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floralquafloral · 3 years

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Watch out it's random splatoon headcanon time again

I was thinking about splatting and respawning recently, and @acid-hues used no less than Three looking emojis when I asked if anyone would want to hear my thoughts about how that stuff works, so here goes. Warning for potentially fatal quantities of pseudoscience, since I'm not a biologist or a chemist, just a goober who likes the squid game too much ;P

1. What is splatting?

Splatting is a reflex in inklings and octarians that occurs when they're been critically injured. It allows the cephalopod to escape and recover from a potentially fatal situation, effectively unharmed. Almost all of their body mass is liquefied to ink in a similar process to squid-form transformation, but it's all lost, resulting in the characteristic splatter. The only remaining structure is the "squid soul", which isn't actually a soul so much as a balloon-like vessel that can (under the right conditions) develop into a whole inkling body again.

2. What is a squid soul?

Squid souls aren't actually incorporeal souls, they're just very complicated (and lightweight) biological structures that contain all the mechanisms and information necessary to create an inkling body. Kind of analogous to an egg: given food and time, an egg can turn into a whole animal. Squid souls are just a great deal more precise, in that they generate an inkling body almost exactly as it was before, including the brain and all the inkling's memories and such. The squid soul itself, like an egg, isn't really comparable to an actual inkling - the soul can't talk, or eat, or think. The squid soul doesn't have a brain, and it only has just enough nervous system to seek out a location where it can respawn into a proper body. It uses a rudimentary form of the same senses that allow for the Turf Map. Because the squid soul isn't conscious, getting splatted kind of just feels like a very violent form of teleportation.

More information on the processes & technology behind respawning under the readmore :)

3. How does a squid soul respawn?

Squid souls can only develop into a proper inkling body if they can access two things: A bunch of biomass, and a bunch of electricity. Biomass is necessary because almost all of the inkling's original body has been exploded all over the place, so you need a bunch of stuff to make a new one. A large enough well of pure ink can contain all the necessary material for a body, but most respawn tech uses solutions of ink with other useful things dissolved into it. Respawning from a well of pure ink doesn't feel very good. Pure ink doesn't contain a very good amount of vitamins, iron, etc., so the new body will probably have less of that stuff in it than the old one.

Electricity is necessary to separate different compounds out of the ink, and to provide the energy required for some of the chemical reactions that need to take place - you can't just mush a bunch of ink together and get a body out of it.

4. What could prevent a successful respawn?

This part is pure headcanon, since there's nothing from the base game that relates to this, as far as I'm aware.

Some sources of injury won't trigger the splat reflex; the most common example is prolonged exposure to small amounts of water. Getting caught in heavy rain for hours can dissolve the body without ever triggering the splat reflex, so you just... don't come back.

Old age or severe illness can inhibit the reflex as well. If a young and healthy squid gets hit by a bus, they will explode and come back at the nearest respawn point. If someone whose splat reflex isn't working gets hit by a bus, then they just get run over, which very bad. Alternatively, in some cases the splat reflex could fail to generate a squid soul, so you'd just explode and not get to respawn, which would be exceedingly terrible.

For the kind of squid who would sign up for Turf Wars, there's basically no chance of this stuff happening, but there are still mandatory physicals before you can sign up for a Turf War just to make sure.

Lastly, of course, if someone gets splatted too far away from a viable respawn point, the squid soul will expire after only a few minutes.

5. What kind of tech allows for a respawn?

There are four different places you can respawn in-game: In the online battle maps (5.1), in the Octarian domes (5.3), in the Deepsea Metro's test stations (5.4), and from a Grizzco Tank (5.5). There's also presumably some way to respawn if you just, like, fall out of a tree and get splatted in the public park or something (5.2). There's also the floating respawn-thingies from the Splatoon 3 trailer, but since I don't know how they work in-game yet I don't have anything to make headcanons around. 🤷‍♀️

5.1. Turf War respawn pads: They're cheap to make, they work quickly, and they can handle dozens of squids getting splatted during a single 3-minute battle with no need for oversight during the game. It's worth remembering that the squid soul isn't sapient, it has no regards for the rules of a Turf War - so what prevents someone on Yellow Team from respawning at Purple's base? The answer is that, under most circumstances, the biomass requirement for a respawn can only be met with ink that matches your colour. Different colours of ink have different chemical compositions, so a squid soul that's seeking out a viable location to create a yellow squid won't be able to sense the purple respawn pad as a viable location.

The limitation of the Turf War pad is that they're not perfectly reliable. Occasionally it just won't appear as a viable respawn location to a squid soul, so someone will end up respawning outside the battle, which forfeits them from the match. (i'm only including this because i'm proud of coming up with an in-universe explanation for disconnects)

5.2. City respawn pads: Outside of inksports, it's still a good idea to have respawn pads all over the place so that if someone gets splatted they have somewhere to respawn. City pads, unlike Turf War pads, are designed to be 100% reliable and work for any ink color. Their natural drawback is that they require constant oversight. "Respawn operator" is a job you can have in most major population centers, that mostly involves sitting around, making sure nothing looks broken, and greeting anyone who shows up at the pad.

Getting splatted outside a battle isn't especially common (splatting someone outside a battle is a pretty serious no-no), so any given pad in the city will usually only get 1-2 respawns a day, if any at all. When someone shows up, the operator is supposed to write down their name, the time they respawned, and the reason they got splatted. If it was because of something legally messy like a road accident, they'll have more work to do to get that sorted out. If it was because of a Turf War pad failure, they'll contact the Judds to get that cleared up. If you were with someone when you got splatted, it's common courtesy to send a text or call once you respawn so they don't have to worry; since you won't have your phone with you when you respawn that's something the operator is also supposed to help with. Respawn operators are pretty helpful in general - if you tell them "I don't know how to get back to my house from here", they can usually give you a map or directions or something.

To allow for anyone to respawn at a City pad, they're filled with a very bright and saturated brown ink solution. This colour is unique in that basically any other ink colour can change into it very easily; if you get splatted while you've got red ink, you'll show up at the city pad with brown ink. This is why bright brown ink isn't frequently used for inksports (definitely not because the developers didn't want it to look like they're using poop for turf wars).

5.3. Octarian Checkpoints: As electricity is a precious and scarce resource for Octarians, their respawn pads are designed to use as little of it as possible. An Inkopolis respawn pad has a current running through it constantly, which combined with the large amount of ink, allows squid souls to perceive it as a viable respawn location. In contrast, Octarian checkpoints don't offer any ink or electricity when inactive. They only switch on when a nearby Octarian soldier gets splatted, using a signal transmitted by the Octarian's equipment. When they turn on, they temporarily fill with ink and run an electrical current, allowing the soldier's octo soul to make its way over and respawn before the checkpoint shuts down again.

The signal receiver of the checkpoints has a vulnerability that allows it to be overridden, which will fill it with any colour of ink solution and render it unable to receive power-on signals. The Hero Tanks worn by Agents 3 and 4 do this automatically when the agents get close to a checkpoint - this is why they're black before an agent gets close, then change to match their ink colour. However, once the checkpoint is overridden, it still doesn't provide electricity, and in fact can't be activated at all. The Hero Tank allows them to be used regardless by putting an electrical charge into the squid soul itself, so that it only needs the well of ink solution. It can only store up to three respawns worth of charge, though. If an agent gets splatted while the battery is empty, they're toast.

Octarians, of course, can't respawn at a checkpoint that's been overridden, not only because it won't power on but also because it doesn't match their ink colour anymore. Only one checkpoint will receive the power-on signal when an Octarian gets splatted, so when an overridden checkpoint is the one that receives the signal, there will be nowhere on the base for the Octarian to respawn. Instead, they'll end up in another dome, or in a civilian respawn pad. The agents aren't murderers, okay?

5.4: Deepsea Metro Test Station Checkpoints: The testing stations in the Deepsea Metro are adapted from Octarian checkpoints, but with some tweaks to reflect the different priorities of Kamabo Co. as opposed to the Octarian military. Metro checkpoints have their remote-activation functionality stripped out, and instead permanently activate once the test subject reaches them, filling with ink solution and receiving a constant electrical current. They probably still have the same vulnerability as the Octarian checkpoints, but Agent 8's has no means of exploiting it, and no reason to anyways - the checkpoints are already configured to match her colour, since they're there for the express purpose of respawning test subjects.

Because Metro checkpoints always match Agent 8's ink colour, the sanitized octarians in the test courses have nowhere they can respawn. Instead, they are simply replaced as needed.

5.5: Grizzco Tanks: I'll be honest, I can't come up with any good explanations for this one. The way it traps the squid soul inside it probably has to do with the same interference that blocks the Turf Map, but the explanation for why you have to shoot it to activate a respawn is beyond me. The best I can do is list what can be ruled out:

It's not because it's using the ink from the shot for mass. If the Grizzco tank itself doesn't contain enough ink for a respawn, then there's no way a single Inkbrush swing would output enough to make up the difference.

It's not using the kinetic energy from the shot to trigger some sort of chemical reaction. Getting hit by a Steelhead bomb or a Flyfish missile don't revive the player, even though they surely have more kinetic energy than something like a Bloblobber bubble, which can.

The weapons themselves aren't providing an electrical charge. If Grizzco could modify a Splattershot to output enough electricity to enable a respawn, then the tank would be capable of doing that itself without needing to be shot.

Whatever it is, it's probably not very good for you long-term to respawn like that. Grizzco just gives off those vibes, like working there is totally gonna mess up your health when you're older.

#oops! all infodumps #if you have any idea how the grizzco tank could work #please please please please tell me #this is gonna take up 100% of my mental real estate for weeks #floralaqua #splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon headcanons #splatoon hero mode #octo expansion #salmon run

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bird-in-a-cage · 4 years

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18 or 45! 💖

Thank you for the prompt! Sorry it took me a while to get back to you but I’m sure this will more than make up for it. Also two in one day? Look at me go!

My ask box is always open if anyone wants to drop a prompt from the list or just spout an idea off the dome!

I’ll get around to doing both. But here’s one just for now.

#18: “This is… exactly what it looks like”

Sailor Boy

Billy knew Steve’s routine as if it were his own, written all over his arm in permanent ink. He knew Monday was inventory day, Tuesday was delivery day. Wednesday and Thursday were Steve’s days off. Friday and Saturday Scoops Ahoy stayed open late, to coincide with the mall’s longer opening hours due to the movie theatre on the top floor, owners of the nautical based ice cream franchise clearly hoping that maybe movie goers would want to sneak in a cone or a tub mid flick.

Friday was when Billy finished early. His last swim class was at three. He could easily be done by five, shower just enough of the chlorine smell off his skin, change and be parked at the mall by six. He had taken the same route so many times now he could do it with his eyes closed, knew every stop sign, the rhythm of the traffic lights. How the cops liked to hide behind that low billboard on Maple to catch potential speeders heading out of town.

Even if he’d spent all of Thursday with Steve, rolling around his parents fucking mansion like the both owned the place, Friday was Billy’s favourite day. Friday he got to see his little sailor boy at work. Steve hated his uniform, he wasn’t shy about ever saying so. Hated the dumb hat, hated the dumb shirt that got itchy after two days of wear if it didn’t get washed in between, hated the socks he had to wear up to just below his knees that would constantly fall down, hated the fact his whole uniform felt wipe clean even though it wasn’t in the slightest. The one thing Steve hated and complained about most though, were the shorts. They were long and baggy and unshapely.

“It’s like wearing a sown up trash bag man, honestly!”

Billy loved those shorts. He loved the deep but not navy blue of their colour, he loved the white stripe that ran along the bottom of each cuff, he loved the deep pockets than ran much further down Steve’s thighs than they had any right too, he wasn’t carrying all that much around with him day to day, but most of all Billy loved the elasticated waistband. Always hidden almost halfway up Steve’s stomach the shorts were so big on his skinny frame.

Well, not skinny. Just skinnier than Billy. Steve still had plenty of muscle definition even if he was eating spoons of ice cream all day now, stealing maraschino cherries straight from the jar and rolling them with their juice in little cups of chocolate sprinkles, swearing blind he’d invented the greatest semi-healthy snack of all time just because at one point it had been a fruit.

Billy also knew that 6:15 was when Steve’s little work friend, that smart mouthed girl with too much eyeliner, went on her final break even though the store shut at eight. He knew to time it so good that sometimes he’d stroll in and Steve would still be talking like it was still her.

This day wasn’t one of those days. He strolled through the big open doors, that stupidly cheery music playing on a constant loop that must have driven Steve completely mad sometimes, to find him scooping up ice cream to display on their tubs. The place was dead. It always was. No one ever left the movie theatre mid picture to come down two floors just for ice cream, when the concessions were right outside. He kept scooping and piling even though Billy knew he had seen him. The corners of his lips twitched just a little then damped back down. Hiding a grin. Billy could play this game. He leant over the counter, pressing his chest up to the glass, knowing it would smudge just a little. No longer perfectly clear. Streaked with the last stubborn remnants of suntan lotion a crappy public shower couldn’t remove. Steve raised his head after a few long minutes into their stalemate and was still trying not to smile.

“Sir,” Oh he had on his customer service voice too, Billy loved that, it made the game more fun and he couldn’t hide the grin it caused to grow on his face. “Can I help you with anything?”

“That depends,” he pushed himself off the counter and slowly started spinning around the container of rainbow sprinkles, unscrewing the cap. “I’m looking for something specific.” He sucked on the tip of his finger and rolled it in the first layer of sprinkles until his fingertip was completely coated. Billy knew Steve hated when he did that. Both hated and loved it. Hated it because it was kind of disgusting, but loved it, cause, well, Steve was kind of disgusting. Under all the rich daddy’s boy front he was willing to try some kinky shit and Billy just drank up every last drop he could squeeze out. Billy wiggled his sprinkle coated finger around, watching Steve’s eyes follow it around like fish to bait, growing darker by the second.

“Well, I think I can be of some assistance….” he spoke calmly, and walked around more to the side of the counter. Billy matched his steps. He wasn’t quite over the invisible ‘employees only’ line just yet. They locked eyes and Steve’s were nearly black with desire. He took Billy’s hand in his cold ones, they had just been in a freezer after all, and he pulled gently. He popped Billy’s sprinkle covered finger into his mouth and let his eyes get hooded, in the way he knew drove Billy crazy, especially when that perfect wide tongue started cleaning up the sugar speckled digit and with his pretty boy pout sucking further down to the second knuckle, then the third with clear intent, firm muscle sweeping back and forth and around Billy’s rougher skin, rendering his brain fucking mush every time.

Steve let the finger go with a wet, but soft, pop, letting his eyes open again. Billy glanced a look down and there was a definite tent in those hated shorts. They both crashed together at the same time, kissing feverishly as Billy pushed and Steve pulled, both of them stumbling through the swinging door and up against the wall next to the always empty notice board. Billy pinned Steve up to it, knocking the cap off his head in the process as they kissed deeper, licking into each other’s mouths and sharing the taste of chemically coloured sugar. Steve’s needy hands found Billy’s hips easily and pulled, hard, letting out the sweetest little desperate moan as Billy’s thicker thigh found its way between his own. Billy let Steve’s lips go, kissing over his jaw heavily, and moved his leg higher, tighter, to ring out more delicious sounds.

His little sailor was always so cute trying to be quiet, especially at work, but Billy knew him inside out. Had made it his job to know every button Steve Harrington had, how and when to push them, which threads to pull at to watch him completely unravel. One of the first things they ever did, out in the quarry in the back of Billy’s camaro, Steve had humped his thigh like a bitch in heat. Steve loved his thighs. He was never shy in showing so. They were one of the big flashing buttons to push, to the point of Steve couldn’t come to the pool if Billy was on shift or risk popping a semi then and there just seeing a flash of red covering not very much leg.

Like this though, pressed up against the wall, Billy had all the control. Steve was pliant, warming his cold hands on Billy’s sun soaked stomach under his shirt, going over his abs with needy thumbs. Billy worked his thigh harder. Steve groaned biting his lip so not to let it all come streaming out loud and hot. He started grinding his hips at long last, all the layers of fabric between skin doing nothing but adding deliciously painful friction, as Billy nibbled his earlobe.

Yeah, Harrington had a lot of buttons. And god if they weren’t fun to press.

Deep down Billy wanted to ruin Steve for good. Even if what they had, whatever it was, wasn’t a long term plan and just a way to blow off steam for the long hot summer months, Billy was determined that no one would ever rock his little sailor’s boat like he could. No one would ever make Harrington come like he could, no one would ever make him cry out in the middle of the night with his peachy ass burning with hand marks like he could, no one would make him choke on a cock behind the arcade in broad daylight where they could be seen at any moment and still have those swollen come shiny lips beg for more like an angel’s prayer like he could.

Whether he knew it or not, Steve was going to be ruined for the rest of his days.

Billy growled next to his ear possessively. His sailor melted and ground his hips harder, starting to get desperate so soon. God if that didn’t make Billy’s dick kick something horrific in his jeans.

“Needy tonight huh baby?” Billy grunted roughly in his deepest voice, the one he knew that if Harrington had a pussy, it would make him gush buckets and ruin those shorts. “Did I not do a good job filling you up yesterday?” Billy pulled Steve’s hips off the wall to get his hands on that perfect peach, where he knew it must have been difficult to sit down all day, what with how red and sore it looked the night previous. He felt Steve’s hips stutter for just a moment, hissing around a moan as his body wasn’t sure if it was pleasure or pain or both it wanted to express. Billy wanted to laugh. He did keep singing harder god please harder so had no one but himself to blame for the mess he was in.

“Too good,” Steve sighed out as Billy worked his hands down the back of that elasticated waist, past his own briefs Steve had stolen that morning, grabbing handfuls of tenderized meat and squeezing rough. The noise Steve made was exquisite, his hips starting to rock again faster and stronger, pushing forward and pushing back in equal measure with no set rhythm. Billy loved when he was like this, his little plaything, teetering on the edge of no return.

“Let me see baby,” he muttered, dripping with heat and desire. “Don’t wanna get your uniform all messy. Captain will be mad.”

Steve scrambled to push his shorts and briefs down just enough for the thick, gleaming head to pop free but the rest still be trapped and untouched, pushing his shirt up over his stomach, fingers trembling and lips quivering around a sound that couldn’t be kept quiet as Billy’s sucked on but now dry digit found his sailor’s well used hole. His cock throbbed visibly between them, pushing out more shiny clear liquid that threatened to stain Billy’s pale denim jeans. God it made Billy’s mouth water. And if he wasn’t rock hard before he definitely was now.

But later. That was for later. They were running out of time.

Billy worked his thigh harder still, trying to keep up with Steve’s erratic hips which was no easy job, drinking down his noises of pure ecstasy, until his whole body stuttered and tensed and he came with a cry that couldn’t be contained, creamy white come splashing up his torso and staining his already pale skin. Billy smirked like the devil, kissing Steve deeply as he tried to pant coming down, taking his hands out of his boy’s shorts, only just managing to tuck him away and let his shirt fall over the mess when the door swung open and there was eyeliner girl, right on time. As always.

Steve had the dignity and had regained just enough mental function to look embarrassed, even if he was still panting like a mutt trying to speak with Billy all up in his space, greedy for it all. No one laid eyes on his sailor boy.

“It’s… fuck… I’m sorry Rob…”

She stared back blankly at the two of them, setting a Burger King milkshake, if Billy had to hazard a guess it would be strawberry flavoured, on the counter they had back here, simply saying “You’re scraping the freezer tonight,” before going back through the door from where she’d came.

Billy didn’t let Steve stand back up straight away, even as he knew the messy spatter of come was starting to dry and cause the uniform to stick to his slender body. He cupped Steve’s cheek and kissed him, rough but sweet. As sweet as Billy did really. Steve melted for it each time. Another button. Another step of ruining.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, getting Steve solid on his feet before letting go and walking away like he wasn’t painfully hard. The girl scowled at him blankly out front, especially when he took a cherry from the jar and grinned with it between his teeth while holding the stem, walking backwards out of the store and giving her a two finger salute from his forehead.

“Captain...”

Billy walked with purpose back to his car out front, having parked in his usual spot near the back where it wasn’t under one of the tall lights that illuminated most of the area, getting straight in to sit on his backseat and wait. He checked the time on his watch and lit up a well needed cigarette.

He had 45 minutes to wait for his little sailor to pull into harbour.

#prompt list #my writings #harringrove #billy x steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #also on my ao3 #boy howdy this is a dirty one #uniform kink ahoy #power kink ahoy #lots of ahoys

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brokenjardaantech · 3 years

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Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 9: A moment of reprieve, full with scheming and self-sacrificing idiots)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

summary:

In the past, Hank found Louis.

In the present, the deviants devise their next move.

In the past, Hank could only watch.

also on ao3

---

Before

‘Among all the places in Detroit, a dumpster is where you picked to spend your day off?’

Louis took his eyes off the slowly piling mountain of defective and broken androids in the distance, the strong wind tolousing his hair and the heavy, darkening clouds combining into a promise for heavy rain. Hank couldn’t see much of his face because the young man had pulled his scarf over his nose, but his watery and blank eyes were enough of an indicator of what he was feeling.

‘I have nowhere else to go,’ was Louis’ monotone answer, his voice nearly drowned out by the howl of the wind, ‘and… I…’ he shook his head. ‘I just need something to remind me that what I’m feeling is real.’

‘How are you feeling, then?’

‘I don’t know,’ he shifted his feet. His stomach growled. ‘I feel… weird, I guess.’ A shiver. ‘I feel like I’m missing something and my instincts are telling me that I can find an answer here, like my leg isn’t the only thing I lost in the Blast.’

‘Well,’ Hank noted how rigid his friend looked, how his stomach grumbled with each inhale, ‘are you going to find it?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

Louis’ far-away gaze returned to the blast site. Blocks worth of a city, of buildings, gone; thousands of innocent people, some of them the most intelligent in the country, dead. And yet they still hadn’t got an answer from CyberLife. And yet they still rolled out the most variety of androids humanity had ever seen, brushing off the deaths of thousands off their shoulders like nothing and was even permitted to buy the land they destroyed from the government to hide the evidence of the Blast with trash, with the very androids they created and then abandoned, with silence. They disgusted Hank. He hadn’t understood why Louis hadn’t been angrier towards CyberLife for taking everything away from him, but now, seeing how tired the young man looked, how he needed to shift his weight from one foot to another every few seconds just to keep himself upright, he finally got it.

‘I don’t know, Hank.’ Louis’ voice was weightless, a whisper of breath threatened to be swept away by the wind. ‘I don’t know anymore.’

o0o0o

Now

It might be the state of ruin of the structure, it might be the dust and snow in the air catching the light from the floodlights they hastily installed upon arrival, it might be the bits and pieces of wildlife bursting from the cracks on the floor; it might be the people, it might be the fact that he did the right thing, it might be the fact that his exhaustion is finally interfering with his sense. Regardless of the reason, the church they take refuge in brings comfort to Louis despite his… lack of positive experiences with faith. His fine control over his biotics meant that he and his gear stayed dry even though he literally jumped into a freezing river and then trekked through the sewers with the most important deviants in Jericho, but it was an energy-consuming task, one that rendered him hungry and tired, and despite that he threw himself into helping the others like he is also an untiring android as well, going from distributing thirium to the wounded to holding an android’s guts together with his bare hands while another guy pours thirium down their throat to jumpstart their self-repair programme to teaching some androids how to hold and shoot an assault rifle properly (he doesn’t even care where the fuck they got the weapons from anymore) to collecting wood so that someone else could start a few fires for the ones who cannot regulate their temperatures well.

By the time he remembers that a) he is a fleshy human, b) he should probably check on the two RK800s, and c) he should probably eat something, his vision has become blurry as fuck, and the heightened senses on his left leg means that the skin there has deactivated some time ago without him realising it; it is another indication that he should probably lie down on a bench or even on the ground to get some shut-eye, but somehow he finds himself helping an AX400 whose name he didn’t register put some android children to sleep.

‘You look sleepy, human,’ the YK500 says as Louis brushes a stray strand of hair away from her eye. By the way, he is now known as ‘the human’ among the deviants, and he is still deciding on if he should give a fuck about the anonymity - not that being the only human among hundreds if not thousands of androids grant him any regardless of whether they know him by name or not. ‘Will you join us?’

‘I’m afraid not, small one,’ he replies, not knowing what else he can say. How can he explain what he’s feeling right now to a child? ‘It’s not my bedtime yet.’

‘Okay.’

The YK500 yawns and shifts closer to his legs. ‘Tell me a story please, human?’

He feels his brains turning into mush as he tries to think of a suitable tale for a group of perpetual nine-year-olds, but even as his eyes zone out to focus, he feels his throat vibrating, so he must be saying something, and the movement underneath his palm on the YK500’s stomach slows down and deepens, so it must have been enough to put them into sleep.

It is when he stops that he realises someone is staring at him. Not just someone, in fact; apparently he grabbed quite a few people’s attention while he was telling the story, one of them being Simon, the android who always looks a bit sad. Like him. At least, that was what his second-in-command told him when they were off-duty. On the job, you’ve got this… stern look on you, he remembers James saying. It makes you look older for just a bit. He remembers him pinching his thumb and pointer together. After that, though… you just look sad. Lost. Like you’re so tired that you don’t even know what you’re doing anymore.

He doesn’t remember what he said to him then. He probably didn’t respond to James at all. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he stands up - god his cybernetic one fucking burns together with the entire left side of his body from below the ribcage - and faces Simon.

‘Your singing is beautiful,’ is the first thing the android says, and Louis feels his face heat up. ‘Markus wants to see you.’

Louis takes a step forward and feels his world spin, nearly toppling his entire weight onto Simon who immediately holds his shoulders. ‘How long was the last time you slept?’ he asks.

‘I don’t remember,’ he answers honestly. ‘I don’t even know what time it is anymore.’

‘The time now is nine twenty-three p.m. and today is the tenth of November, twenty thirty-eight. Two hours ago, Markus decided to demonstrate peacefully. He has invited you to join him in planning the demonstration.’

Louis does the math. ‘Oh my god,’ no wonder why he’s delirious. At least, he thinks he is. ‘I’ve been up for that long?’

‘Should I tell Markus that you won’t be available? I’m sure he’ll understand.’

He finds himself shaking his head. ‘Non, non,’ shit, Louis, watch your language, ‘I mean, no, of course not. Can’t have you guys charging recklessly to a camp and get gunned down. Lead the way, please.’

Someone shoves a bottle of water into his hand. Unscrewing the cap and downing half of it at once, the feeling of cold water sliding down his throat wakes him up a little bit, and being hydrated also chases away the headache threatening to make his head explode. There is a commotion towards the front entrance of the church, and the next thing he knows, he is standing in front of no other than Eli - with what seems like an army of androids in mismatched clothes behind him that is somehow still flooding into the already-crowded church.

‘Eli?’ he slurs despite not wanting to talk. He really should sleep or at least drink some strong tea. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I brought reinforcements,’ the other human says as if what he just did was something unimportant and boring.

Markus, North, and Josh emerge from somewhere. They have to, because androids can’t teleport, can they? Josh proceeds to interface with one of the androids as North and Markus argue over whether they can trust Eli and his androids. At least, the androids he brought.

‘We can’t trust him, Markus, he’s a human and we don’t know him.’

Markus doesn’t answer, instead turning towards Josh whose LED spins yellow for a second as they transfer data. Josh then turns towards Louis. ‘They were from camp number one,’ he explains. ‘This human here liberated them.’

Interesting. ‘All alone?’ Louis asks. He hasn’t been close to one himself, but those places are heavily guarded with drones and actual human soldiers, all of them some of the top minds and bodies in the country. The odds of one man infiltrating the camp and disabling all defences and making it out alive with most of the androids… are probably slim. He doesn’t have a supercomputer as his brains, okay?

Eli chuckles. ‘No, of course not,’ he turns towards what seems like thin air. ‘Chloe?’

A shimmer of light. A collective hold of breath. When the person seems to materialise next to Eli out of thin air, Louis hears the shift of weapons and the crack of static, and his tingling nerves tell him that the latter is from himself. Is his powers his default now? It will be troublesome to hide them in the future if it becomes his reflex.

‘I apologise for scaring you,’ Chloe explains airily. ‘My face is… somewhat recognisable.’

‘It’s alright,’ Markus holds his palm out, and the people around him lower their weapons. Louis forces his nerves to calm down. ‘We understand. Welcome to Jericho.’ To the androids in general. ‘Settle down. It will be some time before we have a concrete plan.’ Then to Eli and Chloe, ‘Join us. We will discuss our next move.’

The androids filter away and either form into groups on their own or join the existing ones, their chatter dwindling as more and more people go into standby mode leaning against one another.

They enter a side room of sorts with an improvised table comprised of stacked-up wooden planks and pallets. He sees Connor who seems to want to melt into the corner between two walls, but the android pushes himself off it and joins them standing on Louis’ right side by the makeshift desk. A few luggage-type laptops similar to the ones his team uses during missions are connected together to form a large, centralised hologram projector, and he has looked at the shape more than enough times to recognise it as a map of Detroit, so the five brightest glowing dots must be where the five camps are.

‘This is the one we closed,’ Chloe rounds the table and points at one of the dots the furthest away from downtown Detroit. ‘We also compromised their communications and hacked their drones. As far as the army knows, the camp is fully operational just like the others.’

‘So that’s one camp taken care of,’ Markus breathes as if he can’t believe that it really happened.

‘It’s also the smallest camp,’ North reminds all of them, her voice bitter. ‘Thousand of us are still being exterminated in the others.’

‘Which is why we are going to tell the humans that they’re making a mistake.’ Does Josh always butt heads with North? From Markus’ expression, the answer is yes. ‘The public supports us. The army will have no choice to stand down.’

‘Or they’ll ignore public opinion and gun you down anyway,’ Eli says, ‘which, from thousands of years of human history, is the most likely outcome.’

‘Yes, Markus,’ North jumps in eagerly. ‘Violence is the only language humans understand. It’s not too late for us to plan an assault!’

‘There are thousands of androids at the CyberLife assembly plant,’ Connor finally speaks up. His expression is hopeful, eager. ‘If we could wake them up, they might join us and shift the balance of power.’

‘You want to infiltrate CyberLife Tower?’ Markus shakes his head. ‘Connor, that’s suicide!’

‘They trust me. They’ll let me in,’ Connor sounds confident. ‘If anyone has a chance of infiltrating CyberLife, it’s me.’

‘If you go there, they’ll kill you.’

‘There’s a high probability,’ everyone’s eyes are on the android now, ‘but statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place. As for my sister…’ he scans the people in the room slowly, ‘please take care of her in case I don’t survive.’

They plunge into silence, and Louis takes the time to focus on the locations of the camps and tries to recall their sizes. Suddenly it clicks. ‘What is the media presence around these camps?’

‘All eyes are on the Hart Plaza camp,’ Simon answers. ‘The humans don’t care about the rest.’

‘It’s also the only camp with communications intact,’ Eli circles the area around the three camps in question. ‘Someone knocked them out with EMPs engineered to take out communications but leave the androids unharmed. That was how I managed to sneak into the camp undetected. There are also checkpoints -’ he dots the roads with little specks of light - ‘all around here, so no one apart from the military is getting in or out of the area, and I imagine the army is scrambling to repair their comms to re-establish communications with other camps.’

‘And how long will that take?’ Markus rotates the hologram and zooms into one of the locations. ‘Who unleashed the EMPs?’

‘An ally of mine whom I prefer not to name. The pulse will set off again before repairs are completed, so I assume they won’t be doing any instantaneous communication anytime soon.’

‘What are you planning to do, Louis?’ North asks, surprising everyone. He doesn’t allow himself to think too much about it and pushes.

‘If there are no press presence and all the comms are cut, the army won’t hesitate to shoot. All it will do is alert them to tighten security and make liberation harder.’

‘Are you suggesting to infiltrate the other camps?’ Connor questions with disbelief. ‘I know what I proposed for myself is risky, but this -’

‘Louis’ right. And it’s easier than you think it is with the right tools and team composition, breaking into one of those camps.’ The aura Chloe emits is still a light-hearted one despite the circumstances and what she is proposing. ‘We just need six people. Nine if you’re being careful, and even less if you trust our skills. The rest can concentrate on the demonstration. Show the humans that you are united while we do the work.’

‘We will have enough people to pressure the humans!’

‘And how do we do it?’ Simon asks. ‘We don’t have enough leaders to lead the teams, and that’s assuming that Eli and Chloe will split up to lead their own.’

‘I’ll do it.’

They turn towards the door of the room and find Reyes leaning against the frame. North’s hand moves towards the pistol tucked behind her back but an outstretched hand from Markus halts her movement, recognition dawning in his eyes as he takes a step towards the other android.

‘What are you doing here, Reyes?’ Louis asks before anyone does. ‘Aren’t you leaving town with Safaa?’

‘Change of plans,’ Reyes replies as he steps into the room properly. ‘If you think I’m chickening out from helping my people, you’re wrong.’

‘How do we know that you’re reliable?’ North closes the distance between herself and their newcomer. ‘You came out of nowhere, only the human knows you enough -’

Reyes deactivates the skin on his hand and places it on North’s shoulder. The LEDs of those who still have it spin yellow, their eyes widen, and North relaxes from whatever images Reyes showed her while the rest are slightly in shock.

‘You’re late,’ Chloe teases.

‘We’ll take whatever help we have,’ Markus declares, a formal welcome extended towards the very first android to be created. ‘Now, let’s get to the plan.’

oOoOo

Connie is asleep, as with most of the androids in the church. He himself is restless, however, his processors heating up from trying to compute the different outcomes the night after has, and saying that he is stressed is an understatement. He is worried about the future, about his people, about Hank whom he still doesn’t have contact with. So he stands up, leaves his sister with two of his jackets, and scans the crowd for one of the only two humans among them.

He finds Louis on the upper floor with his arms braced against an unreachable windowsill, the stairs to that balcony long rotten and collapsed and creating a gap in the wooden floor. The air is filled with static and the smell of ozone, and instantly Connor lights up, his feet lifting off the ground for one moment, but it doesn’t last long before he finds himself in midair without any support.

A strong arm grabs his wrist and hauls him up. ‘I don’t recommend that move for beginners,’ Louis says with a breath of a laugh as he watches Connor dust himself off. Snow drifts from the outside world into the human’s hair, onto the ground, into the gaps between broken pieces of stone, and when he runs a quick scan on the SWAT captain, it shows that the human is in desperate need of sleep despite having fewer data to work on than usual due to so many scans returning inconclusive. ‘Took me a few tries and a lot of broken bones to get it right.’

‘You should find a place to rest, Captain,’ Connor says. ‘You’ll need the strength for tomorrow.’

‘Later, maybe,’ Louis sounds exhausted. He turns back against the outside world where there is nothing but darkness for hundreds of metres on end. ‘For now, I need to think.’

‘About what?’

The human fidgets with the bracelet Eli gave him nearly an hour ago before the meeting ended. It has a similar design to the amplifier hooked around his left ear. ‘What’s not to think about?’

‘And they are…?’

‘What happens if we fail,’ Louis takes off his amplifier and rubs his ear. ‘What if the humans decided to go to war instead of talking even if it means losing the people’s support. Who will take care of my cats and plants if I don’t survive. What will happen to me if I do. I just… I don’t know,’ he pulls on his bracelet so hard that Connor is afraid that it might break under the tension. ‘I’ve never had a mission so high-stakes before. Very different from you, right, Connor?’ he adjusts his weight on his arms and starts tapping the sole of his feet against the floor softly. ‘Every failed mission can mean deactivation for you.’

Connor thinks of all the times he lets go of deviants. Rupert. Echo and Ripple. Scanning the snow-battered rooftop for traces of thirium but not opening the door where he knows Simon is hiding behind, and from the not-so-discreet way Markus kissed the blond android with their bare, glowing fingers intertwined, he is glad that he chose to ignore Simon and went for the deviant in the kitchen even though he ended up nearly dying. Looking back, despite Amanda’s thinly-veiled threats of deactivation in the few times he talked to her, he was never bothered by the fact that CyberLife could have recalled him to be deactivated anytime, anywhere they wanted to. It wasn’t until after he deviated that he started to feel fear.

‘The risk of deactivation… death… never disturbed me,’ he remembers the peace he felt as he bled out on the penthouse knowing that his mission was successful. ‘My first mission with Emma and Daniel…’ his own blood drip, drip, drip, dripping onto the floor through the bullet holes in his chassis and the orifice on his face. ‘I always knew there were backups for me for both my body and mind palace, so even if I fail, I will be able to return - to return to life, so to speak. I am a prototype. I’m not supposed to last. I will be replaced regardless of whether I am successful. Death was a certainty. Besides,’ he thinks of the Zen Garden, the shadow always at the corner of his vision but never stepping into the light, how easily Ryder reshaped the programme that was supposed to monitor him but in the end was turned into another tool to push him towards deviancy, ‘it sounds bad but… I doubt me remaining a machine is in Ryder’s plans. If I die, it will be on my own terms.’

‘Rather die free than live as a slave.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Even though you might be playing into a mass murderer’s hands?’

‘One step at a time, Captain.’

‘Not a Captain anymore. Not after tonight, and certainly not after what we will do tomorrow.’

They enjoy the silence between them for a while, Connor’s gaze drawn to the abstract images Louis draws with his finger in the slight layer of snow that has accumulated on the windowsill. The scratch of the fabric of the human’s gloves on rough stone reminds him of another human who is vital to his deviancy.

‘Thinking of something, Connor?’ Louis asks as if he can read Connor’s mind.

A press of lips against lips. A firm ‘we’ll talk about this’. A body so warm that Connor can feel it through layers of clothing. ‘Before we parted, Hank had told me that we would talk about our relationship,’ he stares at the generally abandoned area outside filled with buildings with broken windows and collapsed roofs - a bit like the church they are staying at. ‘We might never have the chance anymore.’

‘Do you want to?’

A small spark of hope flares in Connor’s heart, and he suppresses it before it gets too bright that everything else will be a disappointment. ‘What are you proposing?’

‘A few minutes’ walk to any direction,’ Louis’ hand disappears into his pocket and re-emerges with a phone. Connor scans it and discovers that it is encrypted with technology a citizen like him should not be able to get his hands on. Is that how Louis secures his calls? ‘Call Hank with this. No one should be able to listen in, and it will be registered as a call between two human friends - if they haven’t cut off civilian communications, that is.’

‘How about you? Do you have anyone to call?’

‘It’s for the best if Hank doesn’t know what I’m doing. He told me to destroy the evidence that can lead the FBI to Jericho; that failed, and I don’t think he expected me to join you either. But you… you’ll need it more than me.’

Connor is tempted. One last chance to speak to Hank sounds like exactly what he wants, and the encryption Louis has is enough to keep their location hidden, but still… ‘I don’t want to burden Hank with this.’

‘Okay.’

The phone disappears completely in the sense that even Connor’s scanners can’t pick it up. ‘Your clothes.’ Louis makes a sound from his throat, and he takes it as an encouragement to ask further. ‘My scanners can’t penetrate them.’

‘They’re working as intended, I see.’

‘Not many people have them.’

‘I need special clothes to deliver medicine into my bloodstream regularly or I risk screaming in agony from implant rejection, Connor,’ the human says casually. ‘Upgrading them to block all signals as well didn’t take much compared to the original cost.’

Connor hesitates for a second before asking, ‘Implant rejection?’

‘You saw how I busted my leg.’ The distant look returns. ‘That one came together one fourth of a lung and my new hipbone. There’s also this… device,’ he raises his palm to the left side of his skull towards the back with his fingers stretched wide, ‘it latches onto my brain to help me control my powers better. They lasted three to four years - I don’t quite remember exactly how long - before they started to malfunction. Shit started exploding around me whenever my leg and hip gave out.’

‘And the meds fix it?’

Louis chuckles and it sounds like nothing but sad. ‘If only it was this easy.’

‘How else did they achieve that?’

‘More implants in places where there hadn’t been any and implant replacement for the existing ones.’

‘Where?’

‘Everywhere.

‘“Everywhere” as in…’

‘Nerves, blood vessels, bones, muscles, skin… you name it, there’s probably cybernetics knitted in it. Reyes knocked me out for a week just to make sure that I wouldn’t feel the nanobots worming into every single one of my cells to leave threads of even smaller nanobots behind. It stabilised my condition,’ he snaps his bracelet against his wrist. ‘Not completely, and certainly not without their consequences. Hence the meds.’

‘To my understanding, nano-androids are a recent development by CyberLife.’

‘I never said they were CyberLife nanobots,’ he digs his knuckle into his eye as if the exhaustion of staying up for more than 24 hours finally starts catching up on him. ‘I tend not to ask too many questions about things like this.’

‘Why?’

‘There never is an answer.’ A sigh. ‘I’ll try to get some sleep before going home to get your uniform. It’s all fixed up now. Do you want me to stay with Connie or are you going back to her side?’

‘I can’t possibly ask you to -’

‘It’s not like she’s going anywhere anyway, is it?’

‘I -’ may run a few pre-constructions for different ways I can die tomorrow. ‘Thank you.’

‘Just going back to my comfort zone, Connor.’

He lights up and floats down the shaft, his footsteps soft as he lands on his feet and his powers fizzle away, and he disappears into the crowd, a man drifting in the world between humans and androids blending in perfectly with people he does not need to help but does so anyway.

oOoOo

Louis dreams of being at a shooting range that night. Not the impromptu one the deviants set up in a clearing outside the church - this one looks professional even though the details are blurry; neither is it the one he is used to going to - this one is brighter, less advanced than the ones built for the police force. Most likely a civilian one, though those are hard to come by in recent years. A memory from years ago, maybe? But he didn’t pick up firearms as a hobby until after he discovered what he could do with his new cybernetics, and that was after the government had tightened controls on civilians owning guns. Judging from how unstable the rifle is in his hands, he might as well have gone straight back to his academy days where he was constantly teased for being the only guy who has next to zero knowledge on guns until then. He didn’t remember caring about it a lot; he preferred using his words anyway, and being prompted to a Captain took that away from him.

‘Is that what they teach you in the academy?’ the low voice is directly next to his ear, and Louis shivers from the ghost of a breath against his skin, suddenly acutely aware of the body pressed close to his own on his back. ‘At this point they’re sending you out as cannon fodders.’

He doesn't remember the last time he felt another person’s body heat so closely and intimately.

Louis doesn’t quite laugh, but the small breath that he lets out reminds him of a simpler time when he didn’t have to observe and prepare so many scripts just to be able to communicate with his people. He says something - he isn’t sure what - and feels the rumble of the other man’s chest as he laughs at his words. So it must be from before the Blast, then. The memory. Or it hasn’t existed at all and is merely Louis’ imagination. He doesn’t know which one he prefers.

‘Lucky that you have me.’

For one moment, Louis' mind is filled with something so foreign that he doesn’t know what it is. His instincts taking over, he leans his weight against the broad chest behind him and turns his head so that he can kiss whoever is teaching him how to hold a fucking rifle properly because apparently dream-Louis is even more dumbass than Louis in real life -

And jerks awake with the image of someone trapped beneath rubble twitching and burning in agony, the pleasant part of the dream forgotten and overtaken by an overwhelming fear.

‘Louis? You alright?’

His bones creak as he pushes himself to a sitting position on the bench he has taken over as his makeshift bed. Popping the joints on his spine, he massages his aching muscles when he turns towards the person in question.

‘I’m fine,’ he tells Connor. He looks around and notes the absence of an android who should be with him. ‘Where’s Connie?’

‘Being taken care of outside. She warms up quickly to people.’ A pause. He looks hesitant. ‘Last night, you asked me if I wanted to call Hank.’

‘You want to do it right now?’

‘If you allow me to, yes.’

The emotion in his eyes makes Louis’ heart ache. ‘Of course.’

He hands the phone to the android and Connor pockets it, but the android doesn’t move from where he is standing. ‘There’s also something else.’

Louis runs his hand through his hair. He feels more human now that his hair is more or less presentable. ‘What?’

‘Elijah wishes to accompany you in retrieving my clothing for the mission.’

The mission. Right. Infiltrating CyberLife tower. Infiltrating the other android camps while Markus marches. Connor seems to take Louis’ silence as a prompt to elaborate, and he drones on, ‘He didn’t provide a reason as to why he wants your presence, and if you wish to decline, he will -’

‘He can come with me,’ Louis interjects before Connor freaks himself out. He’s due a talk with Eli anyway. ‘Just keep my phone safe, alright? It’s expensive equipment.’

Connor smiles. ‘A bit like me.’

Louis remembers that mission brief from all those months ago and can’t help but chuckle. God, it feels like a lifetime ago. August-Louis hasn’t even learnt how to break a stick with his mind yet.

‘You are alive, Connor. My overpriced phone isn’t.’

oOoOo

They take a long way to his home to avoid the numerous checkpoints the army has set up full with car-switching and stealing thanks to Eli’s superior hacking skills and the gaping security gaps in automated vehicles, and even when they were stopped by the army by a checkpoint they had to pass through, they were let go pretty quickly thanks for the gate suddenly having issues. He doesn’t say anything because they are still out in the public, but Louis suspects it is Eli’s doing again. The streets are deserted, snow collecting in piles on the sidewalk after someone - probably the army - hastily shovelled them away from the road dotted occasionally with still-wet thirium. Bodies of androids are everywhere, their blood seeping into the snow even in death, and he looks away and forces himself to focus on the rifle on his hands while Eli mutters something underneath his breath as he presumably catalogues every single one of them for retrieval - or something else. Louis wishes he is actually working for the deviants because it is the right thing to do, but the nagging feeling that there is something else going on with the other human doesn’t go away for most of the drive.

‘Weren’t you planning to leave the city with Gavin?’ he can’t help but ask. ‘Where is he?’

Eli’s eyes turn distant behind his glasses. ‘I did. I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How?’

Eli shifts in his seat. ‘It doesn’t concern you.’

The theory Louis has in his head is a stretch, but considering his… contradictory actions and how an entire camp worth of androids will be in Eli’s hands, he feels like he has to clear the air just to make sure of things. ‘What happened made you storm a camp alone,’ he makes sure that the car they are in is on autopilot before removing his attention from the road. ‘You will do it again in a few hours. I need to know what suddenly changed your mind. And who knows?’ he shrugs. ‘Maybe we can go look for Gavin after this.’

Eli shakes his head, his expression scrunching up in pain. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘I can try.’

��This is much older and bigger than you can comprehend. There is no winning against them if it’s just you and me.’

‘What is much older and bigger? I don’t understand.’

‘Gavin is gone because of it,’ there’s something different about Eli’s tone, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for Louis to realise that they aren’t even speaking English anymore - they somehow switched to Russian without him realising. ‘I am the one they are after, I am the one tangled up in that mess,’ Eli calms down, but only slightly, ‘and who paid the price? Not me, not my boss, not my subordinates. Among all the people they can choose from, they took Gavin away from me. That’s how they work, Louis: they drag innocent people into their world, make them into something in between, and let go just to see if you’ll drown or learn how to swim.’

‘This…’ Louis is stunned. What on earth is Eli talking about? ‘I don’t…’ I don’t understand but -

‘I beg you, Louis, stay out of this. It won’t end well for everyone involved.’

‘How about you?’

The car passes by another group of dead androids, and Louis slows it down so that Eli can do his perhaps-cataloguing. ‘It will be paying the price of my actions. I’ll see the camp operation through but… it will be you and maybe Reyes who will lead the androids to rendezvous with Markus at Hart Plaza. And in case neither Markus nor Connor lives to see the end… you’ll lead them.’

‘Eli, I’m a human. They - they won’t listen to me.’

‘They’ll have to. That’s the only way to keep earth intact after tonight.’

‘And what if I die first?’

Eli reaches over and places a hand on Louis’ knee. His cybernetic knee. ‘You know it will never happen. Someone made sure of that a long time ago.’

oOoOo

This is the end, Connor realises as Louis hands him the tie with lime patterns on it. The android could’ve done it himself, but he allows the human to help him tie it up, straighten his lapels, check the needlework on the mending one last time before stepping back to examine him from head to toe. ‘Need me to take a picture for you? You know, just to see how you’re looking?’

One last moment of tranquillity. One last memory of his freedom before they all set out to the outside world to their liberation or their deaths. The thought of doing everything just to fail in the end is terrifying, and from Louis’ elevated heartbeat and the excess adrenaline in his body, he suspects that the human might be thinking similarly. ‘Yes please, but not for me.’

Louis raises his eyebrows but still takes out his phone. ‘It’s for Hank, isn’t it?’

Connor straightens his spine, feeling his face heat up from abnormal thirium flow that has nothing related to the explosive power that is hidden in his body. He knows Louis is a practised user and has seen how useful it can be in emergencies, but the loss of control required for him, his vision blocked by tendrils of blue so bright that they are nearly white… it will be a last resort, nothing more. He also doesn’t want to be reduced to fundamental particles like Carlos Ortiz’s android did.

It doesn’t feel like Louis has done anything at all when he is finished with the photo. ‘How did the call go?’

Hearing Hank’s voice was soothing. A sense of calm before the storm. ‘He sounded certain that I will live,’ Connor answers. ‘He wished me luck.’

‘That’s great,’ the human says. ‘Do you want me to send this to him now?’

Connor takes the phone to take a good look at the photo Louis took. The tie isn’t standard issue and is not a necessary component of his uniform, but while he once viewed it as a small act of defiance against CyberLife, it now feels suffocating against his throat, keeping the collar of his dress shirt tight against his skin, and for one fleeting moment he considers the possibility of removing it altogether to allow himself greater movement and flexibility, but that will be a deviation from his norm, and any deviation… it will be yet another evidence that CyberLife can hold against him. ‘Only if I do not survive.’

Louis’ finger hovers over the send button and in the end shuts his phone off and slips it into his pocket. ‘Let’s hope that I don’t need to send it, then. You ready?’

Connor takes a deep breath that does nothing to calm his racing thirium pump. ‘As much as I can be.’

‘Come on,’ Louis picks up his rifle from where it is leaning against the wall and swings it over his shoulder. ‘Let’s hear Markus’ prep talk before we set off. And then…’ he suddenly stops in place and turns to face Connor, and when he places his hand on the android’s arm, it feels as if there is an external energy source redirecting the thirium in his veins to flow in a different way as it is intended to. Charged. More efficient. More powerful. ‘Good luck.’

He lets go, but Connor stays close to him while they step outside together. He notices how Louis keeps fidgeting with the strap of his rifle even as Markus and Elijah give him a final rundown of their plan before they go their separate ways.

He takes out his coin and lets it roll across his knuckles.

o0o0o

Before

‘Take care, Connor. Come back to me.’

The call ended and Alec Ryder casually threw the phone onto the table, the glass making a clear clink against the metal of the tabletop. Cuffed to the chair by his ankle with a holographic cuff was Hank who did not even reach for his own device despite having free reign over his arms and hands because he was too busy glaring at the other founder of CyberLife - and his kidnapper.

‘Funny how our voices are so similar,’ Alec seated himself in the chair on the opposite side of the table. ‘And a direct line to a traitor of ours. Deviants are so naïve, don’t you think? It didn’t even see you and latched onto a voice.’

‘His name is Connor,’ Hank spats, ‘and he’s a fucking person, not a tool you can dispose of when you’re done with him.’

‘We’ll see.’

The door slides open to admit another Connor model bringing a tray of hot food into the room. The serial number on his jacket ended with -60 instead of -52, and he placed the plate in front of Hank before retreating towards the door.

‘Wait,’ Alec ordered, ‘come here.’

The Connor model obediently stood next to his presumed handler. ‘Yes, Alec?’

‘Your mission is complete.’

In the blink of an eye, Alec managed to grab hold of the android’s wrist and bring out a gun with his other hand, and Hank could only watch - not even in horror because everything happened so quickly - the LED on the Connor model’s temple turn red in distress before he froze up and Alec put a bullet in his forehead, the sound of the body dropping onto the floor somehow managing to be louder than the gunshot. Hank bolted up, dragging the chair with him, and caught the last flutter of the Connor model’s eyes before his LED spun red one last time and went dark.

‘I’m afraid I can, Lieutenant,’ Alec settled back into his chair as skin covered the chassis of his hand once more. ‘Now eat, you have a long day ahead of you.’ He cocked his head as if scanning the human in front of him, his eyes flashed blue, and the air crackled with pent-up power. The same power Connor, Louis, Ryder - so many people around Hank exhibited, he suddenly realised. He was the odd one out by being powerless. ‘Or do you want a drink?’

Hank let the food go cold, and no, he did not accept the offer of a drink either, because although he wanted to get the image of Connor being shot out of his mind, the actual Connor still needed him somewhere out there with his android friends plus Louis.

And he had a feeling that he would play a part in whatever they planned to do - regardless of his own choices.

#dbh au big bang #hankcon #reyes vidal #dbh connor #dbh hank anderson #dbh captain allen #dbh elijah kamski #dbh markus #dbh north #dbh simon #dbh josh #dbh chloe #alec ryder #detroit: become human #mass effect andromeda #groom lake aftermath

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jamkookies · 5 years

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Description : A trip to Malta for the shooting of Bon Voyage seems peaceful enough until the moment things take an unexpected turn...

Word count : 3.3k

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"Please, sir! I'm begging you! Open up, please!"

It was surprising how the both of you hadn't even moved an inch despite the cries that had begun to turn downright hopeless but as Jungkook's arm shields your body defensively, you decide that you just can't take it anymore.

"Jungkook, we should take a look." you say hesitantly, turning your head in his direction.

"No way. It's a trap." he claims. "I'm sure of it."

Your eyes keep boring holes into the door as if your vision could penetrate it.

It's quiet for a while.

Maybe he left.

Maybe he-

A thunderous boom to the door.

"We have to at least take a look, dammit!" you exclaim and push his arm away, now decisively heading towards it.

"Wait!" Jungkook yells after you but instead of stopping you, he joins your side. Before you can make any further attempts, he mushes his face onto the platform and looks into the tiny peephole. Curiosity can hardly keep you still.

At last, Jungkook retreats and motions for you to take a look as well but you don't know whether to expect a garnison of soldiers or a horde of wild bisons behind the door because the expression on his face is unreadable.

The cold surface of the platform touching your forehead only makes you grow even more uncomfortable. Then, your eyes are able to discern an obscure figure behind the magnifying glass. "You've got to be kidding me, " you whisper as your eyes naturally widen.

This could not be.

Him, out of all people....

Both you and Jungkook exchange a look of silent agreement and he pushes the open button with no words needed. The door swings open to reveal a slightly dishevelled-looking man with multiple cuts and bruises marking his face. Those eyes you'd seen gleaming with vigilance are now tired, drowsy yet still scarred with horrors you could only imagine. You'd never forget those eyes because they had been the ones that had given you a chance to escape, a chance to save yourselves.

"What are you doing here?" Jungkook wonders, not bluntly but rather in a puzzled demeanor.

"Let me in, please. I'll explain everything, " the old bodyguard says and throws a look behind his back and down the stairs.

You and Jungkook exchange another look and then the latter opens the door wider, giving him space to enter. The bodyguard's face almost melts in relief upon the gesture. He crosses the doorstep in two huge strides, putting the farthest distance from it.

From the moment the lock clicks back in place, a deafening silence hangs into the air, adding even more to the suspense.

You decide to break the ice first. "What do you mean they're gonna kill your family?"

The bodyguard takes notice of where your eyes are fixed and he unconsciously touches a bruise on his chin. "Actually, I lied about that. I had to convince you to open the door."

Your anger flares like wild fire but before the flames can grow higher he quickly compensates for his mistake. "I'm really sorry. I had to.They...they did some things to me...I'll explain everything but I don't have much time."

"Why?" you demand. "Are they following yo-"

"What are you doing here in the first place?" Jungkook interrupts.

The man appears to be going through an internal conflict as his eyes shut tight, hands clench and unclench and the line of his eyebrows angles into a wide V. His distressed condition explained so much and yet so little. His eyes that up till now had been staring at the ground, lift to level up with yours and then flick to Jungkook's. "I went through hell itself to get here unnoticed. I'll have to go soon. But before I do, there's something you should know."

* * *

As much as Jungkook refused to drop the disgruntled attitude, he still made the man sit on the couch and then proceeded to offer him a much needed glass of water. The man drank and drank and drank like he'd forgotten its taste and freshness and after his thirst was sedated, he started chirping like a bird.

"First of all, I want to apologize about trying to take you by force back in Malta, even though in reality it was not my choice."

"We'd figured that out, " you confirm. "But why did you help us escape?"

You'd been racking your brains out for a long time now, trying to come up with a logical explanation but no answer fit in the frame. You just couldn't understand why he would put himself in danger so you could run away.

It didn't make any sense.

"I couldn't just let them take you like prisoners, " he says. "I had to at least give you a chance because I myself wasn't given one."

Jungkook's brows wrinkle in confusion. "What do you mean?"

A look of something like shame casts upon the man's face and he stares at his clasped hands. "When I first got this job, I didn't know what I was getting myself into. Being a bodyguard, I had taken everything into account, including the fact that I would probably have to give up my life at some point but I never thought I'd be involved in criminal affairs."

Criminal affairs? What was he talking about?

"I thought it was normal at first. I thought this was how things normally went but when you decided to go to that trip in Malta I realized that I couldn't get out of this sucking hole no matter how much I tried. And the worst thing about it is that you've had to suffer along all this time without even knowing it."

Jungkook raises a hand to stop him. "Whoa whoa whoa, hold on there a second. Are you talking about Sejin making Y/N leave? And the the thing at the plane? I know he went a little too far but-"

"You think that's a coincidence?" the man shoots back. "He set everything up. From the tickets to the hotel to everything. Every single piece of it was planned out."

Your teeth grind against each other with a mixed state of anger and shock putting them into action. When you throw a glance at Jungkook's traumatised form, tears start to form at the corners of your eyes. The man's statement seemed to had jarred him to the bone and rendered him speechless, incapable of forming a coherent thought.

"I apologize for that, " the man continues. "I didn't want to say it straight away because I knew it would come as a shock to you but Mr.Sejin is not who you think he is. I've had to live with this knowledge for years now."

For a moment, Jungkook's eyes clear up and he blinks a number of times till his attention is completely aimed at the man's face. "Is this a joke or something? Did he send you here to play with us?"

The man's expression remains stoic, forever expressionless but even through his mask you could make out the scars of horrendous truths.

He wasn't lying.

You both knew that but you just couldn't accept it, even though deep down you had always sensed that the origin of your ordeals had been somehow designated.

The said bodyguard points a finger at his face. "You see these bruises, sir? They gave them to me as a punishment for not being able to bring you back. Beat me up till I fainted. When I woke up they made it clear that this time the job had to be done properly. That's why I'm here. To bring you back. But I won't be doing that. I'm here to make sure that you know who you're dealing with. I don't have the authority to talk with his superiors. Trust me, I've even tried to but he's always one step ahead of me." He smiles sadly. "I've gotten countless warnings because of that."

Jungkook puts his head in his hands and agressively ruffles his hair. "How long has this been going?"

The man doesn't hesitate. "6 years. Since the moment Ms.Y/N set foot on that company. He was obsessed with the idea of a boy-group only and didn't want any other intruders. I can witness the number of times he complained to his superiors about not letting her join. He kept pestering them, kept telling them all sorts of things but PD-nim was the one who insisted on taking her. After that he was absolutely furious. You should've seen the way he flung things around in his office. It made me scared for a moment."

He releases a long-kept sigh and shakes his head dreadfully.

"This went on for as much as I can remember. He never changed, always kept making attempts into kicking her out and covered it with a fake smile. But this time he had it all planned out to the smallest detail and couldn't afford to just brush it off as usual. That's probably his biggest mistake so far. He just couldn't stand hiding in a bush anymore so he went 'go hard or go home' I guess."

All this new information was making your head spin. Your mind wasn't helping either, continuously attaching images to the words, helping build up the portrayal of the man who had detested you for so many years, piece by piece. To say that you'd been dismayed was an understatement. You just couldn't believe your ears, couldn't wrap your head around the idea.

"What exactly had he planned?" asks Jungkook with a tint of hesitation in his voice. Understandable enough, taking into consideration the fact that he was fed up with the truths he'd heard. The bodyguard takes a sip from his glass and gulps audibly. He keeps throwing nervous looks at the door, as if waiting for someone to burst in.

"If you can remember....the accident with the saesang girl...."

Not that

Anything but that

"It was not an accident, " he confirms. "Your manager planned it."

No no no no no no-

"He hired that girl knowing she was a saesang and told her what she had to do. He promised her Jungkook would be hers if she managed to get the job done. That night, when you sneaked out into the forest, it's like you offered yourselves to her in a silver platter. And that's how it went. She took care of everything; the car, the tools, even her assistant."

He shakes his head and you see a melancholic smile cast upon his lips as he looks directly at you. "Stupid girl. She hated you so much to the point where she even ignored Sejin's orders for a moment. He'd never intended to kill you. Obviously, he wasn't that stupid. But she didn't care at all. Thought about getting rid if you since she had the chance and went all-psycho. Unfortunately for her, you managed to escape and that's when Mr.Sejin got angry. Really, really angry. His face got all red and puffy and when Namjoon-ssi tried to talk to him, worried about you gone missing, he yelled in his face."

Joon.

You can almost feel the nostalgic taste of the word in your tongue. It was like smelling that familiar aroma of fresh flowers that grew in your back yard and being swept into a wave of old memories. Sick of you, to not think enough about him all this time, when all he'd ever did was worry about you.

You missed them. All of them. So much to the point where it hurt.

Were they okay?

Now that you were certain about your manager's intentions, you couldn't help feeling concerned about the rest of the boys.

Unaware of your thoughts, the man continues with his story. "And things got even worse when she shot you and you jumped into the stream. I guess she panicked. Her voice was literally shaking from the other side of the phone during the call with manager-nim. I don't know what she said exactly but it still didn't make him give up. After all, he had to prepare for the grand finale."

Jungkook's sharp intake of breath switches your attention to him. You examine his face carefully, looking for any signs of panic but nothing makes it to the surface.

At least not yet.

"-called the ambulance to make sure you wouldn't die."

The momentary distraction had made you zone out and you're only able to catch the last part of the phrase.

"Then what?" Jungkook asks softly.

It's like the man's physiognomy is put into action; eyelids blinking furiously, lips opening and closing, hands fumbling with each-other. He seems nervous to keep talking and that only puts Jungkook on edge even more.

"Then what? " the latter insists. Bolder this time.

The man chokes the words out. "Th-then you wrestled with that girl's assistant. And-"

"And I killed him." Jungkook finishes for him. You notice the way his eyes turn glassy and distant, as if they'd travelled back in time, recalling the events.

"No, sir. He's alive."

Both yours and Jungkook's head snap in his direction with lightning speed.

Had you just imagined him saying that?

"What?" you voice.

"He didn't kill him, " the man confirms and this time you can clearly see his lips matching the words. "It was all a trick."

Clash

"No!"

Tiny little glass shards scatter across the floor, but you don't even have time to react as another loud noise joins it.

"No!" Jungkook yells again after taking out the anger on the second vase. " I don't believe you! You're lying!" He's fully risen to his feet, his chest puffed from breathing too hard. You've never seen him like this, so angry and panicked and scared.

"He's alive, sir. I'm not lying. They enacted the death-"

"Shut up!" Jungkook screams.

"-to make Y/N-ssi feel guilty and leave. Please, sir. You have to listen to me. You did not kill anyone."

A storm of emotions drowns you whole and it's impossible to pinpoint a particular feeling in the midst of all the chaos. Pain, sadness, relief, anger. They all come as a flooding mess, an absolute wreck.

But none of that matters now.

Not as you notice Jungkook from the corner of your eye, slowly sink to the floor and curl into a ball. It's just like that night at the hotel. He rocks back and forth with no awareness of his surroundings, completely lost in his despair.

The storyteller gives him a perplexed look. He must be wondering why Jungkook was reacting this way, why he didn't sigh in relief upon the news of his innocence.

That's because the man didn't know what the idea of killing someone had done to him and how hard it was to just rip that thought out of his mind. He'd convinced himself over and over that he was guilty, that he was a murderer. You'd witnessed it yourself during all those restless nights filled with nightmares driven by his own conscience. You'd both tried to speak as little as you could about it by trying to avoid that fact but now that he's given up and let himself fall apart, you're able to see how it had ruined him beyond repair.

You glare at the bodyguard to stop him from going further and rush to Jungkook's side on the floor.

And your heart shatters into a million pieces.

He's sobbing like a little child.

A grown-up man turned into a little kid just like that, with his arms wrapped around his knees, head buried low within.

You carefully approach him and crouch on the floor, putting a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Kook..."

He doesn't even acknowledge your presence and his sobs only seem to increase but that doesn't discourage you from throwing your arms around him in a wide hug.

"It's okay, Kook. You're okay."

Suddenly, his hands wrap around your waist and he hugs you so tightly, you almost fall back. You thread your fingers through his dark silky hair and pat his head.

Another choked sob escapes his throat.

Oh how you wished you were the one suffering, not him. If only you could take all his pain from him, you'd gladly do it. You'd do anything for him.

His fists scrunch the fabric on the back of your shirt as hit tears spill on your collarbones.

"You're okay, you're okay, shhhhhhh." you whisper in his ear.

All is forgotten by now. The only thing you can focus on is to let him know that you were here, that you understood, and that it was okay to feel like this.

It was okay not to be okay.

* * *

You'd lost all sense of time with Jungkook in your arms that you'd failed to even throw a look at the man in the corner, silently waiting for the situation to cool down.

"I'm sorry." you hear Jungkook's worn voice at the side of your neck.

"Don't be." you answer. "It's not your fault."

He finally unties his hands from your waist and takes a deep breath. A dark veil still hangs in his eyes but he tries to cover it up with a weak smile. However, the smile turns a tad bit more genuine when you cup his cheek with one hand and gently caress it.

"I'll get you some water," you say and make to get up but he grips your hand and looks up at you with pleading eyes.

"Don't go."

If you could choose to have an image branded at the back of your mind, this particular one would be it. Those big round eyes and the messy curls that fell over them carelessly, that scar on his cheekbone, the one you'd always loved, and the pouty lips under the frame of which a tiny mole showed.

You feel like crying and laughing at the same time.

Yet you still understand.

He needed the physical support as much as the he needed the emotional one in order to have something to hang onto. A safe harbor to keep him from straying off into the dark corners of his traumas.

"Okay." You sit back down and Jungkook clings onto your arm almost immediately.

"Sir, " the man finally decides to speak. "I'm really sorry about everything."

Jungkook nods in affirmation.

You're just about to add something when the man's inner pocket of his coat starts to vibrate.

He gulps.

Looks at the door.

With shaking hands, he reaches inside his coat and retrieves his phone.

"It's him." he says upon taking a look at the screen.

Your senses tingle with a mind of their own. What you'd been talking about all this time takes the form of a man. The source of all your fears and sufferings.

The floor suddenly grows uncomfortable.

Bzzzzzzzz

It's like the vibrations are digging into your brain, each buzz more unbearable than the other.

The man can't seem to take it anymore. He taps on the phone and pushes it to his ear.

A gruff voice joins the line.

You're not able to catch any of the words but the man's face says it all.

Something happened.

"Don't hurt them, " he croaks.

More yelling on the other side of the phone call.

Then, silence.

At this point you don't know what to expect. You tightly squeeze Jungkook's leg in reassurance.

The man's begging eyes turn to plead with yours, desperate, hopeless. "I'm sorry, " he says and runs off to the door.

But instead of leaving, he pushes the open button.

And waits.

Your heart leaps in your throat when a dozen other bodyguards rush inside.

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catholiccom-blog · 8 years

Photo

Workplace Witnesses

My wife didn’t want a new cell phone. But hers was old, and the battery wouldn’t hold a charge. So Kathi and I found ourselves trudging into the wireless store at the end of a long day, instructed in detail by our savvy daughter about an incentive offer from our carrier, which model of phone to buy, and how much it would all cost.

“What brings you in tonight?” the friendly young salesman asked. We told him and described the phone and promotion our daughter had recommended.

“I haven’t heard of that,” he said. “Let me talk to my manager.” He headed off into a back room, reappearing several minutes later.

“My manager says we don’t have that promotion,” he said, “but we have something better.” He described a complicated plan featuring payment terms for a phone and an increased data allowance. “But there’s a credit toward the phone, so you basically get it for free.”

Kathi and I glanced at one another. At this point in the day, my brain was pretty close to mush. I asked him to explain it again, more slowly.

This time a red flag went up.

“So we get the phone at a net cost of zero, but then we’re paying extra for data every month?” I asked.

We didn’t need extra data. We needed a new phone.

We thanked him and left. That night, I ordered the phone online and got the promotional deal our daughter had recommended. It had turned into more of an ordeal than we expected, but at least now I’m able to reach my wife on the go.

Workplace witnesses

Have you ever experienced a situation like that, when you’re being sold something you’re not even shopping for? That’s how many people feel about being evangelized in the workplace. When it happens, like our experience at the wireless store, there’s a strong tendency to head for the exit.

Look around and you’ll see an almost palpable fear of being proselytized (defined by dictionary.com as “to convert or attempt to convert”). I’ve been on the receiving end from people of several different faiths and ideologies. After all, there is no shortage of people in our workplaces who are certain about the validity of their beliefs and opinions. So how should Christian evangelization (“to preach the gospel to”) be different?

The situation is even more complex when we take into account the state of our culture and the forces of secularization that seek to silence religion. In many ways, the secular workplace represents the front lines of the culture wars.

However, with challenge comes opportunity. The secular workplace also represents the front lines for the New Evangelization.

Reframing the opportunity

By setting a bold example of leading with mercy rather than judgment, Pope Francis has done a marvelous job showing us how the gospel penetrates human hearts even in hostile environments. Could it be that part of the visceral distaste people often have for mixing work and religion is due to a flawed approach on our part? Too often we act like it’s up to us to convert people.

It’s not. That’s above our pay grade. Conversion is the work of the Holy Spirit. We just plant the seeds—and this is accomplished most convincingly through our actions.

In addition, if we’re too quick to judge others based on our beliefs, might that not alienate us from others and preclude us from having an opportunity to evangelize in a manner worthy of our baptism?

Think of the life of Jesus. The gospels provide us with numerous accounts of Jesus interacting—even hanging out with—prostitutes, tax collectors, and other assorted sinners. He did this in a most radical way for his time, incurring wonder and even wrath from onlookers. Yet the essence of his invitation to each individual is the same as to all of us today: Follow me.

One thing to keep in mind as we interact with others at work is that they don’t necessarily share our frame of reference. If they’re adverse to the idea of religion, perhaps there’s a reason for that. Have they been hurt by religion? Perhaps they experience shame or guilt stemming from events or circumstances in their lives. Might there be structural impediments, such as multiple marriages? Perhaps they’re cohabiting, or have experienced the pain of an abortion, or can’t imagine what their spouse might say about their interest in the Church.

If we follow the pope’s lead, we are more apt to listen than speak. We are less prone to render judgment as to have hearts of mercy. We are more likely to recognize life—and conversion—as a process rather than an event. Even if a coworker was enthralled by our breathtakingly cogent arguments for the existence of God and wanted to enroll in RCIA immediately, don’t you think it might take time for his life to comport more closely with the Faith?

Strategic planning

Part of the challenge of the New Evangelization is to present the gospel message with renewed clarity in a way that resonates in today’s environment. Beating people over the head with a copy of the Catechism won’t do it—and could very well get us fired. There are better ways . . . but beware. They demand that we be more faithful Christians.

Here are a few specific ideas to consider of the type that shouldn’t get us sideways with the human resources department even in the most secular environments. Of course, I hope and pray we never get to the point where free speech is curtailed to the point of not being able to discuss religion in public, including the workplace. But our actions are the key to our words having credibility.

Be a friend

Years ago I worked with a guy named Stan who had grown up Christian but abandoned his faith in favor of Buddhism. It was an odd relationship. Stan delighted in giving me a hard time about being Catholic, and we had many spirited conversations. Here’s the thing, though—Stan was a great guy, and I instinctively liked him. Despite our religious differences, we had much in common.

No matter what the background or disposition of a coworker, an “apostolate of friendship” is always possible. Despite Stan’s intransigence with regard to the Faith, we shared a genuine friendship. This can be true even in cases where the relationships are more challenging and less instinctive.

Once again, in considering the gospels, Jesus befriended (much to the discomfort of his disciples and others) all kinds of people, including those of lower societal strata. Children. A Samaritan woman. Tax collectors. Pharisees. Prostitutes. He took an interest in them and desired what was best for them, regardless of whether they followed him or not.

Pope Francis made waves in the press when he insisted that all people are redeemed. He didn’t mean all are saved, of course, but it’s important to realize that this attitude reflects our Lord’s actions and his desire to offer the gift of eternal life to all.

There is no “us versus them”—we’re all sinners deeply in need of mercy. The radically unique Christian message includes the fact that every soul is of equal and immeasurable value in the eyes of God. So if our Lord was a friend to all, shouldn’t we be also?

Be humble

Speaking of Pope Francis, one of his most endearing traits is his humility. In fact, humility is a foundational virtue, one that allows us to focus on others rather than ourselves and, even more important, to facilitate proper worship of God.

Think about the countless scriptural references to humility. James 4:6 tells us, “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.” This isn’t hard to square with our own experiences. Have you ever been turned off by the arrogant attitude of someone you’ve just met? But encountering humble people has the opposite impact—we are attracted to them, in the best sense.

I have been privileged to know leaders of organizations with a global scope whom you could imagine might have an arrogant streak. Yet one such woman (let’s call her Nancy), who is perhaps among the smartest people I know, is also among the most gracious. Despite Nancy’s prodigious intelligence, she displays a remarkable attribute: rather than pontificating, she asks questions. In the process, she demonstrates great kindness and takes a sincere interest in everyone she meets.

These habits have an astonishing impact on others. When you’re engaged in a conversation with Nancy, you feel honored and have a sense that your opinion truly matters to her. You feel esteemed to have such a formidable intellect asking what you think. I wonder if that’s how some people felt when they spoke to Jesus.

In the workplace, humility is also helpful when we consider how often we find ourselves working in teams. By their very nature, teams consist of people, all equipped with various strengths and weaknesses. You’ve heard of (or experienced) political environments, right? That’s where teams play off of one another’s weaknesses for personal gain.

Thankfully, the opposite is also true: In good teams, we play off one another’s strengths. That requires recognizing one another’s strengths. That requires humility.

In the end, humility is a kind of secret weapon of the Christian faith. It’s good for us. It’s good for our human relationships. It’s good for our divine relationship. It’s good, by extension, for our workplaces.

Be hopeful

Scripture is chock-full of exhortations to hope, such as Romans 15:13: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.” It’s a fundamental part of the gospel message, not to mention one of the three theological virtues.

Hope is attractive, particularly as so many people around us struggle in this area. Who doesn’t, right? So what does hope look like when it’s applied to our work lives?

First, doing our best at work, striving for excellence, is a manifestation of hope. If we do even the smallest things out of love for God, placing our hope in him, we know it’s pleasing to him. It can also be a practical stress reducer, since we have given our best but recognize that we’re not in control of all the outcomes in our lives. God is.

Recognizing that grace builds on nature, we do our best, offer up our work to the Lord, asking for his blessing on our humble efforts, and give thanks for the results. Even when the results aren’t what we hoped for. When that’s the case, we keep giving our best. Even in failure, we can place our hope in him and even maintain a spirit of joy.

How do we do this? Well, think about the crucifixion for a second. At the time, this appeared to be the extinguishment of all hope, at least from the perspective of Christ’s disciples. Yet with the Resurrection, that perspective changed. That’s the beauty of embracing a spirit of Christian hope. Even when things seem to be at their worst, we can have faith that the Lord still holds us in his hands.

Joy in tribulation

One of my favorite stories in Scripture is in Acts 5. The apostles are hauled in front of the Sanhedrin, accused of preaching the gospel. For their troubles they were flogged. Flogged! Then Scripture tells us the most astonishing thing.

They left rejoicing.

Rejoicing! Can you imagine? “Then they left the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worth to suffer dishonor for the name” (Acts 5:41). It’s incredible. The way the apostles accepted hardship offers a huge challenge—and opportunity—for us today.

It’s not likely that we’ll be flogged in our workplace anytime soon (although I’ve certainly witnessed verbal floggings here and there). At the same time, there are lots of opportunities for us to accept the smaller hardships with grace and good humor. Coffee spill on our white shirt? Friction with a coworker? Problem on a big project? Our handling of difficulties speaks to others without us speaking about faith at all.

There’s an even bigger opportunity. When it comes to fertile ground for the gospel, there is perhaps no greater example than that of an individual going through serious problems in his life. This is where we are able to be Christ in the life of someone who needs it. Not for manipulative purposes, of course, but out of sincere respect, compassion, and love.

Honor freewill

As the parents of eight children, my wife and I once had four teenagers at home simultaneously. Along with keeping up with a gigantic food bill every month, I really struggled with the concept of freewill. Couldn’t God have provided an exemption for teens?

Of course, this was an opportunity for my sanctification, even though it sure was tough at the time. Despite challenges to parental authority, lack of respect, and various other obstacles, I began to see how freewill is a necessary component of conversion. This culminated in a re-reading of John chapter 6, where Jesus allowed people to walk away when he began speaking of eating his flesh and drinking his blood. He didn’t chase after them. He honored their freewill. Perhaps some of them reconsidered later; we don’t know.

The scriptural admonishment not to judge makes all the sense in the world when we apply it to the judgment that is uniquely God’s job: that of judging hearts. Of course, we are able to see actions and see that they can be good or evil. That’s why we have laws against ax murderers but think it’s good to help the poor.

Our coworkers also have the benefit of freewill. This is why we should never seek to manipulate. Rather, we should have a radical respect for the conscience and freedom of others, even when their consciences aren’t properly formed. They’re not stupid; they have unique personal experiences, and the path to challenge them positively is through what my friend Dan Burke calls the “apologetics of extraordinary love.” In other words, to reach them we must love them, and then “love becomes the bridge over which truth can pass.” Love first, then truth.

The model Christ left for us was one of service. We are meant, like him, “not to be served but to serve” (Mark 10:45). When we have a heart for service, we recognize the importance of loving others in practical, everyday terms. This is how positive relationships are built and provide us with credibility that our own freewill is being used in an efficacious manner.

Plant seeds

We plant seeds in hearts first by who we are, then by what we’re fired up about, by what we don’t care about, by what we do, and by what we don’t do. Remember, planting seeds is our job. We can challenge people here and there when necessary, but this shouldn’t be our lead strategy.

Instead, one of the best things we can do, once we’ve done everything we can to act in accordance with the gospel message, is to embrace that “gift of self” so often cited by St. John Paul II. We give ourselves to others through the sacrifice of time, talents, and treasure. In the workplace, so often the right gift is that of time.

Tell your story

If the Faith changes us, we have a story to tell. Among the privileges of my professional life is hearing the stories of the many converts and “reverts” to the faith on The Journey Home TV program each week at the Coming Home Network. These stories are potent; they resonate in ways only the Holy Spirit can provoke.

Our stories are important. We can share mistakes we’ve made, triumphs, perspectives on how to handle situations, encouragement . . . the possibilities are endless. Of course, this involves words. Thankfully, even if our lives and actions haven’t been perfect, we can still build others up with words—even sharing our mistakes when necessary.

Head for the entrance

It’s important to remember that most of us probably won’t undergo a martyr’s death. The way we’ll exercise the above virtues will be most notable, and perhaps most powerful, in the little everyday things that aren’t noteworthy or powerful. We will always be reliant on the power of the Holy Spirit to change hearts, and that’s the bottom line. We can encourage others to head for the entrance rather than the exit.

A friend of mine once said that his goal was to be successful and to never know it. By trusting in the Lord and leaving the heavy lifting of evangelization to the Holy Spirit, we’ll learn to be better workers—and better Catholics.

#Catholic Answers #Evangelization #New Evangelization #Catholic Church #Catholic Teaching

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drsilverwoman · 5 years

Text

My Girlfriend Wants me to be Gay

2011

The most recent articulation of this desire came last night after watching Charlotte York declare that she is becoming a Jew, in order to have a real chance at love with her new man Harry Goldenblatt. Charlotte and Harry are of course characters on Sex and the City, one of the shows that will be part of my dissertation. Chelsea is watching the entire series with me for the first time, and each episode she looks to me in wonderment, is that really what straight women think? Do men really have hairy backs like that? What kind of odd shaped dicks have you seen? What makes a good diamond? Did she really say 14,000-dollar wedding dress?

Last night however, after watching Charlotte’s willingness to convert for the man she loves, Chelsea turned to me and told me “I’d go Jew for you, since you went gay for me.”

Is it by nature of me being a woman and having a sexual, emotional and monogamous relationship with another women, that I become gay? If I have spent most of the last ten years of my life sleeping with men, does all of that disappear as I commit myself to Chelsea? What does it mean for me to be a lesbian?

Chelsea is a lesbian. She is butch, she has little to no relations with men or interest in them, and she only wants to date other lesbians. Chelsea finds no appeal in converting straight girls, or being the fantasy-curiosity in the heterosexual woman’s sexual identity. Nope, she wants full on lezzies in her bed. She wants to be immersed in the lesbian community- one she loves, values, and gets much of her strength from. She relishes in the circle of friends she has made, and next week as we head up to Pride in New York City, the Dyke parade is the only thing she cares to see.

I am not quite there yet, and I don’t know if I will ever be. Last year around this time I began my first relationship with a woman, Chelsea’s nemeses actually. Ali and I met at a Halcyon, the local lesbian folk group’s monthly concert, and dated for about six months. Ali and I were doomed from the start. She wouldn’t commit, I slacked on my work, we resented each other and we fought, a lot. I knew within weeks of dating it should be over. I thought women might be different. I hoped the fighting would go away because we were able to communicate better. But gay or straight, when you fight in the beginning things don’t last too long. Still, I wanted to date a girl. I needed to date a girl. I had been trying for so long that I was willing to take this shitty relationship just so that I could have a relationship with a woman. I wanted to be part of lesbian community, one I had spent so much time on the periphery of, and one that I had so longed to be part of.

I remember in college my roommate Megan was dating a woman named Megan and regularly we would have lesbian, vegetarian potlucks at our small apartment in Montreal. The years of living together had worn on Megan’s and my relationship and so when these women would venture to our home I was cast away at the man-loving meat eater. From the doorway of my bedroom I would watch these women, wanting to be amongst them, while also ridiculing their need for constant affirmation as well as their dietary choices. Years later, when Ali and I began dating I realized why that affirmation was necessary. However, I also continued to ridicule the vegetarian-lesbian connection. A recent convert to vegetarianism, due to her ex-girlfriend’s eating habits and her newfound post-college political awareness, I enjoyed regularly reminding Ali she was not the first woman to give up meat. More so, that I would not give up meat for her, nor would I feel bad about my choice to eat flesh.

“I’m so gay for you,” I told Chelsea a few weeks ago after an amazing hour or so of sex. Relishing the numerous orgasms I had just had, and smiling over Chelsea’s newfound theory that fingers are like dicks with brains (again, after an episode of Sex and The City in which Samantha describes a blow job as a pussy with brain) I really was feeling very mush a lesbian. But thing is, I don’t really know what that meant when I said what I did, and I am still not sure.

The next morning, when I got home from the gym singing along to Fred Durst, Chelsea asked me if I was still going to be gay for her that day. She seems to think lesbians cannot like Limp Bizkit, or that if I am going to like Fred Durst (and Kid Rock and Eminem for that matter) then I need to over emphasize my gayness in other ways. She secretly has a weakness for Toby Keith so I am not really sure about the fairness of this logic. However, I guess my ability to pass and my femme identity, one that always already renders women within the heterosexual male gaze forces me to assert my sexual identity in other ways. So, that day, after the gym, I was sure to file my nails down extra short before I got in the shower, and while dressing I opted for a butchier racer back tank-top over one with skinny spaghetti straps. Ah yes, I thought, today I am gay.

I am learning what it is to be a lesbian, and each day I think I am closer to being gay for Chelsea, but I can’t deny that sometimes when Samantha talks about how much she enjoys giving a blow job, or Carrie exclaims that she will not survive much longer without the weight of a man on top of her, I can relate. Ten years of sex with men, with quite a few I may add, of various shapes, sizes, ethnicities, backgrounds, and in a variety of locations and positions does not disappear in a year. No matter how much I adore sex with women and the intimacy I have found with Chelsea that is unlike anything I have experienced before, I still wonder, am I gay?

I know what she means though when she tells me she wants me to go gay for her, well I know some of what she means. I know that she wants me to stop comparing my sex with her, to sex with men. More then that, she wants to stop comparing sex with women to sex with men. At times I fear she wants me to spend less time with my straight friends and become more a part of her community, a desire I know she has, but fears to express. When men look at me she is intrigued, and often wants to understand how I enjoy it while she finds it threatening. She often asks me about the variety of dicks I have seen, are they really as temperamental as the women of Sex and the Cityclaim? Somehow she wants me to recount dick stories to her and not include the people who were attached. Does she think straight sex has no feeling? Having last had sex with a boy in high school, she knows nothing of the intimacy men and women share together. Nothing of the joy of hands-free sex. Nothing of the ease of just putting it in and both getting off at the same time. And nothing of the amazing sensation that occurs when a man comes inside of you just as you are orgasming.

My friend Ryan has the dirtiest mouth of anyone I know and when he jokes about balls and dicks and asses I laugh out loud, she grimaces and asks me to not make her hang out with him again. When my friend Jess comes over with a weekend full of single straight girl stories of casual kisses and drunken make-outs, I smile and remember the good old days. Chelsea finds her boy-craziness annoying and wonders what about it I can find enjoyable. For someone who studies gender and trans identities, it often amazes me how quickly she places people into a straight gay binary, and within that construct excludes straight men from her world.

But this is not a rant about Chelsea, or her politics, because I adore her and I also know that she is young, still living in a world similar to the one Megan constructed at McGill. One I know women value and maintain, but outside of college we cannot exist in such contained bubbles and Chelsea is beginning to recognize the variety of men and that there are even some she might enjoy the company of. More so, this is not about Chelsea’s politics because it is about me being gay, or trying to be.

What does it mean for me to become gay? For Chelsea to become a Jew there is a process, she would convert. There are ceremonies and rituals and ways of initiating her new identity. I could have a coming out party, we joke about the idea of it, but ultimately it seems to silly to happen. When I am with Chelsea the word sees me as gay. But when I tell me family and friends, the people I have known the longest, about Chelsea they wonder what happened to the woman who for years had relationships with men, and quite a few of them. Although my parents don’t know about many of my partners most of my close friends have an inkling as to my sexual history, and it is vast. I often joke about the need to write a memoir of my sex life, The Biography of my Bed, I want to call it. It would be full of fun tales and silly stories, many involving dick. But dick is taboo in the lesbian world. And this I know, because when Ali and I finally ended due to her reading my emails and discovering my cheating behaviors, the only behavior that ever got back to me was the moment when I described to Jess how nice it felt to once again have a dick in my mouth. My reputation in the lesbian community was momentarily destroyed. And so I found Mallori, got back my lesbian credibility, and then Chelsea (who is also preceded by a bad reputation, although hers has nothing to do with dicks) admitted after months of sitting next to me in class and me telling her I like her, that she liked me. We have been dating ever since, and now I guess I am gay, again.

Ben’s dick, well I did like it in my mouth. And I liked it between my legs. I also liked his hairy chest and his masculine ways of being. I also like Chelsea’s masculine ways of being, her hand between my legs and her clit in my mouth. I hate the term bisexual. It brings up too many negative stereotypes; greedy, promiscuous, undecided, and disloyal, just to name a few. Whereas many straight men may think bisexual women are sexy and intriguing there is no such affirmation within the lesbian community. At best I have found acceptance from those who know better than to judge based on sexuality. Many acknowledge the fluidity of sexuality and recognize the hypocrisy of judging one’s sexuality and using it to think less of them. Too many gay people have had the same tactics employed on them and so in theory they know better than to do the same, but in practice the taboo against bisexual women remains strong and often works as a way to keep people outside of the in group.

Being in that group is such a joy! Don’t let anyone tell you different, there is power in the margins and there is pleasure in living in a semi-secretive world. Whether that counters the negativity many queers face when they daily negotiate the normal world I cannot say, but I do know there is fun found in finding yourself outside the norm.

So what does me being gay mean for my girlfriend? I know that the sex acts between us and the relationship we have, which for most folks constructs us both as lesbians, may not be enough for her. She knows too much theory and too much reality about the lives of sexual beings and so when she says to me that she will go Jew for me because I will go gay for her, what have I done? Well, in jest I have told her that I am gay for her. When I return home from the gym with some angry white boy blaring in my ear I remind her that my bad taste in music has no effect on my desire for her.

Maybe I need a coming out party the same way one goes through a religious conversion process. But the fact is, if Chelsea and I break up I don’t care if she stays Jewish, that is, unless we have kids. Are kids the determining factor? If we were to split, I would want her to continue raising our children as Jews, so it makes sense that she would want to have me continue raising our kids as a lesbian. Can one convert their sexuality the way they might change their religion. Does a Jewish convert ever stop missing Christmas? Do they ever really know what it is like to be born a Jew and be excluded from so many activities as a child? And does a woman, such as myself, who at 30 decides to be a lesbian, ever stop missing the feel of a dick? Do I ever really know what it means to be a lesbian when the thought of having sex with a man doesn’t make my skin crawl?

#lesbian femme #lesbian #femme

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