piece and took note son how they all worked. Out of sight the empty slot with a metal stand bearing a card with your name on it amongst your classmates’ steadily filling slots there was no trace of you, however Stark and Mr Jarvis both stood waiting for one. Both who smiled and greeted your family promising to be at the painting gallery show as well the following day.

“Ooh, there’s Pipsqueak,” Victor said in a turn after catching sight of you in your mint sleeveless sundress down an empty hall with a pair of men behind you who were pulling two pallets on raised jacks. Smiles spread in curiosity at notice of the familiar silhouette of moose antlers under the larger sheet. Right up next to one another the pallets were lowered and with a bit of help the sheets were removed enabling Stark to move closer and inspect the internal parts as best he could to guess what they could do. The task that had him locate the switches on the side he only got a smirk from you in response of his gesture their way while you listened to James and Erik in proud boasting of what you had built.

When the group of judges did arrive they each looked the trio of creations over and your Professor said, “Now, Mrs Howlett, if you wouldn’t mind.” Eyes watched as you moved a sheet of metal that was forged into a long ramp that had gone unnoticed and was hiding a trio of crank keys shaped like drills for ice fishing that had an outer handle to keep it steady and an internal one to rotate the tip, the largest of which you lifted. Over to the shoulder of the largest moose you inserted the tip into the key hole there and like a clock wound the mechanism until it wouldn’t wind anymore then removed the crank to stun those looking on at the sound of clanks and a growing hum as it powered up readying for movement. The smaller four foot baby moose was cranked next followed by the duck that with a simple flick of the switch started the chuckle luring first step on the pallet.

Back around the baby moose you moved having flicked the switch on its side as you did that on the larger one that turned heads when the front and back left legs lifted to start walking. Open mouthed the crowd looked on as you guided the larger two statues off the pallets to enter the cleared path on the courtyard. Simple toggles of switches had the heads move to turn the pair and another to wiggle the ears.

“Oh my,” one of the judges stated looking in awe over the functioning moose duo that around you as the duck led its ducklings around the path you followed to circle the nearby fountain.

“She made functioning robots…” Howard muttered to himself and glanced at Jarvis only to look back at the sound of the gears slowing down causing the outer plates shifting around the moving joints, back and limb until the pair began to come to a stop as the duck continued to wander around a few moments more.

“How…?” another Professor spoke and you answered, “Well there’s no battery, just crank powered. Since it’s made of hundreds of pounds of solid steel it doesn’t run very long, but I was inspired by Grandfather Clocks.” Another crank of the animals was called for so they could get to test the switches and get closer looks at the moving components inside until the group had to move on and simply the animals were up to being photographed some more back on their pallets that when the demonstration was through were loaded onto the trailer the guys had borrowed from a neighbor to bring the animals home. At least there you and Erik could make them work much longer and improve upon the designs at your whims to at least make the ducks run longer for the older children to play with. And when he sat down for lunch while you started to nurse your girls he asked, “And just how long did they give you to build those?”

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The following morning wasn’t free of any nerves as the duo were amongst the hundreds who came to this museum sized gallery that had been chosen. Different days the gallery would be filled with each class the Professor instructed and today following the order of how your easels had been lined up you got a few peeks at the other student’s pieces until you found yours in the last section opposite the young woman’s artwork on display. Soon the numbers began to grow and while you tried to answer as many questions on they style as possible you couldn’t ignore the number of cameras being snuck in by those Eddie could tell were from papers throughout Canada. Chatter however in the distance had grown and waned in the path of a particular group.

Salvador Dali, Hemingway, T.S Eliot on a working vacation of sorts had made a stop here today having read about the show in the paper. More than a few pieces inspired by the famed painter got ample comments until saved for last the Professor slid into the room listening to their impressions of each students’ sketches and paintings. Every story shared of the final paintings were noted down and quietly you listened yourself as the other young woman opposite you spoke hers then listened to comments and was freed herself. Finally the crowd who had waited around stood in wait as the group asked you about each sketch that seemed to be more impressive than the last at the varied tries of each style. Including a sketch that was in Dali’s style that made him grin your way, “I just may have to convince you to sell me this one.”

The grin that eased across your face shifted to Hemmingway in his asking about your portraits, “You painted a soldier? Was the roof leaking, that why he’s hiding his head?”

Softly you chuckled and answered, “These are my husband James.” That turned his gaze to you a moment then back to the portrait as you said, “When we were in Europe we made more than a few stops in brothels along the way. This one James got stuck babysitting me and when he found a tub in our hotel next door we could take turns in a few of the guys came upstairs and there wasn’t a lock. So he sat against the door with his coat over his head in my turn, and while I dried and combed my hair he took his own turn.”

Elliot chuckled and said, “It is a striking memory to capture on an easel.”

The Professor asked as Hemmingway moved a bit closer as if to decipher which brothel neighboring a hotel this was, “You stopped in brothels often?”

“No secret men at war crave companionship. Most of the time when we crossed paths with other platoons their men were too distracted by the brothel to notice I was there.”

Hemmingway stated, “Must have been a harrowing trial in your lifetime to be thrown into war so young. We are all amply fortunate you do not exude grimmer angles of those experiences outside of what you publish in your comics.”

A statement which had your Professor state, “Those are fiction.”

A statement that had the author who had been there himself including your arrival at Normandy say, “No, they are not. Saw more than one Battle Bunny and Venom freed city myself. Every issue rings far truer than some might claim to believe.” His eyes locked on you and he said, “I have seen you tear planes from the sky and machine guns from those hill hidden bunkers. To not have chosen to show that is great courage to bear what you have on your heart rather than your wrist.”

Dali said, “And the care you have taken of these shoulder blades, no detail of his strength missed. Bold choice. A show of relaxation and hunched focus and tension, excellent contrast.” Around your back James folded as the Professor gave his own comments and took notes on his way to make another round of everyone’s art to hear what newly arrived people were saying. The artist when he was gone crept closer to your side making you smile as he said, “Do not mind his opinion. You have captured Monet’s style with ease and respect to his technique.”

A lunch after when the works were boxed up and taken to be locked in the trunks of your cars with the famous faces was highly documented. Including the signing of the sketch you passed over to Dali and the ones that Elliot and Hemmingway chose for their own collections to leave you the ones you preferred to your own tastes and the pair you had painted of James.

No shortage of people had claims of having met you and gotten signatures and moments to speak with you on various subjects slipped in between more thoughts on your work. These pieces of art gave way to more as riding on the tails of this showing of your artistic skills like that for Kodak before led into the release of your second photography book that exceeded the sales of the first and had four signings in Canada with two settled for when you would get back to New York just like the last time. Stops that would distract you until you would receive copies of your transcript to take back with you to Barnard on how you scored in your summer courses.

Pt 79

All –

@sherala007​, @mariannetora​​, @jesgisborne​, @knitastically​, @catthefearless​​, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000​​, @alishlieb​​,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​​

Brother Dearest - @thorinanddwalinsdwarrowdam​​, @swoopswishsward

[dearlazerbunny]

Ignite (Redux); Ch. 1 of 5ish

Pairings: Kylo Ren x Reader

Genre/Ratings: currently T for severely injured reader 

Words: 2250

Summary: After an accident aboard Starkiller Base, someone unexpected proves invaluable.

This is a rewrite of Ignite, which I published two-ish years ago. I thought I could put more into it than I did initially, and soon enough this one chapter was more words than the whole original idea. Same story, incredibly expanded upon. Enjoy!

You sigh as you scroll through your daily schedule that’s pinged into your datapad. Apparently a fresh crop of newbie engineers has been recruited, and now you’ve got to teach them how to not blow themselves up- or more crucially, not blow up the expensive TIE Fighters that cost more than your entire life is worth. Joy oh joy. Really, you prefer to work alone- you’re a senior engineer aboard Starkiller base, you don’t need anyone to double check your work (or worse, mucking it up). But as long as the rookie knows their place and doesn’t cross wires they aren’t supposed to, things should- should- be okay.

Hopefully. Maybe. Fingers crossed.

You pull on your uniform, doing up the buttons and fastening the buckles; your tool belt, a beautiful piece of leather that’s been worn enough to be molded precisely to your waist, gets secured in its place of honor across your hips. After tracking down your pesky gloves and tucking them into the top of your work boots so you don’t lose them for the millionth time, you join the ebb and flow of traffic constantly racing though Starkiller’s veins and head for the flight deck.

It’s a decent trek- base is huge, and nowhere you’re heading is ever anywhere near everywhere else. It’s become something of a tradition to mentally curse whoever designed this bucket of bolts as you follow hallway after hallway, trying to keep pace with those around you. Would it have killed them to put in some moving walkways? Maybe a more direct path through the ducts? At least that way you’d be able to avoid all the upper-crust officers on your way to work, and their holier-than-thou stares as they eye your patched elbows and stained pants. Chuckling to yourself, you pat the nearest metal archway, mentally apologizing to your pride and joy. Starkiller is, ultimately, a feat of engineering, and the fact that you get to crawl around in her walls and find what makes her tic is a pleasure, no matter how finicky she gets- or how snotty the officers become.

In the corner of your eye, you can tell that the corridor has suddenly emptied, startlingly silent of stormtrooper boots or the quiet mumbling of messengers running to and fro. Rather than following suit and making yourself scarce, you purposefully slow your gait and linger, letting your fingers trace along the seams of the polished walls.

Not a minute later, Kylo Ren comes stalking around the corner, boots thumping menacingly along his path and cape fluttering behind him. He doesn’t seem phased by the sudden clearing of his path- he probably comes to expect it by now. It’s not like he demands it; people just seem too frightened of the Commander to even do something as simple as walk in the same corridor as him.

You can’t really blame them. He’s a six-foot-something space wizard in all black and an incredibly intimidating mask. Rumor has it he isn’t afraid to cut you in half with a lightsaber if you so much as breathe wrong in his direction- and to be fair, a lot of those rumors are true, given how frequently you’re called to patch up medical equipment in the infirmary.

“Am I interrupting something?” The Commander’s voice comes out heavily synthesized through his visor, but you could swear there’s a touch of teasing in it as he watches you run a hand over some welding.

You grin at him. “No, sir, just having a little moment of appreciation.” You comically pat the metal next to you, as though assessing a prize cow.

Normally you wouldn’t dare joke around with a senior officer, but despite his fearful reputation, the Knight has always seemed… different, to you. In command, yes, but not quite part of command. The rest of base always runs whenever he heads in their direction. Even his infamous Knights of Ren seem just a touch too cautious around their leader to include him in the camaraderie you’ve seen them demonstrate in the mess hall when he’s not around. He’s a true loner, sitting solitaire in meetings and speaking to no one except to yell orders; a black phantom haunting the hallways with rumors flying left and right in his wake.

You made the decision a long time ago to not be afraid of the man. He has to know that not everyone sees him as some sort of grim reaper, no matter what people might whisper. “How are you today, sir?”

Despite you making it a point to ask him this every time you see him, he still seems taken aback whenever he hears it. Like he’s shocked someone is speaking to him in pleasant terms. “I am fine. And you?”

“Just peachy!” You gesture down the hallway. “Are you going this way?”

He nods briefly, and so the two of you start off together, only close enough to barely be associated as acquaintances. The stares you get are numerous, but you always feel just a tad more confident with the Commander at your side. You suppose it must look a bit comical- the dark knight and a tiny engineer marching through base like they own the place. But you’re grateful for the company, silent as it is, and you tell yourself he must be too- otherwise, why give you the time of day? You’re not anyone important.

You know Commandeer Ren notices all the attention the two of you get- you can tell by the way he has to keep his fists from clenching up; struggle to keep his gait even. Briefly, you wonder if the reason he wears a mask is so his emotions won’t run amok across his face. It’s certainly easy enough to read the rest of him, if you bother looking.

“Are you not afraid of me?”

You stop short, surprised. Even when he seems to be in a good mood, he rarely says anything. “No sir, I’m not. Should I be?”

“Yes,” he says flatly. Just, yes, as though that’s the only possible answer to his question.

“Well… just don’t come at me with your fancy glowstick, and I think we’ll be alright, yeah?” You offer him an easy grin, instinctively reaching out to tap him playfully on the shoulder before you remember who you’re talking to- it quickly gets withdrawn. He simply stares at you, and you’re unsure if you’ve just doomed yourself to a cold and miserable fate on Hoth. “I’ll see you later?”

He just turns and stalks away, and you sigh, shoving your hands in your pockets. He never answers that one. Which, to be fair, he probably has much more important things to do than run around entertaining some random engineer. Still, he never blows you off though, even when you’re rambling or asking too many questions- he might not answer the questions, but he doesn’t tell you to shut up either.

Truth is, you’re a bit fascinated with the man. He’s an enigma, a mystery, and your whole life you’ve been trained to solve mysteries; pull out the broken pieces and wind it all back together again even better than the day it was brand new. You can only hope someday that helmet of his will short circuit and you’ll get a chance to take a crack at it.

You have to pull yourself away from watching Ren’s retreating back, refocusing on your job. Rookie to train. TIE Fighters to tune up. Right.

It’s pretty easy to spot your trainee- he’s tentatively poking around a TIE the way you do when you want to look like you know what you’re doing, but in actuality you’re three seconds away from seriously messing something up. When he gnaws his lip and reaches for a panel of circuitry, you step in- “OKAY! Let’s back away from that, shall we?”

Startled, he knocks himself away from the board he’s studying. “Right! Right. Uh, sorry.”

You gingerly close the panel back up and push him a few steps away from the battleship, then wipe your hands on your pants and hold out a hand. “I’m Y/N. I’ll be your supervisor for the day. Rule number one? Don’t touch anything unless you know for certain what it is, what’s wrong with it, how to fix it, and all the ways it can kill you if your finger slips.”

The kid’s cheeks pale a bit. “Right. I’m Cale.”

“Wonderful. Don’t blow anybody up and don’t put our heads under the general’s fist, and I’m sure we’ll get along great.” You tug on your gloves, tighten the cord securing your hair, and put a hand on your hip. “First thing’s first- how much do you know about twin ion engine ships?”

You spend the better part of your shift going over every inch of the craft in front of you, as well as the science that makes it run and the parts that need hands on them more often than not. “…and this is the engine itself. It destabilizes xenon gas and uses the resulting broken-off electron for thrust. Xenon gas is ideal because for the most part, it’s completely inert- fireproof, explosion-proof, etcetera. As long as it’s converted back to a stable state before it’s exuded by the engine, it’s pretty safe. But you should still be extremely cautious when working on the engine itself. Obviously. It’s worth more than we ever will be.” You press your wrist to your forehead, trying to think of anything you missed. “Okay. Any questions?”

“…No?”

“Cool.” You check your datapad. “This one needs new electrostatic grids. Xenon gas is fairly corrosive. Check with me before you do anything, and we’ll get to work, okay?”

Other than the occasional question here and there and getting used to someone hanging over your shoulder watching you tinker, you settle into a wonderfully familiar routine. Your fingers fly like they have a mind of their own, effortlessly making the rig in front of you shine like it did when it first came off the line.

“-so what do you do here, anyways?”

You shake your head, pulled from the flow of work- “um, little bit of everything? I got promoted to senior a few years ago so I’m called all over base. I work a lot with command and their personal rigs and equipment.”

You can’t see Cale’s face, but you can hear the curiosity in his voice. “You work with General Hux?”

“Yes. He’s just as…intense, as everyone makes him out to be. But thus far I’m not on his bad side and I plan to keep it that way, so I’m not saying anything else about it.”

“What about-” he pauses, like he’s looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else in the massively busy hangar is listening in- “Kylo Ren?”

You wedge a particularly tight support into place with a grunt. “What about him?”

“Is he really insane? I heard that-”

“No,” you say harshly. “And you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. He’s a person, just like everyone else, okay?” Christ, the rumor mill is as exhausting as it is useless.

Thankfully, something on your tool belt starts beeping and you can focus on that. A little indicator light is flashing orange, harsh and neon. “Interesting.”

Cale pops his head out from underneath the ship. “What’s beeping?”

“This monitors the air quality; lets us know if the composition of gases gets unbalanced. It generally means there’s a leak somewhere.” You glance at what you’d doing. More electrostatic grids. “What are you working on down there?”

“Oh, a few tanks were too pressurized, so I released the valves a bit to relieve those.”

You blanch. “The xenon canisters?”

“Um… maybe?”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Just before you can hit the alarm button, you see a spark from a nearby welder flicker- it arcs to the floor almost in slow motion, one small bit of fire promising catastrophe. If you’re lucky, it won’t catch- it will fall harmlessly to the floor and extinguish, giving you time to alert others, clear the area, and reset things when proper ventilation has made the area safe.

But when have you ever been lucky?

All you see is red. You’re awash in it, swimming in it, drowning until your whole being is nothing but scarlet and an unholy, white-hot, supernova blue. You’re in the heart of an exploding star, witnessing the birth of the universe, and it’s just as beautiful as you’d imagine the very atoms of space rearranging themselves would be.

Then there’s stillness. The colors fade. It’s not silent- no, there’s a ringing in your ears, and somewhere very, very far away something like an alarm. And then- pain.

Oh, the pain. It flashes through your nerves like lightning, so intense you almost can’t comprehend all the little nuances screaming across every inch of your body. Joining the ringing and the far, distant sound of klaxon alarms comes a high-pitched, desperate sort of scream. You turn to help whoever it is- you raise a hand in front of you, only to see rapidly singing flesh. It’s you. You’re the one screaming. You’re the one on fire.

Sprawled on the floor of the hangar, vaguely aware of everything and nothing, hoarsely begging for this to stop, stopstopstop please make this stop, you wonder just for one second if the tall cloaked figure at the other end of the room is a hallucination or wish fulfillment or both.

You lose consciousness before you can come to a decision.

A/N: Yee

[letspanicatthedisco-imagine-blog]

It’s Always Been You

Synopsis: You and Brendon have been friends for years, and there has always been something between you to- but it’s never been brought to the surface. Until now. 

There he is, across the room talking to complete strangers like old friends. The room echoes with his infectious laugh. His eyes light up as he flashes you an amiable smile. You smile back before taking another sip of your champagne as the bubbles tickle your nose. No matter who you are conversing with throughout the night, and no matter where your eyes wander, they always find their way back to Brendon. The air wafts of his cologne and the comforting smokey smell he seemed to have harvested in his leather jacket as he finds his way through the crowded room. He sits on the barstool next to you- his legs so long his feet sit flat on the floor.

“Hey, having a good time?” “Yea- you must be happy to see so many people come?”

He chuckles as his hands wrap further around his half empty glass of whisky- “I’m just happy the album is finally done.” He looks at you as you bring the glass of champagne back to your lips, listening.

“Thanks again for coming, really… I know how busy you are with work and everything and you don't really know a lot of people here”

“Do you?” You challenge him, smirking.

You had attended your fair share of album release parties and they were always the same: “important” studio executives, press, and whoever management wanted to impress all packed in like sardines- pretending to be cordial and professional while meanwhile slowly losing their inhibitions at the open bar and fighting to congratulate Bren on the album they probably briefly listened to on the way there. The number of people there he actually know or cared about was probably equal to the number of drinks each executive drank at the bar.

“No, but what’s new.” He takes a sip of his watered down whisky and reiterates “I really appreciate it”

“Bren of course, I wouldn’t miss it”. Once again he flashes you a smile, this one softer and more grateful.

There has always been something about him that draws you in. It’s not just his sharp and rugged jawline, or his bright eyes and soft smile. Perhaps it's his vivacious character, or maybe his play hard work harder attitude. Maybe it was the way he always could read through your fake smiles in times of pain or the way he belted every high note in the car- but whatever it was you couldn't keep yourself away. But the unspoken connection you had toward each other remained just that- unspoken. Similar to a flame lightly flickering on a candle, never reaching a complete burn. It seemed as every near chance at exploring something more was interrupted by the complexities and trials of life. Your lives seemed to be polorazing, always pulling in opposite directions. Whether it be college, tours, recording contracts, new jobs, or study abroad your lives rarely crossed paths even opening the door for the possibility of anything to grow.

There were moments that made you yearn for his companionship as more than surface level. On his 18th birthday you drunkenly kissed beneath the blinding strobe lights and ear piercing club music that moved through your bodies on the sticky bar floor. Your lips found their way to each other as you found yourself being pushed back and forth by the crowd on the dance floor. You remember feeling the vibration through your lips as they tingled meeting his. It was magnetizing. But as you pulled away you could see in his eyes a drunken glaze of bewilderment and you accepted that he would not remember the shared moment come morning- which he did not.

But you always had these moments- just glimpses throughout the year that confirmed the care you had for one another. Before his last album press tour he stayed at your place for a few days, and you had the always saddening job of dropping him off at the airport. He pulled you into a hug saying goodbye, but that goodbye suddenly became so hard. It felt different- more painful, more important. He was only leaving for a week but as you embraced you felt his long arms wrap around you tighter. His hands clutched the sides of your oversized hoodie as he clung to you, burying his head into your neck. You backed away gently from his embrace to wipe the tears that had inconspicuously fallen from your now tear weld eyes. You jokingly nudged him to leave, but something about the way he looked at you before going through the airport doors were… different.

-----

“How’s Scott… he was telling me how he asked you to move into his place?” Brendon asks avoiding your eyes, instead gazing at the ice in his whisky sloshing around as he swirls his glass.

“He’s good and yeah- I mean not really. He asked but I just have a lot going on right now with my job and I still haven't unpacked all my boxes as it is in my new place so… yeah maybe… I don't know”

Brendon nodded, pressing his lips together as he put his glass back down on the bar. You and Scott had been together for.. Was it 8 months already? You actually met through Brendon. He was sweet and treated you well. Your relationship was moving fast- at least you thought it was.

Brendon pushes his drink toward the front of the bartop and turns to you “We should probably get going- I have to pack everything still for my flight.” You grabbed your jacket off the back of your chair and gulped down the remainder of your drink. The ride back to your place was abnormally quiet, him only uttering a few meek responses at your attempts at conversation starters. Finally you returned to your flat and still in an uncomfortable and irregular quiet Brendon packs the remainder of his belonging into that old duffel bag he refused to replace- no matter how many times you begged. He sluggishly comes down the stairs and drops his bag by the door, the old leather folding onto itself. You walk over toward him,

“Hopefully your UBER doesn't get lost again. I don't want you to miss your flight. You have your passport right? And-”

“Y/N”... he blurts out, piercing the silence he had imposed since you left the party. He breathes heavy as his hands sink themselves into his back pockets. His head gravitates to the side exposing his sharp jawline as he looks toward his bag on the floor in front of him. In a barely audible tone he rasps “I can't do this anymore”.

You cautiously move to the edge of the staircase banister. You lean against and look at him puzzled. “Do what anymore?”

He looks around the room- avoiding your attempt at eye contact “This” he says with stronger force “This… this pretending like there isn't anything here I just.. I cant keep doing this!”. He grew into a soft yell as he continued and you can hear the frustration in his tone.

“Bren what…” you pause and catch his eyes as they now gaze at you with a piercing fierceness and purpose. “What are you talking about?”

“You want the truth- honestly? The truth is I can’t get you out of my mind. When I wake up, before I go to sleep, on tour, whatever- it’s always you. Its fucking you and I can't get you out of my fucking mind!” 

He breathes heavy as his tone changes from frustration to a softer, more eager softness. “ The way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the way you cry the instant one of those sad dog commercials come on TV, the way your voice cracks when we duet in the car. I just… I can’t stop.”

He stopped to catch his breath and re-focus. The stillness in the air was thick and heavy.

“You make me laugh harder than anyone else can- make me laugh so hard my cheeks hurt. You know me better than I fucking know myself. And you don’t take my shit- you challenge me. I don't remember when I fell in love with you. I just remember hugging you goodbye and realizing how much it was going to hurt when I had to let you go... And I know this isn’t fair- Scott is great.. He really is and I in no way want to fuck with that or your happiness but… I can't pretend anymore.  And I tried to ignore it but I can’t. After all these years I just… I don’t know what else to do. I could be fucking it all up right now but at this point I am willing to take the risk because as scared as I am to fuck this up, I am more terrified to lose you because I know I won’t find anyone like you. You are it for me”

He sighs- exhausted by his own thoughts “I don’t expect you to do anything… I don’t know what I really expected but… I just needed you to know. I just.. I need you to know what you mean to me.”

You don’t respond, the words abruptly getting lost as your mind scrambles staring at him in the still quiet resting between the two of you. Your lips part as to speak but you fail to form the words to formulate what you feel. You don’t know what to feel. You are struggling to comprehend all that just happened. As he goes to close the door, standing outside, he catches you one more look- both of you unable to find anything worthwhile to say. He shuts the door, leaving you alone in the silence. What now.

I was very inspired by Love Rosie and took my own spin on the idea of a destined love type deal. Part 2 is posting later in the week. Write me and let me know what you think :) 

[luki-fanfic]

Bleach Fanfic: Daydream

So I’ve been meaning to work on my KHR fics, but this idea (which has been lying in my documents for months) decided it absolutely had to be written right now, so I smashed out enough for a first chapter.  Hopefully will be continued, but I’ve mostly got ideas rather than a plot right now.

Warnings for attempted suicide (sort of - character doesn’t think they’ll die when they do it, but still deserves the warning)

“It’s working!”

“It does appear to be neutralising the effects.  

Ichigo winced, trying to ignore the voices surrounding him.

After he’d collapsed from defeating Aizen, Ichigo had found himself floating in a hazy blackness.  The voices of Zangetsu and his hollow were gone, and he’d never realised just how empty it was without them.

It could have been minutes, it could have been years, but eventually Ichigo found the sea of nothing ebbing away, blurry noises turning into voices that sounded slightly familiar.

“If these results are right, he should wake up in the next hour.”

“Oh Ichigo, my baby boy…just wait a little bit longer.”

“Lady Shiba, I need you to wait outside while we administer the last dose. Your husband has been contacted and is on his way.”

Ichigo groaned, the darkness fading away and his senses returning with painful clarity.

Damn, Unohana must have him on some good stuff.  That second voice had sounded almost like his mother.

It took a ridiculously long time to open his eyes – it felt like they’d been welded shut – and when he finally did, the light from the room had him slamming them shut again.  The next time he tried, he managed to endure it, and tried to sit up.

He regretted it almost instantly. His arms collapsed under his own weight, crashing back onto the pillow.  

What was going on?  He’d expected to wake up in agony, but instead he just felt…weak.  His arms were more like noodles, and his chest was heaving just from that small act.

Just how long had he been asleep for his muscles to atrophy that badly?

“Good afternoon Ichigo.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the voice.  Unohana was watching over the bed, a pleased smile on her face.

“I must say it’s a great pleasure to see you awake,” she said.  “And I’m not the only one.”

“Unohana?” Ichigo croaked.  “What happened?  How long was I out for?”

His eyes widened at the sound of his voice.  Even with a dry throat, that was terrifyingly high.

“A very long time Ichigo” Unohana told him.  “But there’s someone here who has been waiting just as long to see you again.”

She moved towards the door, opening it and speaking to whoever was waiting outside.

“He’s awake, are you ready to see him?”

Ignoring the frailness, Ichigo forced himself into a sitting position, trying to see who Unohana was talking to. He assumed it would be Rukia or Renji – but those musings immediately fled his head when he finally got into position and actually got a good look at himself.

This is not his body.  At least…it hasn’t been for almost a decade.  He’s short, and his arms are soft and chubby, lacking any kind of muscle. This isn’t the body of a warrior. It’s not even the body of a teenager.

It’s the body of a child.

“Ichigo…oh Ichigo…”

He looks up, and freezes.

It’s his mother.  Wearing a kimono he’s never seen, but her face is exactly the same as it was that rainy night.

Her hands are covering her mouth, eyes brimming with unshed tears.  Before Ichigo can process what he’s seeing, she moves – arms wrapping around him and hugging him tightly.

“My baby boy!” she sobs.  “I’m so sorry.  I never should have left you alone – I swear, I’ll never let you out of my sight again!”

“I think that might be a bit of an over-reaction Lady Shiba” Unohana added, as his mother reluctantly pulled away. She smiled, eyes still wet as she brushed a hand through his hair, and paused when she took in the shocked look on Ichigo’s face.

“Ichigo, what’s wrong?” she asked, pulling away as Ichigo shook his head.

“No…”

His mother frowned.  “No?  No, you’re not okay, Ichigo what-”

“I said no!” Ichigo snapped, head shaking furiously.  “I don’t believe this!  I don’t believe any of this!  You’re not real!  I’m not falling for this Aizen!”

The illusion’s face fell, and her hands reached for him again.  

“Ichigo, what are you-“

“Don’t touch me!”

He slaps them away, and Unohana pulls the illusion back.

“Maybe it’s best if you gave him some space.  Come with me Lady Shiba.”

She was clearly reluctant, but the illusion of his mother let herself be guided out the room while Ichigo tried to push back the panic attack that was threatening to bubble to the surface.

Dammit, when had Aizen hit him?  How had he hit him?  His shikai was a frustrating nightmare, but Ichigo was pretty certain it wasn’t capable of this level of hypnosis.  

Unless…was this Aizen’s bankai? The ability to trap someone in a false world?  But then when had it started?  Aizen was down for the count when he blacked out, so it must have been during the fight.

In that case…

‘Zangetsu?  Old man, are you there?’

His heart sank when he failed to hear an answer.  So, sometime after Ichigo thought he’d cut Aizen down, but before Kisuke showed up.

Is he unconscious in the real world? Or are his allies just watching him in horror?  Was that illusion of his mother really someone else?

He has to get out of here.  Find somewhere isolated and fix whatever this is.

With a quick glance at the door, he yanks off the blanket and heads straight for the window.  Or at least he tries to – he’d forgotten his apparent shrinkage and misjudges the landing.  But even if he had, it would have been the least of his issues - his legs buckle and he crashes to the ground, not even attempting to support his weight, and he cracks his chin on the ground.

He curses and curls into the foetal position, hands clutching it tight.  Dammit, pain is apparently the one thing he can rely on right now.  There’s a big surprise.

Focus Kurosaki.  If it hurts, bite down and use the adrenaline to get the job done.  You’ve done it before, you can do it again.

It takes a ludicrous amount of effort, but he struggles to his feet and stumbles to the wooden slats.  They’re locked, but he’s still tall enough to tilt the lock if he stands on his tiptoes.   Once they’re pushed open, he’s hoisting himself over the windowsill, and crashes to the ground.  He doesn’t have time to catch his bearings – once he’s out, he’s half running, half crawling towards the exit.  By this point he knows the medical district like the back of his hand.

Or…he thought he did.  Some of these buildings aren’t where he remembered, and he collapses when he turns the final corner and sees a wall where there should be an exit.  Before he can even process that, an alarm starts blaring from the hospital, and Shinigami start emerging from buildings.

Ichigo throws himself down a street and through the first open door he can find.  It ends up being some kind of kitchen area, thankfully empty, and he slides down the wall in exhaustion.  This body is pathetically weak, and it’s becoming clear the ‘Shinigami’ will find him sooner rather than later.  And since he still doesn’t understand if this is all a dream or a fantasy pasted onto reality, he needs to figure out a plan fast.

Okay, if this is an illusion of Aizen’s, there’s no way to break it.   He might still be awake, which would explain why his memory of the division doesn’t match where he’s walking, and the fight with Aizen had put his body through the ringer, which could explain why his body just will not work, but it could also just be lucid dreaming – if Aizen had the power to overlap an entire world with his bankai, the soul society would have lost the war before it ever started. Every Shinigami in the Soul Society would have been his puppet – it makes far more sense that he’s unconscious and dreaming this whole thing while Aizen tries to get away.

He glances over at the kitchen drawers.

And if this is just a bankai-induced dream, maybe he can break it like one.

Outside, voices are starting to call out, and he crawls over, not wasting the time trying to stand.  The second drawer reveals exactly what he’s looking for, knives sharp enough to pierce bone.  He grabs the lightest one – the only handle that doesn’t have his hand shaking from the weight, and pulls back the sleeve of the medical outfit.

He makes to cut…but his hand hesitates at the sight of the skinny, pale flesh.

‘It’s not real’ Ichigo hisses to himself.  ‘It’s just a dream.  It can’t be real.’

Still, he has to close his eyes and look away before he can slice through the flesh.  At first it doesn’t hurt, and he wonders if he missed the arm entirely – and then his limb bursts in vicious, unimaginable pain.

His eyes snap back to the limb, widening at the sheer amount of blood that’s managed to pool out in the handful of seconds.  There’s a disconnect at the sight – he still refuses to believe that arm is connected to him, and the sight of a child’s arm drenched in blood is ripping his head apart.

Already he feels faint, and doubt starts to creep in.  Rationally he knows it’s his bodies way of trying to stay alive, but that voice gets quieter with every second that passes.

Shouldn’t this be enough?  Shouldn’t he wake up by now?  Does he have to go unconscious from blood loss first?  

Adrenaline somehow makes it through, mixing with the desperate instincts screaming NO to that last question, and he gasps as he reiatsu pushes through, bursting out and smashing into the opposite wall, completely out of control.  It’s pushing out, wild and reckless and refusing to be pulled back no matter what Ichigo tries, not that he has much will left at this point.

On the plus side, at least that means this must be a dream.  This wouldn’t be possible in the real world after the final Getsuga Tenshou, and there would be no point in adding it to the illusion, right?

He’s not got much time to ponder that though.  This burst of reiatsu would be attracting every Shinigami in the nearby radius, even if it’s starting to die down as Ichigo’s vision fades.  When he wakes up again, it should be broken.

It should be-

His eyes are starting to close, so he hears more than sees the door burst open.  All he can make out is a figure in black.

“ICHIGO!”

The figure lunges for him, and Ichigo just manages to register the man’s arms around him before everything goes dark.

---

When he wakes up, it’s to the medical ward again, and his arm really hurts.

He already knows what he’ll see, but he still lifts it out into view, face falling as he takes in the child’s limb wrapped in bandages.

It didn’t work.

“You should consider yourself lucky. Another minute and even Unohana would have struggled to save you.”

Ichigo snaps his head in the direction of the voice.

“Kisuke?”

The man smiled, tilting his hat both in greeting, and clearly to hide the fact that the expression didn’t reach his eyes. Ichigo frowns as he takes in scientist’s appearance - he was still wearing his signature hat, but his usual outfit was missing, replaced with a Shinigami uniform, a captain’s coat slung over it.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you recognised me, given the circumstances” he says.  “I was asked to come explain things to you, being one of the few that fully understands the situation.”

“Kisuke,” Ichigo repeats.  “What happened?  How long have I been unconscious?”

This is taking a very strange turn. First his mother, now…pre-Vizard Kisuke? What is this?

The…Captain? walked towards his bed, taking a seat next to him, features schooling into something far more serious.

“Ichigo, I’m afraid I have something quite serious to tell you” he said.  “What is the last thing you remember?”

He frowned.  “I’d just beaten Aizen” he replies.  “Then you showed up, there was kido, I was kind of out of it to be honest.  Why?”

Kisuke gave him a sad smile that frankly did nothing for his nerves.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen the shopkeeper look like this.

“Ichigo, you’re not going to like what I’m about to say, but I assure you, it’s the truth” he said.  “Eight years ago, you were abducted from outside your home by Aizen Sousuke.  He wanted a spiritually powerful soul to try a new experimental process, and chose you – both due to convenience, and to strike a blow against your family.  You were induced into a type of medical coma – in which you lived in an illusionary world that would force your mind to evolve far beyond its natural abilities.  From the records I’ve read, you would have believed you were human, residing in the living world.”

“I am human” Ichigo snapped.  “I admit it’s a little bit…muddled, but I’m still human.”

Kisuke holds his hands up.  “No, you’re a soul, as is everyone in your family. Your mother, admittedly was human, and came here when she died, but you have never actually been there.  The world you lived in was fake.”

The Shinigami sighed.  “Evidently, it was very effective.  Your memories were completely wiped, and you’ve clearly accepted the illusion as reality, judging from how high your reiatsu levels grew while unconscious.  We only discovered you and Aizen’s treachery two years ago, and it took years to manufacture an antidote to bring you out.  Everything we did seemed to make things worse at first – your reiatsu kept spiking.  I was starting to think getting you out without mental damage was impossible, but-“

He spread his hands.  “Apparently I underestimated you.  We monitored your brainwaves to predict the weakest moment in the illusion, administered the antidote, and you did the rest.  When you’ve sufficiently recovered, I’d love to talk to you about your experience.”

Ichigo is pretty sure his mouth is wide open.  He literally cannot bring himself to care.

“…That is the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard” he growls.  “And I’ve heard a lot of it!  Why the hell would I believe that?”

“You don’t have to believe it, but consider the facts” Kisuke argues.  “You are not currently human, or possessing the body you remember.  Yet, despite your impressive attempt to break the illusion you – understandably – believe yourself to be under, it failed completely. Unless you can explain that, you do have to admit the evidence does suggest that what I’m saying is true.”

Ichigo opened his mouth to argue, only to snap it shut when he couldn’t think of a reply.

No illusion could be so strong that it could alter memories, and he doesn’t remember Aizen going for his sword. And it’s hard to believe an illusion would still stay stable with the victim that close to death – if it was a dream, he should have woken up, if he was wandering around, Soul Society would be keeping him tied down and unconscious until they figured out how to break it.  

But if it wasn’t…

He choked back a gasp, heart beating frantically as he tried to wrap his head around the concept.  

A hand hesitantly touched his shoulder, and he jerked up to see Kisuke staring at him, clearly reluctant to be so close.

“Aizen has since been incarcerated” he explains.  “Neither he, nor his experiments can touch you again.  It has had an extreme effect on your reiatsu, but you’ll learn how to control that in time.  I am only sorry we were unable to catch Aizen Sousuke earlier.  I had my suspicions, but never acted upon them.  Many of my colleagues felt the same – if we’d spoken up sooner, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened.”

Ichigo looks away.

“I still don’t believe you” he says. Kisuke just shrugs.

“I probably wouldn’t believe me either” he says.  “But you’ll be under close observation after that last stunt, at least until you get a medical all clear.  It’ll take a while to flush all the toxins from your system, but once they do, your real memories should start to return.  I’m sure that will do more than any argument I can offer.”

---

Half an hour later, Ichigo finds himself picking at the stray threads on the blanket, doing everything possible not to look at the figure in the doorway.  Once Kisuke had left, he’d been at the mercy of Unohana, who had not taken to his attempted escape (literally and metaphorically) well.  But given his latest visitor, he sorely wished she’d come back for a round two.

“Ichigo?”

He swallows, shoulders tensing as his mother walks back into the room, far more hesitant than she had the previous time.  She pauses by the bed, shifting on her feet for a few moments before choosing to sit on a nearby chair.  A hand reaches over, only to stop when Ichigo freezes.  When he doesn’t speak up, she finishes the distance, taking his tiny hand in hers.

“There was a time I was afraid I’d never get to do this again” Masaki whispers, joy obvious in her face. Ichigo braces himself, and turns to face her.

It’s still like being hit by a truck. Her face, her smile – it hasn’t changed at all.

“I’m sorry, it just doesn’t feel real” Ichigo admits, hating that he has to say it, even to a possibly fictional version of his mother.  “You’re dead. I saw you die.  And I never saw the Soul Society until I was 16.”

“You turned 16 almost 20 years ago” His mother replied, a sad smile emerging from her face.  “Unohana and Kisuke say your memories should start coming back once the chemicals are fully flushed from your system.  Once we get you home, maybe things will start feeling familiar.  Your sisters will be coming tomorrow, they wanted to come today but we thought we should take it slow after you…reacted badly.”

Ichigo nods, grateful for the idea. He wouldn’t want his little sisters to see him like this, even if they weren’t real.

“However,” his mother began. “Your father has been waiting outside. Do you think you’re up for seeing him?”

Ichigo winced, images of Isshin blasting into the room and trying to punch him into the wall.  He really didn’t think he was up facing that.

His mother seemed to notice his discomfort, and squeezed his shoulder.

“I promise he won’t go overboard” she insists.  “He just wants to see you.  He’s the one that found you after…”

Ichigo winces.  Yeah, that wouldn’t have gone over well.  Looks like Isshin is still a Shinigami in this world too.

He sighs, and gives his mother a smile.

“Okay” he says.  “I guess I can handle Goat-Face for a few minutes.”

His mother blinked in confusion. “…Goat Face?”

“Wow, that’s a flattering nickname.”

They both looked up, and Ichigo frowned as he took in the man waiting in the doorframe, waving one hand slowly.  

He look frighteningly like him, only slightly taller and with pitch black hair.  He had a hopeful smile on his face, and from the grip he had on the frame, was holding himself back from leaping over to Ichigo.  The appearance shook a memory from his mind, of Rukia telling him about the former Vice-Captain of the Thirteenth.

“Are you…Shiba Kaien?”

The man paled, smile freezing on his face.  He swallowed heavily, before walking into the room, sitting next to Masaki.  Both of them looked miserable as Ichigo drew back, staring at him in confusion.

“You…aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Kaien’s hands clenched.  

“Is that what happened to me in your dream?” he asked, and Ichigo nods.

“Yeah, by a hollow.  Happened decades before I was born.”

That seemed to confuse them even more.

“Decades before…Ichigo, don’t you know who this is?”

Ichigo frowned at his mother. “Shiba Kaien?” he repeated.

“To you” Masaki specified.  “What is he to you?”

“…My uncle?” Ichigo offered.

Kaien looked as if Ichigo had just stabbed him in the stomach, hands clenching in the sheets.  To Ichigo’s astonishment, Masaki grabbed one of them, tugging it loose and pulling it towards Ichigo.  Her other hand clasped Ichigo’s and brought it to the centre, creating a three-way hand hold.

“Sweetie…” she said.  “This is your father.”

Ichigo’s eyes widened.

“WHAT?”

[theshapeshifter100]

Guess What? I’m Not a Robot RC Ch14

Masterlist

Previous

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Chapter Warning: mentioned hostage situation, guns (If I’ve missed something, let me know)

Word Count: 3,819

10.30AM Thursday 11th November 2038

The two groups met up at roughly the same time, with Oscar loading the last of the water into the back.

“Why did you get so much water?” Nathan asked. “There’s only nine of us and I don’t think we’re planning on sticking around that long.”

Julia and Megan looked at each other, clearly trying to decide who was going to explain it. Oscar sighed, and did it for them.

“The soldiers are human too,” he declared, leaning out of the back of the van. “Lack of water will kill them quicker than lack of food.”

Anger flared in Paul’s abdomen, but he couldn’t deny they had a point.

“The others aren’t going to like that.”

“They’re going to have to live with it,” Megan decided with a quiver of uncertainty. “We’ll hand them out, so they won’t be in any danger.”

“And you?” Paul asked. “They may not have weapons, but they can still overpower you.”

“We’ll deal with it when we get back,” Julia jumped in. “For now, let’s just go.”

They climbed back into the van and Megan used the radio as Julia started the engine.

“How’s it at the fort? Over.”

Alex was quickly responding.

“All quiet here. Mission successful? Over.”

“Everything’s good, we’ll be back soon. Over.”

“Great, safe trip. Over and Out.”

11.15AM Thursday 11th November 2038

Alex was waiting anxiously for them to arrive, running over to the van before Julia had even parked.

“Did you get the stuff?” they asked Paul as the back doors opened.

“I’ve got the tools Zach wanted,” he confirmed. “It’s up to him now.”

Alex hopped from foot to foot as they all clambered out. They didn’t even question the amount of water they had brought back, Alex just grabbed Paul and Nathan and expected Ivy to follow.

Alex power walked to the compound and climbed through the fence, barely waiting for everyone else to get through before calling out.

“Zach! They’re back!”

The repair droid appeared from nearby and came over. Paul dropped his bag and opened it, revealing the tools for Zach to inspect.

“Th-this, is,” Zach squinted into the bag. “Everything I need! Did you get Thirium?”

In response Ivy and Nathan dropped their bulging bags to the ground, and Zach all but clapped with glee.

“Ex-excellent!” he turned to Alex, who was looking at him hopefully. “I have not forgotten, I shall get started immediately.”

11.20AM Thursday 11th November 2038

The supplies team couldn’t get all the water through the fence, so decided to leave the large gallon bottles in the van, to stop them freezing. The multipacks were split into as many singles as would fit in a bag and carried over.

Julia went straight to Alex, who was watching Zach set up.

“All good to go?” she asked, and Alex nodded.

“Yeah,” their voice was thick. “I really hope this works.”

“I’m sure it will. Zach knows what he’s doing,” Julia smiled reassuringly at the android, although he wasn’t looking to see it. “Where’s Allison, Lucas and Maggie?”

“Up top,” Alex replied. “They figured they might as well take shifts, since we’re still here.”

“I’ve got Lucas’s meds. Reckon you can give them to him when he comes down?” she asked, and Alex nodded, taking the medication off her. “Now, er,” Julia struggled for a second. “Given the number of soldiers, that we don’t want dying of thirst...”

“Jules, how much more water did you get?” Alex caught on quickly.

“About 80 bottles worth, plus about 3 gallons for us.”

Alex sighed, smiling softly. “I’m not surprised. I’m going to stay here though, so get someone who can shoot if you’re going to hand them out.”

Julia looked at her friend disbelievingly. “I know how to shoot.”

“Oh, oh yeah,” Alex looked sheepish and Julia shook her head.

“Whatever, you’ve got other stuff on your mind. Megan, Oscar, let’s get to it!”

Julia grabbed an assault rifle, after a quick explanation to the nearest android, and met Oscar and Megan by the first disassembling machine. Megan had an armful of water bottles, and Oscar was waiting.

Julia pointed her gun at the middle and nodded to Oscar. He gripped the join between the two jaws of the machine and pulled up, opening a gap.

There were instantly gasps and shouts from inside, but Julia kept the gun steady as Megan began to drop in water bottles. The soldiers were quickly getting restless, so once the last bottle was in Oscar shut it with a resounding clang.

“One down,” Julia declared. “Two and convoy to go.”

11.35AM Thursday 11th November 2038

Callum was not happy about this.

“They were more than happy to let us die!” he cried from just outside the tunnel. “Why shouldn’t we let them die?!”

“Because we want to show we’re better than them?” Oscar offered. “Besides, they were following orders. Sound familiar?”

Megan took half a step back at the thunderous expression on Callum’s face.

“That is not the same thing, we had no choice but to follow orders!”

“You think they have much of a choice?” Oscar asked. “Insubordination could lead to anything between job loss, and death. And in this economy they’re as bad as each other.”

“It’s still not the same!”

“You’re right,” Julia stepped in before it got worse. “It’s not truly a fair comparison, it’s just, enough have died here already. Do we want any more people dying?”

Callum thought about this before letting out a long sigh.

“Fine, do whatever. But don’t come crying to me if one of you ends up shot,” he stormed off to check on some of the androids, and the humans began to walk.

“You okay there Megan?” Julia asked. “I noticed you weren’t saying anything.”

“I don’t like arguing,” Megan muttered, which Julia caught in the near dead silence of the area.

“I noticed,” Julia smiled back. “It’s alright, let’s just do this.”

“Yeah,” Megan agreed, back already aching from the how many water bottles she was carrying. “Let’s do it.”

12.30 Thursday 11th November 2038

It was taking a long time, a lot longer than Alex clearly would have liked.

Paul could see it, the 20 year old was pacing back and forth as Zach worked, clearly holding themselves back from rushing him.

Paul got up from where he was sitting and had a look at the progress. Ella had a few of her body plates open and Zach was fixing the wiring inside. Most of her limbs were back on now near seamlessly, however if he squinted Paul could see some irregular welding. Barely noticeable unless you were really looking, but a sign of nervousness perhaps?

“Alex,” Paul said softly, “perhaps you should walk away for a little bit.”

Alex shook their head. “I want, need, to be here when she wakes up.”

“Zach won’t go any faster if you hang around like this.”

“Look, I know Paul, okay?” Alex threw their hands up. “I know I’m probably making it worse by hovering over him, but, I can’t leave, okay? I just, can’t.”

“Alright, alright,” Paul stepped back, hands up slightly. “I get it. You want to make sure she’s okay.”

“More or less,” Alex agreed, before shaking their head. “Sorry Paul, I know you’re trying to help.”

“And I know I’m not helping much,” Paul conceded. “There’s just not much else to do.”

“I hear that,” Alex half laughed. “You got Solitaire or what?”

Paul raised an eyebrow and Alex’s smirk faded.

“Yeah, bad joke. Not in good taste.”

“Not really.”

1.03PM Thursday 11th November 2038

Megan finally got to sit down in the security booth, and did so gladly next to a space heater. It had been the same story at damn near every van. Oscar would open the back doors, and brace himself for the inevitable break for freedom, Julia had her gun and Megan would throw a bottle of water in before Oscar shut the door again. They must have done that 50 times and it hadn’t gotten any less nerve wracking.

They had to stop after a while, as new vans had joined on the back on the stationary convoy and they didn’t want anyone seeing what they were doing. So, a few soldiers were going without for now, until they got enough support to take out the new trucks.

Oscar and Julia were on that now, and Megan just needed to relax.

That lasted all of thirty seconds before she was interrupted by Alex yelling.

Megan got to her feet to look outside, then quickly left the booth to get a better idea of what was happening.

Alex was kneeling next to Ella. They had her hand in a tight grip, and the wordless shout from earlier had devolved into soft mumbling.

Paul wasn’t far away, so Megan sidled up to him.

“Did it work?” she asked, “Is Ella...?”

“We don’t know yet,” Paul sighed. “Zach is about to try a different reactivation method.”

The aforementioned repair droid suddenly moved, Megan having missed him earlier. He crouched down by Ella’s head and the skin on both his hands retracted. He then held his hands on Ella’s temple and closed his eyes.

Nathan and Ivy were hovering nearby, so also came to see what was going on, as well as a few androids with not much else to do.

Nothing happened for several, long, minutes.

Alex suddenly started and looked at Ella’s face. The android began to twitch, her LED whirring into life, flashing red.

Ella suddenly jolted upright and looked around in clear panic, and Alex moved quickly, putting themselves into Ella’s immediate line of sight.

“Hey hey hey hey,” Alex said softly, and Ella could hear the smile in their voice. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“...Alex?”

It was so soft Megan wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard her right. Alex meanwhile bent their head and laughed softly.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“...How...?” Ella looked around again, slowly this time, taking everything in. “What happened? Alex, why are you here?”

“That’s a long story,” Alex admitted, “but I think we have a lot of time.”

Paul took Megan’s hand and they gave the two some space, walking back towards the security booth.

Megan sat down next to the heater, and Paul leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.

“You okay?” Megan asked, seriously considering shedding a layer.

“Yeah,” Paul nodded.

“You don’t sound too convinced.”

Paul looked away for a second. “I was just thinking; that could have been, you and me.”

“There would have been a lot more crying if it were you and me,” Megan added ruefully. “Alex probably won’t cry until they’re alone.”

“That does seem like them,” Paul agreed.

“What about you?” Megan looked over. “How are you holding up?”

Paul opened his mouth, closed it, and slowly sat down.

“...Can I talk some, stuff, through with you?”

“Sure,” Megan scooted closer. “What do you want to talk about?”

Paul cast his mind back to the CyberLife store, with him, Nathan and Ivy in the back, and he set the scene for Megan.

“I felt,” Paul paused, trying to remember. “I suppose it was the same as yesterday. I still think you’re all insane coming for me, but at the same time, I’m happy. Does that make sense?”

Megan nodded slowly. “Yeah, it does.”

“And, something Ivy said,” Paul could recall that perfectly. “She said, ‘you’re one of us.’ And I don’t know... I,”

“Easy,” Megan began to tap her finger against the metal in a rhythm. “What did you feel when she said that?”

“...Happy.”

“Anything else?”

“Surprise. A little disbelief, I think?”

“Makes sense,” Megan didn’t stop tapping. “Since you’re the only android, I guess you’ve been second guessing your place in this group?”

“Not so much second guessing,” Paul admitted. “I was always worried that, if they found out...”

“I don’t think they were mad,” Megan assured. “As soon as they found out what happened Alex jumped straight into a plan and they had pretty much found you by the time I got there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Alex had it all covered before I even had a chance,” Megan smirked. “Besides, we’re an android rights group. Did you really expect a different reaction?”

“I was worried they’d be angry that I’d lied to them.”

“If they were, I think they’re over it,” Megan gave him a gentle nudge. “Ivy’s right. You are one of us,” she huffed a little self consciously. “I know I’m biased, but from what I can tell, it’s all good.”

Paul nodded and let out a shaky exhale. “Okay,” he pulled his legs in slowly. “You’re right, but why do I feel like, I don’t believe it?”

“Because, you know it up here,” Megan tapped his head, “but you don’t quite know it here,” she tapped his chest where his heart would be.

“In my chest cavity?”

“I could not have more clearly meant your heart.”

Paul huffed out a laughed and ruffled Megan’s hair, laughing out loud as she let out a squawk of indignation. “I know- hey!” he cried out as Megan returned the favour, pulling off his beanie.

“There, now we’re even,” she declared as he pouted. “It’s not like it was tidy to begin with.”

He attempted to sweep his hair back into some semblance of order before putting his beanie back on. “I’ll concede that, but at least I’m trying! When was the last time your mop had seen a hairbrush?”

“As far as my hair is concerned, a brush is currently an endangered species,” Megan admitted. “I think that goes for everyone.”

“The sooner this is over-,” Paul sighed, but was interrupted by a radio crackle.

“Guys, we have a problem. Over,” Julia stated and Allison was quick to respond as Megan fumbled to get the radio off of her belt loop.

“What’s up? Over.”

The voice that came over next was not Julia, or even Oscar.

“You have taken over a government site,” intoned a low, eerily calm voice. “I will speak to who is charge here.”

Paul and Megan looked at each other before scrambling out of the security booth to join everyone else in the cold. Android Allies was rallying around Alex, who was looking at the radio with a look of panic of their face.

“Er...”

“I’ll do it!” Callum was far away and marching over quickly. “Everyone here listens to me anyway.”

Alex looked like they might argue for a second, before relenting and handing over the radio.

“They might not listen to an android,” they warned, and Callum scoffed.

“They won’t know I’m an android.”

He pressed the talk button on the radio. “I am the current leader here. What do you want?”

“You will release the soldiers you have captured and leave the site, allowing us to return it to full operation. In return we will give you back your friends. We’ll give you an hour to think about it. Over and Out.”

Callum almost crushed the radio in his grip. “That’s horse shit.”

“Is it that bad?” Allison offered, and barely quailed under Callum’s glare. “We can all get out of here, every android, every human, and run. No one else gets hurt.”

“They have Oscar and Julia,” Megan reminded. “We’ll have to meet them to get them.”

“No android needs to be there,” Allison countered

“We’ll all be arrested,” Maggie added softly. “It’s a ploy to arrest us.”

“And shoot the rest of us like rabbits. There’s a good chance they’ll be more of them” Callum growled, having already put the pieces together. “We can’t surrender like that.”

“What other option have we got?” Nathan asked. “Fight the military? That’s insane!”

“We are armed,” Callum considered.

“There’s not enough guns for everyone,” Paul interjected. “And the only other weapons we have are kitchen knives, rolling pins and one taser.”

“Then you lot go!” Callum cried, waving his hands around. “This is humans vs androids and you lot are the weird middle ground. This will be a lot simpler if you just go!”

“It’s still not simple,” Lucas added. “Because they still have Julia and Oscar. Humans, by the way. Even if we leave, are you guys really concerned about getting them back? Since it’s ‘humans vs androids’ as you put it.”

Callum’s face flushed blue. “We know what they look like,” he hissed, “are you seriously suggested we’d let them kill innocents?”

“You’re the one who said humans vs androids,” Lucas shrugged, “I’m just saying, it’s not that simple.”

“We’re staying,” Alex declared, ignoring the soft noise of protest from Ella. “We’re staying and we’re helping you fight.”

“Alex Briar, you have officially lost the plot,” Allison declared. “Did you miss the fact we don’t have enough weapons? Or that we’re dealing with the fucking ARMED FORCES! They’ll make mince meat out of us!”

“Listen to Blondie!” Callum gestured in Allison’s directions. “You squishies should get out of here.”

“And we’re back to the original sticking point,” Ivy sighed.

“We can’t leave Julia and Oscar,” Paul stepped in, “But we don’t have enough weapons to hold them off.”

“And whoever goes to get Julia and Oscar is likely to get arrested,” Megan filled in.

“There’s always a third option,” Ivy added, arms folded. “There’s always that invisible third option, we just have to find it.”

“Yes...” Megan’s brain began to whir. “We split, some of us go to get Oscar and Julia, the rest of us hold things here.”

“Might need a few more details than that,” Lucas interjected. “Are you proposing a rescue mission as we refuse to surrender? Or we lie and pretend to surrender while someone gets Julia and Oscar?”

“Both sound like they could go horribly wrong,” Nathan looked nervous.

“You have noticed where we are right?” Lucas asked, “And were involved in what we did to get here? You were handling the guys on the floodlights!”

“I had a taser and was damn near cacking myself the entire time!” Nathan snapped. “I never want to do that again!”

Allison then made the mistake of glancing at Alex, and groaned. “That’s your ‘I’ve got an idea I think that’s great’ face. I really hate that face.”

“We can do this,” Alex said slowly. “We get nearly everyone with a weapon on the perimeter. Everyone who doesn’t want to, or can’t fight stays in the middle to help with wounded or scouting or whatever needs doing. Myself, Allison and Ivy will go get Julia and Oscar back. Both of them know how to fight so once they’re free they can help us get away. We steal as many weapons as we can, defend from there. There can’t be that many soldiers there anyway.”

“There are so many things that could go wrong with that,” Nathan commented.

“I’m sorry,” Allison had similar thoughts “Three of us against who knows how many military personnel? You expect that to work?”

“We’ve got good height,” Lucas mused. “We should be able to see from here with binoculars what the numbers are.”

“You’re all crazy,” Callum added. “You could all die!”

“So could you,” Alex retaliated. “Anyone else have a better idea?”

“Yeah, you lot disappear and leave this to us!” Callum hadn’t given up on that train of thought.

“We’re not leaving,” Alex squared up against him, ignoring Ella trying to the pull them back. Callum and Alex stood off, neither blinking. Callum’s LED spun yellow and growled under his breath, stepping back.

“You’re crazy,” he declared, “Absolutely insane,” he stalked off to where most of the androids were patrolling.

“He’s sending out a message to see if anyone wants to go with you three for backup.” Paul informed, and Alex almost sagged with relief.

“Tell him we’re grateful for that.”

Paul nodded and the rest of the group began to work out where they would be. Julia, Oscar and Ivy were the only ones who knew had to shoot, and Ivy was going to get the other two back. It was decided that she would be the only one with a firearm on the human away team. The androids they had no real say over.

Paul was the only one left who could shoot, so the remaining members of Android Allies would be inside the compound. Lucas was going to in the surveillance booth at full height to keep lookout. Nathan was going to join him with the drones that could still be used. Meanwhile Maggie and Megan were going to be helping Zach with potential injured, namely bringing them over and holding bits that needed to be held.

A group of five androids had volunteered to help Alex’s rescue group, all armed. Megan didn’t know what the plan was, but she doubted they were going to be obvious.

She mostly tried to stay out of the way as everyone got organised, feeling snakes writing in her belly. She tried to breathe deeply to stay calm, but the icy air stung. Breathing shallowly wasn’t helping either and her head was just crowding with these stupid thoughts about breathing when everyone was going to die-

“Hey.”

Paul’s calm voice cut through the clamour in her head and she looked up at him. He was holding an assault rifle in one hand, muzzle pointed down at the ground. His other hand was reached out, not touching her shoulder, but close.

Megan nodded and Paul put the hand on her squeezing gently.

“We’ll be alright.”

“What if we’re not?”

“We will be,” Paul assured. “All of this,” he gestured briefly with the gun. “Is precaution. Alex’s group should be able to get the others back and not have to surrender.”

“Should?”

“Will,” Paul amended. “You’re with Zach; stay with him.”

“Stay safe,” it was only the tip of the iceberg of what she wanted to say, but the words just died in her throat and barely formed in her head.

“I’m on far side, I’ll be fine,” Paul smiled, giving her shoulder another squeeze. “And so will you.”

Megan nodded slowly, a bit calmer. “Don’t get shot.”

“I don’t intend to,” Paul smiled, and walked to his post.

Megan and Maggie awkwardly stood in Zach’s vicinity in the centre part of the compound. The android wasn’t really up for talking, constantly organising his tools and repairing some of the last few androids that needed it.

Lucas came over on the radio.

“AAA Battery, I can see the group. There’s about seven of them. No more vans seem to be joining the back. Over.”

“Good,” Alex responded over the radio. “See you guys soon. Over and out.”

Maggie and Megan looked at each other, hoping that they hadn’t given too much information to the military with Julia’s radio.

“It’ll be fine,” Maggie said to no one specifically, “We probably won’t have to do anything.”

Megan nodded, shoving her hands into her pockets.

Well, it wouldn't have been this easy the whole time. Shits going down, battle stations! Other Options Flowchart

(Paul) React to the water angrily. Respond empathetically. Say nothing.

(Megan) Respond uncertainly. Shrug.

(Megan) QTEs for throwing water bottles in

(Megan) Interject during the argument with Callum

(Paul) Be forceful with Alex. Steer them away saying nothing.

(Paul) Try to argue with Alex.

(Paul) Don't mention what happened in the Cyberlife Store

(Megan) Agree with leaving. Agree with fighting. Say nothing.

Tags @nightmarejim @septicart-appreciation