#KEI Wires and Cables

[balajiswitchgears]

To the engineer who always finds solutions to every problem. Happy #National #Engineers Day 2023 to all the engineers! Your innovation and dedication continue to amaze us. Keep building a better world!

www.balajiswitchgears.com

Mail: mktgindia@balajiswitchgears.com

[electricalshopsvapi]

Top Benefits of Partnering with a Distributor of Industrial Electrical Products

In this world of industrial operations, it is important to have a reliable supply of electrical goods. Even if you have a manufacturing plant or are working on a large-scale construction job, high-quality electrical items are always crucial. Here comes the need to rely on a trusted distributor of industrial electrical items. Unlike all those retail suppliers, distributors can offer a tailored and well-planned approach. Hence, if you are wondering why wholesale distributors are a better option, then let’s check out some of their interesting benefits below.

Technical Expertise

Distributors are not just middlemen, but they can also work as an extension of an engineering team or company. Most distributors have some expert and trained employees who can easily understand the complexities of various types of electrical systems. 

Hence, these experts can offer notable guidance on several important aspects. These include energy efficiency, product compatibility, and regulatory compliance. So, whenever you need to choose the right tools to create a strong electrical appliance or product, you should rely on trusted distributors. Thus, you can avoid errors and even your time and labor.

Broader Range of Products

Most industrial operation procedures need lots of efficient electrical components. Those may be circuit breakers, transformers, panelboards, wires, etc. Most distributors usually have an extensive and rich portfolio from several famous manufacturers. Thus, they can offer interesting access to various types of important goods in just a single place.

Even if you need some highly complex or specialized parts or some standard goods, distributors can help you out. Furthermore, distributors can offer some new product releases and innovations that may align with your applications perfectly.

Cost Efficiency Due to Bulk Pricing

When you choose a reliable distributor, you can gain access to some lucrative pricing structures. Those structures are far better compared to all those one-off or retail offers. Distributors buy in bulk directly from various manufacturers. Thus, they can offer lots of cost-saving options to their customers as well. So, you can enjoy notable cost efficiency by choosing distributors and maintaining a long-term relationship with them. 

Moreover, they can offer important suggestions about alternative brands or goods at a lower cost. Those options will always meet your needs as well as your budget structures.

Inventory Management

Distributors can help just by offering some tailored solutions as per your needs. Those usually include properly managed inventory, scheduled delivery, and also compact invoicing. All these notable services can always cut down on excess stock and reduce your administrative overhead. 

Enhanced Reliability

In many situations, downtime can be quite expensive and result in missed deadlines. So, it is important to trust a reliable distributor. They can ensure that you will always receive your goods on time. Many can help by offering faster delivery services as well as reduced lead times. Some distributors even offer same-day delivery or 24×7 support to their clients. This level of service and reliability is no doubt helping customers a lot. So, if you need some high-quality electrical products, along with remarkable services, you have to depend on a reliable distributor of industrial electrical products, like Poonam Electrical.

[californialanyards]

A Snip Guide to Accessory Items and Stainless Steel Cable Key Rings

Are you tired of fighting cheap key chains that break too quickly or losing your keys? You've come to the right place; the stainless steel cable key ring can be the solution to your issues. In this article, we'll talk about the best key rings for different purposes and how they help you keep your keys secure and organized.

Stainless Steel Cable Key Rings: Their Sturdiness and Dependability

When it comes to key rings, durability is an important factor to take into account. Generally speaking, cheaply constructed key rings often break, change their shape, or even snap suddenly. On the other hand, the stainless steel cable key rings are built to last a very long time. We know that stainless steel is preferred because of its exceptional strength, ability to withstand corrosion, and general longevity. Your keys will be safe and secure because your key ring won't break down over time.

Use a Steel Screw Lock and Wire Cable to Keep Your Keys Secure.

One of the steel screw lock wire cable's unique features is the mechanism that provides an additional layer of security to ensure that your keys are securely fastened to the key ring. The steel screw lock wire cable keeps a tight seal to avoid accidental key removal.

How are the best key rings chosen?

Is that not the big question? The best key rings available in the market today may be found in a multitude of alternatives thanks to online retailers like California Lanyards. You may find excellent options of key rings that can keep your keys secure and organized, whether they are in the form of stainless steel cable key rings or another kind. Key rings are an essential accessory that is readily available online in a number of styles.

[electrocare]

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[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

Till Death Do Us Part | Pt. 2

Pairing: Assassin! Choi Seungcheol x Assassin! F. Reader

Themes: Smut | Angst | (Fake) Marriage | Based on the movie 'Mr. & Mrs. Smith' | Undercover Assassins | Hidden Identities | T.W.: mentions of blood, violence, guns

Wordcount: 13.8K

Playlist: 'Control' - CHVRN | 'Keep on Breathing' - The Glitch Mob, Tula | 'Fantasies' - Llynks | 'Madness' - Ruelle | 'Gomd' - Sickick

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Oral (M. Receiving) - Slight Edging (M. Receiving) - Dominant! Reader - Dominant! Seungcheol - Rough play: titty slapping, spanking, hair pulling, biting, etc. - PIV - Unprotected intercourse

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

Previous Chapter: Till Death Do Us Part

Mingyu’s safe house—once just a sprawl of mismatched furniture and half-used equipment—is now a makeshift war room. Tables have been dragged together, boxes repurposed into makeshift desks, wires and monitors hooked into power grids and backup batteries. Satellite phones and burner lines hum quietly from one corner. The walls are lined with maps, a printed blueprint of Argos HQ taped alongside Lim’s Seoul office, red strings and pins ready to mark last known locations.

And at the heart of it all: an arsenal.

You and Seungcheol move slowly around the centrepiece—an open metal table now covered in weapons. Rifles. Semi-autos. Silencers. Flashbangs. Knives of every shape and finish. Armoured vests, gloves, scopes, smoke bombs. Clips and magazines neatly sorted by size. The smell of metal and oil clings to everything.

He holds up a new M1911 with a low whistle.

“Wonwoo really stocked you up,” you murmur, brushing your fingers across the matte finish of a karambit.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says, inspecting the sightline. “He’s had a shopping problem ever since Rio. Said it’s cheaper than therapy.”

You smirk faintly and continue checking the gear. Methodical. Quiet. Efficient. Neither of you speaks much, but you don’t need to. There’s a rhythm to it—familiar. Rehearsed. Like slipping back into who you were long before this whole mess started.

Meanwhile, across the room, Reina is hunched over her own setup. She arrived just before sunrise, lugging in two black military-grade cases full of tech. Laptops, signal jammers, USB injectors, three satellite uplinks, and something you’re pretty sure was once a military drone antenna.

She hadn’t knocked—just used the side code to get in. You didn't bother asking her how she knew it.

Mingyu’s been following her around ever since.

“You know,” he says, peering over her shoulder as she boots up her third laptop. “I already had a full system here. Secure grid, scrambled line, full backup redundancy. You didn’t need to drag your entire tech department here.”

Reina doesn’t even look at him. “Yours were outdated.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “Outdated?!” he scoffs. “Excuse you, this setup got us through the Jakarta op.”

“Exactly.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes, but a grin pulls at the edge of his mouth. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” she replies sweetly, “you still dream of me.”

He clears his throat at Reina’s comment and turns back to his cables, ears slightly turning pink.

You and Seungcheol exchange a glance. You don’t comment.

Instead, you turn toward the weaponry again.

“This is yours,” Seungcheol mutters, holding out a matte black Glock with a suppressor. “The grip should fit your hand.”

You take it and weigh it in your palm. “Perfect.”

He checks the mag, then hands you two more. “Loaded with subsonics. Just in case.”

You nod and pocket them. “You keeping the SIG?”

“Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Everything else—body armour, tactical pouches, spare knives—you both split evenly. There’s no talk of splitting up now. Only of surviving. Only of fighting.

A beep cuts through the room. Then another.

Reina taps a few keys on her main laptop. “We’re live.”

The screens fill—one by one—with pixelated faces.

The girls appear on the left monitor: Samira, Bora, Jiwoo. All in different rooms, different countries, some underground. Some clearly on the move. But they’re alive.

The boys fill the right screen: Woozi, Joshua, and Wonwoo.

Hyerim is the last to appear. She’s pale and looks like she hasn’t slept in two days. Woozi, on the screen beside her, still seems reluctant—but he’s here.

Everyone watches you.

You and Seungcheol stand in front of the cameras, side by side. Calm. Focused. The tension in the room is nearly unbearable.

Then Samira lets out a breath. “Holy shit. You’re alive.”

“I didn’t think I’d actually see your face again,” Jiwoo says, trying to smile, though her voice shakes.

“Same here,” Joshua says from the other side. “We’ve been locked down. No signals. No reassurances. Just... radio silence.”

You nod once. “We didn’t know who made it either. Not until now.”

Seungcheol steps forward. “We’re glad you’re here. All of you.”

He pauses, then continues. “Here’s what we know. Argos and Lim & Associates—”

“—have been playing us all along,” you finish. “Feeding each other contracts, setting us up to compete for bigger bounties. Splitting profits while turning us into pawns.”

A wave of muttering breaks out across the feeds.

“They tried to kill us to tie up loose ends,” Seungcheol says. “They failed.”

“But not for lack of trying,” you add grimly. “They’ll keep coming. And you know what that means.”

“It means we’re next,” Bora says softly.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Then Samira speaks. “So what do we do? We scatter? Lay low? Build new identities?”

“Start hitting back?” Woozi suggests. “They want a war; we give them one.”

“We go public,” Jiwoo says. “Leak what we know to the international market. Force their hand. They won’t survive the exposure.”

Everyone talks over each other—ideas flying in every direction, voices rising with panic or adrenaline. Reina tries to corral them. Mingyu scowls and leans toward his mic.

You hold up your hand. “Enough.” Everyone quiets.

You take a step closer to the screen, eyes scanning each and every face—some scared, some angry, some simply tired.

“I know everyone has ideas,” you say. “But we need a plan. We can’t move blindly. Because each and every one of you is now at risk. And I’m telling you right now—I’m not sacrificing a single one of you to end this. Not now. Not ever.”

Silence.

Then Bora speaks, hesitant. “Then... maybe we break up. Cut contact completely. And you two? Go separate. Give yourselves better odds.”

Seungcheol answers before you can. “Mingyu already said the same thing.” He glances at you, then looks directly at the screen. “But it’s not happening.”

You step in, firm. “We’re not running.”

A long silence.

Then Hyerim’s voice cuts through it like a match-striking flame.

“Then let’s figure out a way to end this.”

The war room comes alive.

Monitors hum. Fingers fly across keyboards. Maps are spread across the walls with satellite feeds casting flickering lights over weapons and half-drunk coffee mugs. Mingyu and Reina hover on opposite ends of the room, syncing laptops, pinning strings between photos, placing red dots on global maps, and drawing lines connecting targets, histories, and lies.

It’s like HQ—only grittier.

Samira calls out coordinates from her safehouse in Morocco, eyes glued to her private satellite feed. “Director Oh just pinged in Bucharest. He’s changed IDs three times since the system crash but the credit trail doesn’t lie.”

Joshua’s already working on the second. “Mr. Kwon used one of his shell companies to rent a private jet from Rome three hours ago. Flight plan had a false lead to London but I think he diverted.” His screen blinks. “He’s in Dubai.”

“That’s two,” Seungcheol mutters beside you. He’s standing with his arms folded over his chest, tension in every line of his body. “What about Lim? Or my boss?”

You shake your head, eyes moving across the chaotic network of images and data Reina has laid out. “Too clean. Nothing in her old aliases. Nothing recent.”

“Same for Director Kang,” Woozi chimes in reluctantly. “If he’s off-grid, he’s really off-grid. No comms. No cards. He vanished.”

“They’re ghosts,” Hyerim says, frowning into her screen. “Exactly like they trained us to be.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose. “Then we think like ghosts.”

You push away from the table and begin pacing.

“Madame Lim always had a thing for private residencies in Luxembourg. Kwon once mentioned her ties to an old estate there. Untraceable ownership but still under her maiden alias. She called it her ‘shadow base’.”

“Wait—” Jiwoo perks up from behind her camera. “You mean the one with the mirrored façade?”

You nod slowly. “That’s the one.”

“Kang has that obsession with old nuclear command bunkers,” Seungcheol murmurs beside you. “Always said he’d retire into one. He’s got property in the rural mountains between China and Laos.”

Wonwoo immediately types. “I’ve got a heat signal matching that description. Subterranean. Shielded comms. I’d bet on it.”

“Add it to the board,” you say.

One by one, the map fills in.

Red string now links Director Oh to Bucharest. Kwon to a luxury Dubai apartment. Madame Lim to Luxembourg. Director Kang to a mountain facility on the China-Laos border. Four red Xs appear in real time.

It’s already dark outside. You can see your reflection in the glass. Exhaustion pulls at your features, but no one slows down.

Then Woozi finally says what everyone’s thinking.

“So now what? We found them. What do we do next?”

Seungcheol’s voice is calm. Final.

“We kill them. All of them.”

You look at him, but don’t stop him. You feel the same.

But Hyerim shakes her head. “Killing them is one thing,” she says. “But it doesn’t erase the bounties. What are you gonna do, kill every mercenary that comes after you, too?”

A tense silence. You feel the weight of it settle in your chest.

Then Joshua jumps in. “Can’t we just remove the bounties once they’re dead? Wipe the system?”

Reina cuts him off. “Not that simple. They were posted through a specialised encrypted program. Those bounties require live biometric confirmation from the original posters to cancel.”

“So you’re saying we need to access that program,” Wonwoo says, leaning forward.

Reina nods once. “Not just access. We need them alive, long enough to scan in and delete the data.”

Mingyu groans, tossing a stress ball up and catching it again. “Damn. Who the hell built something like that?”

Silence.

Then Reina mutters quietly, “I did.” All heads turn.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Of course you did.”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath. Just once.

You straighten, moving closer to the table. “Reina—can you track the origin posts? Figure out who initiated the bounties?”

She nods, fingers flying across her keyboard. “Give me a second...”

Everyone waits, watching the screen update line by line.

“Got it.” Her voice sharpens. “Your bounty, Gwisin—was posted by Madame Lim. S.Coups’? Director Kang.”

Seungcheol lets out a breath through his teeth. “Then we kill Oh and Kwon first. Quietly. Cut their links. Secure the network. Then we go for the real kill.”

“We have to be fast,” you add. “Coordinated. No screw-ups. The moment one of them gets wind, they’ll vanish for good or trigger dead-man protocols.”

The team nods.

Then Jiwoo’s voice cuts through the line—softer, but clear.

“Yeah... but even if you manage to find them, somehow disable the bounties and kill them...You two can’t take on every gun in the field already on the way to you. Not alone.”

You glance at Seungcheol, jaw tight. He’s thinking it too.

The silence stretches.

Then Samira speaks.

“What if we give the mercs something else to chase?”

Everyone turns to her.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Samira leans in closer to her camera. “I’ve been tracking Jackal on the side. He’s still alive. Ricardo has him in one of his desert compounds. Hidden, but not unreachable.”

You freeze. Your mind starts spinning.

“Wait,” you say. “Reina, Mingyu—can you check if the original Jackal bounty is still live? The twelve million one?”

They’re already typing.

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s dormant. Was put on hold after you both missed the retrieval.”

Seungcheol speaks then. “Can you reactivate it?”

Reina nods. “That bounty wasn’t encrypted. Global market. I can make it live again.”

Your voice is calm. Calculated. “Then do it. That should drag most mercenaries away from us. Especially if we leak intel about his location.”

Everyone falls silent again.

Then Seungcheol looks up. His voice is low.

“Let’s go to work.”

Bucharest is colder than expected.

You ride in on a black motorcycle, wind snapping at your borrowed jacket, face tucked beneath the visor of a matte helmet. The sun is just beginning to dip past the skyline, turning the haze of the city into a sheet of golden shadow. You keep to the alleys. Avoid open roads. Your fake ID has already been scanned twice, and thanks to Mingyu’s surprisingly competent alias work, no alarms were triggered.

You’ll file that under surprising things you’re not commenting on.

Much like the fact that Reina never left his safe house.

She’s now patching in from his personal terminal.

Jiwoo, however, is in Athens, and operating her own satellite rig.

“Gwisin, target is stationary,” Reina’s voice says in your comms, sharp as ever. “Upper floor of the building at coordinates 46.7691, 23.5899. Minimal guards. Two confirmed exits.”

“Copy that,” you whisper, crouched behind the gun.

You’ve scoped this place earlier—ten hours ago, to be exact. Found your perch on the fifth floor, shattered window perfectly angled toward the balcony where Oh takes his evening smoke. You’ve lined your sniper rifle up and calibrated for wind, trajectory, and velocity.

Now all you need is the target.

“Any movement yet?” you murmur.

Jiwoo responds. “Nothing yet. He’s still inside.”

You wait.

Time passes slowly in moments like these. The only rhythm is your breath, the slow clench and flex of your fingers around the rifle, and the occasional murmured updates from the girls. You watch out for Oh through your scope—his reflection in the window. Reading. Moving papers.

Then—footsteps.

You freeze.

Your breath stills, and your hands lift off the rifle slowly.

The building is supposed to be empty. You were thorough.

You immediately abandon your post, sliding silently back into the darkness behind you. You blend into it, breath stilling, spine flush to the wall.

Jiwoo’s voice crackles in your ear.

“He’s heading to the door. Looks like he’s prepping to move. You’ll have a clear—”

“I’ve got company,” you whisper, tight and low. “Hold your positions. Do not lose track of Oh.”

There’s a pause.

Then Reina says, “Copy. We’re holding.”

You draw your karambit.

Light floods faintly from beneath the hallway door.

Three shadows. Boots. You clock their cadence, their height, their coordination.

The Vasile triplets.

Mercenaries-for-hire. Romanian. Silent hitters. Raised together. Kill together. And now, they think they’re here to kill you.

The first one enters, rifle low. His head turns. That’s all the opening you need. You move like the wind, slicing your karambit clean across his throat. He drops without a sound.

The second shouts, raising his gun, but you’re already behind the nearest wall. You draw the silenced pistol at your hip and shoot once—chest shot. He stumbles, gasps, drops.

The third one charges you—clever, hand-to-hand. You duck his swing and slam your elbow into his ribcage. He knees you in the thigh. Pain pulses through your leg, but you keep your balance. You twist around him and slam your boot into his kneecap. He falls. You follow him to the floor and drive your blade through his neck, slicing upwards.

Silence falls again.

Blood pools quietly between broken cracks of flooring.

Then—

“Gwisin,” Jiwoo’s voice crackles, “Oh’s outside. He’s walking.”

You groan under your breath. “Of course he is.”

You sprint for the window. Your rifle is abandoned. So are the bodies.

You swing your leg out onto the fire escape and slide down the cold metal, the sound of your boots thudding against the wall as you descend. At the base, you toss the ladder down and emerge into an alley, breathing hard.

Your hand slips into your side pocket. A small black GPS device flashes with Oh’s blinking signal.

You speak into the comms. “Jiwoo, Reina—I need a city redirect. Get him into the northeast corner. I’ll meet him there.”

Reina clicks into action. “Hacking local lights now. You’ve got two minutes before I trigger.”

“Give me three,” you respond.

You’re walking fast now, weaving through market streets and narrow alleys, always a shadow. You guide Reina through every junction.

Traffic halts suddenly at your command. Oh is forced off his original path.

He walks. Alone. No security. You smile.

“He’s close,” you murmur. “Jiwoo, clear?”

“Clear,” she answers. “No cameras. No civilians. You’re good.”

You double back through a quieter route, entering the side street from the far end. Oh is still walking, checking his phone; his pace is fast, but he looks distracted.

You drop your eyes, tuck your blade into your sleeve, and walk straight toward him. Thirty steps. Twenty. Ten.

He passes you.

You spin, arm over his shoulder, blade slicing deep and fast across his throat in one clean arc.

His blood sprays silently across the brick walls. He collapses without a sound.

You wipe the blade on your pants, spin it once on your finger, and slip it into your jacket.

“It’s done,” you whisper into your comm.

“Confirmed,” Jiwoo replies after a beat, voice hushed.

Reina exhales. “One down, three to go.”

You walk away without looking back.

The first head has rolled.

Dubai is a city that refuses to sleep.

Glass towers claw at the sky, each one gleaming with its own brand of opulence. Gold trims, velvet ropes, and secrets buried under mirrored floors. For a man who wants to disappear, it’s a living nightmare.

Which is, of course, why Mr. Kwon chose it.

Seungcheol adjusts the cuff of his suit as he walks through the private entrance of Elara, one of Dubai’s most exclusive high-end clubs, his steps confident and deliberate. A different kind of camouflage. He’s not invisible here—not in this white-pressed designer shirt and sleek black jacket. He doesn’t blend in. He owns the room.

“Mingyu?” he murmurs, the comm in his ear catching his voice beneath the music.

“You’re clear. VIP is in the left wing. Same booth as his last visit. And yeah, Kwon’s already six drinks in,” Mingyu answers from the other end, back at their makeshift satellite station in his safe house.

“Woozi?”

“Confirming no other threats have pinged in your area. You’re solo,” comes the clipped reply. Good.

Seungcheol adjusts his stance slightly as he moves toward the main floor. The lights pulse golden. Music throbs under his shoes like a second heartbeat. The crowd is decadent—diamonds and champagne, cleavage and cologne. And in the centre of it all sits Mr. Kwon.

VIP booth. Surrounded by women.

Seungcheol signals a passing waiter and flashes a smile. “Your finest bottle of Boërl & Kroff. Send it to the gentleman in the booth. No note.”

The waiter nods, takes the cash, and slips away. Seconds later, Kwon is laughing and downing champagne straight from the bottle, frothy and bubbling down his chin. The women cheer; one of them straddles his thigh. Seungcheol watches it all unfold from across the room, a quiet predator sipping a scotch he’ll never finish.

You cross his mind unbidden. The rifle in your hands. The quiet precision of your kills. He wonders—Have you done it yet? Are you safe?

He shakes the thought away.

Focus.

Time ticks forward slowly. Kwon grows drunker, heavier-lidded. Then, finally, he rises—stumbling slightly, laughing, waving the women off.

Bathroom break.

Seungcheol downs his drink and follows.

The hallway is dimly lit. Long. Opulent in design but silent. The door to the bathroom swings open, and Seungcheol slips in a few moments later.

Inside, Kwon is already at the sink. Washing his hands like he’s preparing for a goddamn sermon. He’s humming.

When he looks up, he catches Seungcheol’s reflection in the mirror.

The moment of recognition is quick. Seungcheol is quicker.

His arm wraps around Kwon’s neck, cutting off the air, holding tight. Kwon thrashes once, twice, tries to claw at him, tries to scream—but it’s too late. His body slumps, and Seungcheol lowers him to the tile.

“Goodnight,” he mutters coldly.

The second the body hits the floor, Seungcheol straightens his suit, slicks his hair back with one sweep, and checks his reflection in the mirror. His muscles strain again. It’s almost poetic now.

He turns toward the exit. Left leads back to the party. Right leads out.

He turns right.

He only makes it ten feet before a gold chain lashes around his ankle like a striking snake. He hits the floor hard, forearms slamming into tile, the wind knocked from his chest.

The chain yanks.

He rolls—just in time.

A figure charges at him with the elegance of a dancer and the savagery of a cobra. Full force, she lands on top of him.

They wrestle—hands, knees, elbows. She’s fast. Precise. Smiling.

“Hello, darling,” she purrs, her accent unmistakable. “Still breaking hearts?”

“Varsha,” he growls. “Didn’t expect you to come crawling back.”

She slams her fist into his ribs.

He kicks upward, rolling her off. They separate, both springing to their feet at once—Seungcheol doing a clean kick-up, landing squarely in a fighter’s stance.

She twirls the chain in one hand. Her snake bracelet, coiled and ready.

“Heard you were married now,” she says, circling. “Shame.”

“Shame you don’t know when to quit,” he mutters.

They lunge at the same time.

She swings the chain—he ducks, grabs the end mid-air, and yanks.

She flies forward, caught off guard, and he spins her into the wall. Her head cracks against a mirror.

She recovers. Slashes at his face. He blocks with his forearm, the chain cutting into his skin. He counters.

A blade slides from the inside of his sleeve—his last resort.

He plunges it deep into her gut before she can wrench away. Her breath hitches. Blood trickles out of her mouth.

He leans in, twisting the knife once before pulling it out and stabbing it in again.

“Should’ve stayed a one-night stand.” She collapses.

The comms buzz in his ear, and Seungcheol finally registers the noise.

“Hyung—what the hell was that noise?” Woozi demands.

Seungcheol breathes hard, blood dripping from his hand. He wipes the blade on his pants.

“Target’s down,” he says. “And so is the unexpected company.”

“Tell me that wasn’t Varsha?” Mingyu asks, incredulous.

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit.”

Seungcheol crouches beside the body for one second, then stands.

His suit is wrinkled, blood-streaked. His forearm stings. But the mission’s done.

The second head has rolled.

“Director Kwon is confirmed dead,” Reina says, her voice in your earpiece over the static of the line.

You’re crouched on the edge of a building rooftop in Bucharest, the skyline painted grey behind you, your breath cooling in the early evening air.

“Seungcheol did it in a club bathroom—clean choke. No witnesses, no trail,” she continues.

You exhale, tension loosening from your shoulders, the adrenaline of your own mission slowly bleeding out of your system.

“Good,” you reply, voice soft.

“I’ve just updated your travel packet. New alias, new flight plan. Small private jet’s waiting for you twenty clicks out of town. That should land you in Luang Namtha before midnight. From there, quad into the jungle—Seungcheol’s safehouse is mapped.”

“That where we regroup?”

“Yeah. Wonwoo’s sending another weapons crate to the site tomorrow. You’ll need it before you move on Kang.”

“Copy that,” you murmur. “I’ll move soon.”

You’re about to kill the comm when you hear it.

A low voice in the background—Mingyu’s, unmistakably.

“I can’t believe Varsha, of all people, showed up.”

You freeze, head tilting slightly.

“Kind of crazy that she’s still breathing after all these years. Woozi, remember her? That whole mess in Tangier? And now she tried to choke Seungcheol in a Dubai nightclub? Crazy bitch.”

A pause.

Then Mingyu again, voice casual, joking—too joking.

“Guess some flings really don’t take rejection well. But at least Cheol’s still got it, huh?”

Your blood runs cold. Then hot.

Varsha.

You’ve heard the name before. Not often, not clearly—It’s been passed around the underground like an urban legend: exotic, lethal, likes to strangle her targets with some kind of metal chain disguised as jewellery. A merc. A black widow.

And apparently, your husband’s slept with her.

Your jaw clenches.

You hang up the call with Reina before she can hear your tone shift.

It takes hours to get through immigration, over the Laos border, and deeper into the jungle. Your boots are caked in water and mud by the time you reach the last marker—an overgrown path with an old iron sign buried beneath moss and vines. The GPS flashes green in your hand.

Safehouse reached.

Your heartbeat picks up as you walk forward past the thick of the trees. You push through the foliage, parting vines and leaves until you finally see it—an old concrete structure, half-buried in the landscape but clearly maintained.

And standing in front of it, looking far too calm and far too attractive in a grey tactical shirt and jungle-worn cargo pants—Seungcheol.

His eyes light up the second he sees you.

He takes a step forward, and you feel your chest tighten, all that tension from the last few days crumbling in an instant.

God, he’s alive.

He walks right up to you, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you—hard.

It’s frantic, hungry, grateful. All heat and breath and want. You melt into it for a second, eyes fluttering shut, fingers curling into his shirt.

And then—

The name echoes again.

Varsha.

You snap out of it, pushing him back with one hand to his chest.

And then you slap him. Hard.

“Ow—!” he groans, jerking his head. “What the hell was that for?”

You don’t even let him recover.

You shove him again, your words tumbling out like bullets. “Who is Varsha, huh? And how long have you been sleeping with her?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Choi—” You hit his chest. “Who is she? When did you sleep with her? Was it before the wedding or after? The last time you were in Dubai? How long has this been going on?!”

“Okay, wow—” he starts, reaching for you.

You slap his hands away.

“You smug, lying, arrogant—God, you’re unbelievable. You brag to your friends like some frat boy, and then just... what? Hide it from me? Your wife?”

“Babe—”

“No!” You push him again. “Don’t you ‘babe’ me. And don’t touch me. Not after this. I’ll find that bitch and kill her myself. Right after I kill you.”

He tries again, grabbing for your arms.

You swat at him like a feral cat.

“Jesus, okay, stop—” he groans, catching your wrists and holding them in place. “Stop—just—stop hitting me for one second—”

“Why? You can’t take it? Was she better? Did she use the—”

He lets out a laugh then, loud and full-bodied.

And then he pulls you flush against him, hands still locked around your waist, gripping you tight enough you can’t wriggle free.

“You don't have to kill her,” he says, voice rough with amusement. “I already did.”

You freeze.

“...what?”

His mouth quirks. “She came at me in the club. Chained my ankle. Thought she could collect my bounty. I stabbed her. Right through the gut. She’s dead.”

You stare at him, blinking.

He raises an eyebrow. “What? You didn’t think I was out there making out with her, did you?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Look away, completely mortified.

He smirks.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “I’m such an idiot.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just tilts your chin up with one hand, waiting until your eyes meet his again.

And instead of teasing you further, he leans down—close enough that his breath ghosts against your lips.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he murmurs.

You scoff. “I’m not jealous.”

“You literally said you’d kill her.”

“That’s not the same thing—”

He laughs again.

You roll your eyes but don’t move away. Not even when he leans in, brushing his lips over yours with a feather-light touch. Not even when he whispers against your mouth.

“Trust me, baby, you’re the only one I want.”

You sigh, letting your forehead press to his.

“Good,” you whisper back.

And then he kisses you again.

The second Seungcheol’s mouth slants over yours again, something raw and almost reckless rises between you. Whatever apology you didn’t say for your blow-up burns off your tongue as your teeth sink into his lower lip instead. His hissed inhale at the sting makes something low in your stomach coil and thrum.

He pulls you closer like he’s starved. But you’re the one who can’t get enough.

The world narrows to your tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clashing and mouths bruising. You don’t even register the door closing behind you, or your boots tracking mud into the safe house. Seungcheol blindly stumbles back into the small main room, dragging you with him, hands gripping your hips like he needs the grounding.

You hit a wall. A stack of crates topples. Neither of you flinch.

He chuckles against your mouth when it crashes to the floor.

“Careful,” he murmurs, breathless. “You’re gonna wreck the place.”

You bite his bottom lip again. “I don’t care.”

Another kiss. Another half-step, and suddenly, he falls into a chair, dragging you with him.

You straddle his lap without hesitation, your thighs bracketing his hips, and your clothed core presses against the thick, growing bulge in his pants. His hands slide up your sides beneath your shirt, rough and warm, and you grind down on him with purpose. He groans into your mouth at the friction—one hand tightening on your waist while the other fists the hem of your shirt and yanks it up and over your head.

You break the kiss just long enough to let it go, arms flying overhead, before your lips crash back to his. Your hands are already at his belt, clumsily undoing the clasp, fingers fumbling with impatience as his hands work to undo your bra.

His mouth trails from your lips down your neck. “Jesus. You’re—”

“Shut up.”

He laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

You finally get his belt open, unzipping his pants while he kisses along the curve of your jaw and down your collarbone as he pushes your bra straps down. His hips buck slightly when your hand slides inside the waistband of his boxers, brushing against his hard length. You lean back, just enough to push his chest down into the chair.

“Don’t move,” you mutter, fingers splayed on his sternum. “And don’t touch.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at your warning but obliges. You slide off his lap, dropping to your knees between his legs. His eyes darken instantly.

“Baby, what—”

“Shut. Up.”

You slap his hands away when he tries to touch you, and he groans, watching as you reach for his waistband and tug everything down and off—pants, underwear, all at once. His cock springs free, flushed and thick and already hard, bobbing slightly against his abdomen.

You don’t tease. Not yet.

You lean in and envelop him in your mouth.

His strangled groan echoes around the room as your mouth closes over the head of his cock, wet and hot and needy. You drag your tongue slowly along the underside of his shaft, taking your time, then hollow your cheeks and suck him deeper, feeling the stretch in your jaw and the way his body tenses instantly.

“Fuck—” he chokes out, hands fisting the edge of the chair. “Holy shit.”

You bob your head, tongue swirling, alternating suction with slow drags, and soon he’s groaning again, hips jerking subtly up into your mouth before he forces himself to still.

You take your time—too much time.

Your hand joins your ministrations, wrapping around the base of his cock, pumping slowly while your mouth works the head. You stroke in rhythm with your lips, twisting, flicking your tongue, pulling back to suck hard at the tip before going deep again.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, one hand falling into your hair despite your warning.

You let him tug, guide, just enough to make your scalp sting.

He starts panting, the tension in his thighs ratcheting up.

“Baby—shit—I’m close—”

You immediately pull off. He gasps at the sudden loss of contact, body twitching at the near-orgasm, hands still in your hair.

You look at him as you start stroking him again—slow, deliberate, not letting him tip over.

His head thunks back against the chair. “You’re fucking evil.”

You smirk. “And yet, you married me.”

He groans, head turning to the side like he’s trying to focus on anything else. But it doesn’t help. Your hand never stops. But it’s not enough. Not fast enough, not tight enough. Minutes tick by. You go down again.

He jerks up so fast you nearly choke. Your lips wrap around his tip again, and you find a new rhythm—suck, stroke, lick, repeat.

He’s shaking when he groans, “Gonna come—fuck—”

You stop. Again.

“Fucking hell!” he barks, hands flying to the armrests.

You glance up with innocent eyes. “Something wrong, baby?”

“Don’t make me—” He grits his teeth, cheeks flushed and body glistening with sweat. “Do not make me beg.”

You smirk, pumping him once—twice—slowly. He groans, head falling forward. “You’re gonna pay for this—”

“Shut up and take it.”

The third time you take him in your mouth, you don’t wait for the warning.

You edge him again, stopping just as his thighs start to tremble and the base of his spine tenses in that telltale way. You pull off. Again.

A string of saliva connects your mouth to the tip of his cock.

He’s not groaning anymore. He’s whining. Your big, bad assassin husband is actually whining.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, eyes blown wide with desperation. “Please.”

You tilt your head. “Please what?” He glares. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You stroke him just once, and he groans. “Be in control?”

His jaw flexes. He looks at you like he wants to throttle you—or fuck you so hard the walls come down.

You lean in close again, lips brushing the tip.

“You’re punishing me, aren’t you?” he rasps. “For Dubai. For Varsha.”

You lick your lips. “Maybe.”

“You’re a fucking menace.”

“But you love it.”

He laughs through a moan. You smile, letting your tongue flick out—just enough to taste him again. And then, you sit back on your heels. Completely still. You don’t touch him. Don’t kiss him. Don’t move.

He stares at you, furious and hard and on the brink of madness.

You rise slowly to your feet, running your thumb across your bottom lip and gathering the saliva and precum gathered at the corner of your mouth.

You lick it clean, smiling.

You don’t expect him to move that fast.

One second you’re still standing in front of him, pleased with yourself, watching Seungcheol’s cock throb with need between his thighs… and the next, he’s out of the chair.

Before you can so much as flinch or retaliate, you’re airborne.

“Hey—” you yelp as he picks you up, manhandling you like you weigh nothing at all, and throws you across the room. Your back hits the mattress with a heavy oomph, limbs bouncing slightly on the bed as the air is knocked from your lungs.

You manage to suck in a breath before his body crashes down on top of yours, caging you in.

“You think you’re funny?” he growls lowly, his nose brushing yours as he pins your wrists above your head. You grin. “Maybe.”

He kisses you like he wants to eat you alive.

The heat from earlier flares again, but it’s darker now, fiercer. His mouth travels fast—biting down on your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You moan, arching beneath him, and he laughs against your skin.

You feel his hand on your chest before you register the slap—his palm hitting your breast hard enough to sting, then immediately squeezing it after.

“Fuck—” you whimper, legs twitching around his hips.

His mouth closes around your nipple in response—hot, wet, rough—and he sucks hard, alternating with his teeth. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Still feeling bratty?” he mutters against your breast.

He doesn’t give you the time to retort—instead, he grabs your hair, yanking your head back to bare your throat, and bites down on your neck instead. The sharp jolt sends sparks straight between your legs.

Your pants are ripped off you in the next heartbeat—tugged down so roughly they take your panties with them, leaving you sprawled naked and gasping on the bed.

He kisses his way down, leaving a trail of saliva and fire along your ribs, your stomach, and your hipbone.

When his mouth hovers over your soaked heat, your legs tremble. His breath ghosts over your core, and you meet his eyes, dark and ravenous, from between your thighs.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says lowly, voice laced with mocking amusement. “Fingers? Mouth? Or cock?”

You blink, brain fogged with heat.

“What…?”

Seungcheol grins. “Tch. Thought so. Haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already fucked out. You get to choose, baby. But choose wisely.” He leans closer, nose brushing your clit. “You’ll only get one.”

That finally snaps you out of it.

“Cock,” you whisper, voice hoarse and expectant.

He smirks. “Good choice.”

And then your world flips on its axis. Literally.

He grabs your thighs and flips you with a single motion. You shriek in surprise as you land on your stomach. He yanks you onto all fours.

“Cheol—!” you start, but he’s pushing your face into the mattress, his palm heavy against the back of your head.

“Shut up,” he mutters commandingly. “You asked for this.”

You feel his cock behind you—hard, hot, lined up with your weeping entrance—and then he’s inside you in one brutal, punishing thrust.

You cry out into the bedding, your fingers clawing at the sheets as he splits you open.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans behind you, his hands bruising your hips.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust.

He starts pounding into you from behind, hips slamming against your ass with heavy, rhythmic force. The sound is obscene—skin on skin, your wetness, your gasps and his growls filling the tiny space.

You’re moaning, whining, helpless against the onslaught of his body.

Every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs. He spanks your ass hard once—then again—and again, until you let out a sob, only to moan even when his palm lands on you again.

Your core clenches wildly around him.

“Fuck— you’re gripping me like a vice,” he mutters, voice low and ragged. “You like this? Huh, baby? Like being used?”

You can only cry out ‘Yes’ in response.

When your legs begin to shake, he grabs your hair and yanks you upright—your back slamming against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside you.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, keeping his grip tight in your hair as his free hand slides in front of your face.

You do without hesitation. Two fingers slide past your lips—rubbing over your tongue, pressing down against it.

“Suck.”

You moan as you obey, your tongue swirling over his fingers, your mouth hot and desperate, sucking on his digits like you did his cock. When he’s satisfied, he pulls them free and slides them down—between your thighs, right to your clit.

You cry out when his slick fingers start rubbing fast, ruthless circles over your pulsing nub.

“Cheol— oh god—fuck—”

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your ear. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

Your fingers dig into his arm as your orgasm suddenly crashes through you. It’s violent. Wild. And takes you by force. Your body locks, clenches, and trembles as the pressure explodes and pleasure rips through your nerves.

Seungcheol doesn’t stop.

He keeps thrusting, keeps circling your clit, keeps fucking you through it—overstimulation already setting in as you scream into the mattress.

He lets you fall forward again, and you collapse bonelessly, face down into the bed. He doesn’t stop. His hands grab your hips, holding you steady as he chases his own release.

He spanks your ass again, the sounds loud and lewd.

“Shit—fuck—fuck,” he growls, hips stuttering.

And then he spills inside you with a loud, broken groan.

Three more thrusts. Shallow. Slow. Making sure every drop stays buried deep. He finally pulls out, breath catching in his throat.

You’re wrecked. Soaked. Glistening. Barely able to move.

He flops down beside you, dragging your twitching body into his arms. You’re gasping, limbs limp, brain swimming—but a giggle bubbles out anyway.

“That was…” you pant, dazed. “Yeah. I should definitely rile you up more often.”

He groans playfully, burying his face into your neck. “Let’s not.”

The jungle is still sleeping when reality decides to wake you up.

The sharp buzz of his satellite phone on the nightstand and the soft, steady beeping from your GPS tracker lighting up beside the bed wake you both from your slumber. The haze of last night’s sweat-slicked limbs and tangled sheets is still warm on your skin, but the moment is gone as fast as it came. Instinct takes over.

Seungcheol grabs the sat phone and answers without hesitation. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Wonwoo says, gruff and casual as ever. “Shipment’s dropped. It’s in the clearing three clicks northeast of you. Sent the coordinates to your wife’s tracker.”

“She got it,” Seungcheol replies, throwing a quick glance at you as you nod.

“Good. Stay sharp out there,” Wonwoo mutters. “And… don’t die.”

Seungcheol breathes out. “Right back at you, Woo.”

Wonwoo disconnects, and just like that, the warmth of the bed, the afterglow—it all fades. You look at each other for a heartbeat, and then the switch flips.

Game time.

You both get dressed in practised silence. Vests. Gloves. Boots. Every movement is efficient. Clean. Sharp. Two ghosts suiting up for a kill.

Outside, the air is thick with jungle humidity. You follow Seungcheol as he rounds the side of the safe house, stepping over vines and damp earth until he crouches down and yanks off a heavy tarp.

Underneath it—well hidden—is a weathered military-grade jeep.

“Of course, you had this here,” you mutter, lips twitching slightly.

He grins as he gets in. “Had to leave myself a ride.”

You climb into the passenger seat, pulling your GPS forward. “Take the path north, then veer right at the ridge. The drop is just past the waterline clearing.”

The jeep lurches forward, engine snarling low and quiet, and you both fall into the tense stillness of the mission. Every branch that scrapes the side of the jeep, every call of birds overhead, every bump in the road—it all heightens your senses.

It doesn’t take long before you reach the clearing.

Seungcheol kills the engine, and the world goes eerily quiet except for the rustle of wind through leaves. You step out, weapons drawn, scanning your surroundings. Then you see it.

A dark metal crate sits just ahead, nestled in the grass like a gift from the gods.

Seungcheol breaks it open with a crowbar, and your eyes widen.

Wonwoo went off.

Inside the crate lies a small armoury. Sleek, matte-black rifles. Knives with ceramic edges. Ammo in every calibre. Smoke bombs. Blackout tech. Scoped pistols. Infrared sensors. Heat detectors. New comms gear. Suppressors.

“Damn,” you mutter, running your hand across a silencer. “This is better than Christmas.”

You both start suiting up—checking each item before adding it to your loadout. Sights calibrated. Knives balanced. Comms synced.

You’re just about to zip up your tactical vest when something catches your eye at the bottom of the crate.

A flash drive.

You pick it up. Silver casing with black marker on the side: XOXO, Reina.

Your eyebrows lift. “The hell is this?”

Seungcheol is already watching you, so he throws you his sat phone, and you dial Reina. She answers after three rings, sounding distinctly out of breath.

“Yeah—hello?”

You narrow your eyes. “...You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replies too fast. “Totally fine. Just finished working out. What’s up?”

You stare into the jungle. “Got your gift.”

Silence.

Then Reina exhales. “Oh. Right. The drive.” Her voice shifts, businesslike. “That’s a virus I wrote to scramble Kang and Lim’s encrypted program. Once you’re in, it’ll override the signal.”

You glance at Seungcheol. “Define ‘in’.”

“As I mentioned, it uses biometric access,” Reina explains. “Voice, retinal, and fingerprint. The print scan is advanced—it monitors heart rate and body temp. If either spike, a fail-safe activates. It’s basically a dead man’s switch.”

Seungcheol groans behind you. “So… a walk in the park.”

Reina snorts. “You’ll have to get Kang to unlock the system without triggering any alarms. Once you’re in, insert the flash drive. It’ll spoof the signal to Lim—make it seem like the bounty’s still live on her end, but dead to the global market. She’ll never know.”

You blink. “That’s… impressive.”

“I know,” Reina says smugly.

You start to thank her, then pause—smirking slightly.

“You know,” you say smugly, “Next time, maybe think twice when you decide to “work out” again. And do it preferably after we’ve walked towards possible death.”

More silence.

Then a very quiet, “God, you’re creepy. Can’t hide shit from you.”

You laugh. “You’re not that subtle, Reina.”

“Whatever,” she mutters, but you can hear the faint smile in her voice. “Good luck. Don’t die.”

“Back at you.” You hang up.

When you turn around, Seungcheol’s watching you with a faint smirk.

“What?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just something about a pot and kettle.”

“I didn’t hear you complain last night.”

He chuckles at your statement, but it fades as the moment quiets.

Your eyes meet, and the atmosphere shifts. Reality settles like a weight on your shoulders.

It’s go time.

The sun rides high above the canopy by the time the wheels of the jeep crunch to a stop beneath the thick shadows of the jungle. You and Seungcheol sit in stillness for a moment, the low hum of the engine dying out as he kills the ignition. Birds call in the distance, muffled by the density of the leaves, and the air is heavy with anticipation.

“We’re close,” you murmur, checking your GPS. “About one klick northeast.”

He nods once, scanning the tree line. “We’ll go on foot from here. We park any closer; we risk setting off possible perimeter sensors.”

Without another word, you both exit the vehicle and disappear into the green.

The jungle is unforgiving—thick vines, hanging moss, and humidity clinging to your skin like a second suit. You pull a machete from your belt, and Seungcheol does the same, both of you slashing carefully through the underbrush, keeping your steps measured and soundless. There’s no conversation, just the rhythm of your shared breaths and blades, and the silent language spoken between trained killers.

After a short climb, you reach a ridge. It crests gently above a natural dip in the earth, and below it, spread across a cleared stretch of jungle floor, lies Kang’s compound.

Modern. Sleek. Built like a fortress with luxury trimmings—glass walls, solar panels, and a central structure acting as an office or control centre. It stands out in the wild like a dagger.

You drop to your stomach near the edge of the ridge, dragging your binoculars from your pack. Beside you, Seungcheol pulls out his own gear—infrared heat sensors, a laser rangefinder. You share what you see in low, practised whispers.

“Two snipers. North and southeast towers,” you murmur. “Both posted high, rifles trained toward the outer edge.”

“Got eyes on two more guards. Heavily armed, center-left of the courtyard near the entrance,” he adds. “Looks like they’re protecting the main path in.”

You tap the side of your lens, switching to thermal.

“Seven more, patrolling inside the compound. Standard rotation—seems like they’re on a ten-minute loop. Armed, but not alert.”

“Visual on Kang?”

You scan the second floor of the compound and freeze when you find the shadowed silhouette of a tall man, pacing across what appears to be an office.

“There,” you whisper, nudging Seungcheol. “Tall, wide shoulders. Movement pattern matches. Looks like he’s talking to someone—”

Seungcheol adjusts his lens. “Confirmed. That’s him.”

You nod and reach into your pack again, pulling out the scrambler. You power it on and set the frequency, watching as the blinking green light turns steady blue.

“Alarms scrambled. Cameras looped. We’ll have a twenty-minute window before their system reboots, and he realizes something’s off.”

“Plenty of time,” Seungcheol replies, cocking your rifle and attaching the silencer and balancing it on a tripod.

You both lie flat on the ridge, shoulder to shoulder. You take the snipers. He watches for movement.

“North tower first,” you whisper.

You adjust the sight, take a breath, and squeeze the trigger. The silencer reduces the crack to a faint hiss, and the sniper in the north tower drops like a ragdoll. One down.

You shift slightly. “Southeast tower.”

Another shot. Another body slumps, this time into the rail, his body tumbling quietly over the edge into the brush.

“Clear,” you mutter. “I’ll move. You take east. I’ll go west.”

Seungcheol nods, already sliding down the hill.

You stay behind a moment longer, disassembling your rifle and pocketing the scrambler. Then you’re on your feet, slipping through the trees silently.

You move fast and low.

By the time you reach the outer edge of the compound, Seungcheol has already taken out the two guards near the courtyard. You spot their bodies tucked neatly behind a stone wall, blood blooming silently across their shirts. You nod to yourself and slip around the west side, coming up behind the greenhouse wing. A guard steps out to smoke. You waste no time.

Karambit to his throat. A gurgled gasp. You pull him into the shadows, wipe the blade, and move on.

Another guard rounds the corner, humming to himself. You take him down in two swift moves—elbow to the windpipe, blade to the kidney. He falls in a twitch.

Inside, the compound is eerily silent. The scrambler continues to work wonders—no alarms, no flickers of suspicion from the guards, still unaware they’re being hunted.

You and Seungcheol clear the floors like ghosts. He moves swiftly on the east side, the occasional thud of a body hitting the tile filtering through your comms. You press into the south corridor, slicing through two more men and dragging them into an empty bathroom.

With every guard down, every hallway cleared, the silence grows heavier. Anticipation coils tighter in your gut.

Finally, you reach the top floor.

And just like that—you’re standing at Kang’s office door.

Seungcheol rounds the corner from the other direction, his face slick with sweat, blood spatters on his cheek, but his eyes sharp. He meets your gaze, and you both press flat against either side of the door. You nod once to each other.

Seungcheol opens the door with a silent push, and you toss a smoke bomb inside.

The hiss of the release is immediate, followed by a fast bloom of dense, grey smoke that overtakes the pristine mahogany of his luxury office. The desk disappears, the floor vanishes beneath haze, and you hear the sound of a chair scraping back sharply.

“What the—?!” Kang’s voice barks in confusion.

You slip inside, silent and focused. You can hear Kang’s movements: stumbling, coughing, his shoes thudding heavily against the floor as he tries to orient himself. There’s a crash—he’s knocked something off his desk—and then a shuffle of panic.

Then silence.

Until the feeling of a cold, steely barrel of a gun chamber touches his forehead.

“Don’t move,” Seungcheol says, voice calm, firm, and ice-sharp.

He freezes.

“Seungcheol?” Kang rasps through the smoke.

Your figure melts from the shadows behind him like a ghost. Your karambit is back in your hand, its curved blade cold and gleaming. You press it to the side of Kang’s throat.

He stiffens instantly.

Your voice is quiet and cold, the edge of your breath brushing his ear. “Hello, Kang. Miss us?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes out a rough laugh, half-amused, half-appalled. “You two have really lost your minds.”

He tries to move, but you press the blade a hair deeper. A single drop of blood runs down his neck.

He barks another laugh. “The two biggest targets on the global kill list walk right into my compound. I should be flattered. Or furious.”

Seungcheol says nothing, only pressing the gun harder to his forehead.

“I underestimated you, Seungcheol. I knew you were soft, but this? Playing Bonnie and Clyde with your little wife? How’s it feel, huh? Always in her shadow?”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow. He’s still as stone, but the way his jaw clenches tells you exactly how hard he’s biting back the need to pull the trigger.

Seungcheol finally speaks, voice low, cold. “It feels like I married the only person worth trusting in this goddamn world. And the fact you’re scared of her proves it.”

You smirk.

Leaning closer, you whisper, “Let’s see if we can keep you calm enough to survive the next few minutes, shall we?”

Kang glares. “What do you want?”

“Access,” you say simply. “To your program.”

He scoffs. “You think I’m going to just hand it over?”

You press the karambit harder into the tender skin beneath his jaw, a steady stream of blood oozing from the tip piercing his skin. “No. You’re going to walk us through it. And if you fuck around—if you even flinch the wrong way—you’ll die before the failsafe ever gets a chance to go off.”

Kang huffs through his nose, but walks to the desk with your blade still at his throat. Seungcheol stays close by, his gun never wavering. Kang’s fingers tremble slightly as he wakes up the terminal. The light from the monitor casts strange shadows across his face as he clears his throat and accesses the program.

“Director Kang Hojin,” he states, firm and loud. “Override sequence Omega Black, authorisation Sigma-One-Seven-Delta.”

The system chimes.

Voice scan accepted.

He places his hand on the scanner. Another chime.

Fingerprint accepted.

Then comes the retinal scan. He leans forward towards the webcam. The screen buzzes.

Access denied. Retinal match not found.

Your heart stutters. Seungcheol’s grip on his gun tightens.

Kang lifts his head with a smug look. “Oops.”

You grab his shoulder and force him back down. “Do it again. Don’t blink.”

Kang exhales sharply through his nose and leans forward again. This time, he holds perfectly still.

Retinal scan accepted.

Access granted.

Relief floods you, but you shove it down. No room for error now.

“Bounty logs,” Seungcheol says.

Kang navigates the system with practised fingers, moving through encrypted folders. “Here. This is what you want.”

You reach into your belt and pull out the flash drive. Kang’s eyes flicker to it.

“Plug it in,” Seungcheol says. You do.

The second the drive locks in, the screen flashes. Code scrolls, long strings of green bleeding across black. The virus is doing its job.

“You idiots have no idea what you’ve just done,” Kang growls. “You think Lim won’t find this? You think she didn’t plan for this?”

You say nothing. Seungcheol watches the screen. Progress: 82%.

“Even if you kill me, she’ll never stop. You’re nothing to her. Ants. She’ll make sure the entire world hunts you for sport.”

The progress bar reaches 100%.

Final confirmation: Bounty Deactivated — Market Update Complete.

“You talk too much,” Seungcheol mutters. Then he pulls the trigger.

The bullet hits Kang clean between the eyes. His head snaps back before slumping forward onto the keyboard, blood blooming fast beneath him. The room goes quiet.

You exhale. Slide the flash drive from the port and tuck it back into your belt.

“Let’s go,” Seungcheol says.

You’re two steps toward the door when the monitor flickers red.

On the screen, a new prompt flashes: ALARM ACTIVATED — FAILSAFE INITIATED — DETONATION SEQUENCE: 2:00

“Oh shit,” you whisper.

“Run,” Seungcheol breathes, already grabbing your wrist. “GO!”

Your boots slam against the floor as you both bolt from Kang’s office, weaving past his slumped, lifeless body behind his desk. The halls flash red—emergency lights triggered by the failsafe.

“Where did that come from?!” Seungcheol shouts.

“My scrambler!” you gasp, realisation slamming into you like a truck. “It triggered the reboot. The system finally recognised us.”

01:45.

You skid through the corridor, heart in your throat, legs pumping hard. Down the stairs—two at a time—your boots barely hitting the steps before you’re flying again. You hear Seungcheol right behind you, breath ragged, muttering a string of curses between each inhale.

You nearly slip on the last stair, but Seungcheol grabs your arm and steadies you without stopping. The two of you slam through a side exit and into the open air of the jungle’s edge.

01:02

“Too far,” you choke out. “We parked too far—”

“We’re not making the jeep,” he says, teeth clenched. “Find cover.”

You don’t argue. You veer left, leaping over a fallen tree trunk, ducking under a vine. Your legs burn. The world is loud with your breaths, your pulse in your ears, the scream of your muscles.

00:54

Behind you, the compound hums unnaturally, the kind of silence that feels like something holding its breath. You glance back—just a flash—and see smoke already leaking from the vents on the roof. The timer is real. The end is coming.

“There!” Seungcheol shouts behind you, pointing.

A rock formation, jagged and moss-covered, partially buried under tangled roots. A crevice big enough—maybe.

He speeds up. You do, too.

00:32

You’re panting. Staggering. Tripping over your own feet—but you don’t stop. You can’t.

Then—just as your feet hit the edge of the formation—arms wrap around your waist.

Seungcheol lifts you, spins, and throws the both of you behind the largest boulder.

You crash into the dirt hard, grass in your mouth, Seungcheol’s weight covering you entirely. His arms pin you down, his body a shield.

He curls around you, breath hot against your ear.

“Hold on,” he whispers.

You shut your eyes. You feel his heartbeat.

00:01.

The sky lights orange. Fire screams through the trees. The compound behind you explodes in a catastrophic blast that tears the jungle apart. Glass, steel, smoke and flame shoot into the air like a volcanic eruption.

Debris pelts the ridge. Metal thuds against the boulder you hide behind. The earth shakes.

You cry out once, but it’s swallowed by the roar.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. His arms cage you tighter, shielding every inch of you. His weight grounds you, anchors you to the earth as the fury rages overhead.

Then—

Silence.

Smoke. Crackling. The compound groans as its structure collapses.

Your ears ring. Your skin is coated in ash and dust. You blink slowly, chest heaving.

Seungcheol lifts his head first.

His hair is singed at the edges. There’s a bleeding cut on his arm from fallen debris. But he’s alive.

You roll beneath him slightly, dazed, pupils blown wide as your gaze meets his.

Neither of you speak.

You just reach up with shaking fingers and brush a smear of soot from his cheek.

Then you mouth it:

Thank you.

He lets out a dry chuckle, then shifts beside you, flopping onto his back in the grass with a groan.

The two of you stare up at the sky above. Bits of scorched leaves flutter down like feathers.

The train hums steadily beneath your feet, metal wheels grinding softly against iron tracks as the landscape rolls by in a blur of dusk and shadow. It’s your second train in two days, and the rhythm has become something almost meditative—lulling, even soothing—if not for the weight pressing down on your chest.

Munich was a blur. Quick layover. New platform. A different conductor, different glances, different whispers of German you barely registered through the haze of concentration and caffeine. Now it’s Luxembourg ahead, the final stretch before you disappear into the woods, heading toward a place the rest of the world doesn’t even know exists.

You sit cross-legged on the small fold-out sleeper bunk in your private cabin, flicking through weapons one by one. Cleaning cloths. Fresh rounds. Blade oil. The hum of the train is your only soundtrack.

Across from you, Seungcheol mirrors your movements, his back against the wall, knees up, long fingers reassembling the slide of his pistol with practised ease. It’s not about necessity at this point. Everything’s already ready. It’s about habit. Control. The illusion of it, anyway.

You glance up at him, catching the crease between his brows and the faint tremor in his thumb as he locks the magazine into place. He’s steady. Always has been. But this isn’t like any mission you’ve done before.

He senses your eyes on him and glances up, offering a small, tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You ever gonna stop checking that knife?” he asks.

You twirl the karambit around your fingers. “Not tonight.”

He nods like he understands—and he does. Of course, he does.

There’s a long stretch of silence before he speaks again, this time more carefully. “Can you tell me about her?”

You pause, eyes narrowing slightly. “Lim?”

He nods. “I’ve never met her. Never even seen a photo. Only heard what Reina and Jiwoo said. But if I’m going to walk into her house with a bullet chambered, I want to understand who we’re really facing.”

You sit back, the weight of the knife still warm in your palm. You stare out the window for a beat—at the darkening sky, at the streaks of stars beginning to appear above dense silhouettes of trees and valleys—before you speak.

“She’s brilliant,” you say softly, letting the words form with intention. “And terrifying in the most elegant way imaginable. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t make threats. She makes promises. And she keeps them. Always.”

Seungcheol listens, his jaw tight.

“She recruits people like an art collector would. She studies them. Waits. Makes them feel seen. Then she bends them to her will so subtly they don’t even realize they’ve changed sides. And when she’s done with them… she never gets her hands dirty. You’ll never see it coming.”

You feel his gaze on you, but you keep your eyes on the knife in your hand.

“I watched her take down five agencies from the inside just by turning people against each other. I watched her call a kill order on a pregnant agent because she had doubts about continuing. I saw the body. The husband. The baby didn’t make it.”

You swallow hard.

“She told me once that loyalty was just a leash wrapped in velvet. She said affection was a liability… and love?” You look up now, straight into Seungcheol’s eyes. “Love was a knife people begged to be stabbed with.”

The quiet after your words stretches thin between you, taut and cold. His face is unreadable for a long beat, but his hands are clenched, and you know that fury lives just beneath his skin.

“She gave the order for me to kill you,” you murmur. “When I married you, she knew who you were. She could have given me the order right then and there. But she waited until she was sure of my feelings for you. Until she was sure it would hurt me. She was always ten steps ahead.”

Seungcheol doesn’t flinch, but you see the flicker of pain in his eyes. “And you almost did.”

You nod. “I would’ve. I nearly did. But when I saw your face…” Your voice breaks, just slightly. “I couldn’t do it.”

“So this is it,” he murmurs. “The end of the road.”

You nod slowly. “If we fail, she disappears. The whole web collapses. And people like Reina, Mingyu, Jiwoo, Joshua—they’ll be hunted. You and I?” You give a faint, dry laugh. “We won’t even be worth the cleanup effort. She’ll make an example of us.”

“And if we win?”

You don’t answer him.

Seungcheol leans back against the wall again, exhaling heavily through his nose. “This is the part where I say we can still back out, isn’t it?”

You smile wryly. “That boat in Trinidad still floating?”

He chuckles—a low, humourless sound—but you’re glad to hear it.

“That cabin in the Alps is looking mighty tempting now,” he murmurs, gaze distant. “Just the two of us. Snowed in. No names. No guns.”

You lean your head back against the window, closing your eyes for a second.

He turns toward you again, one corner of his mouth twitching. “We’re idiots.”

“Mm.” You smile. “But we’re in love. That’s worse.”

The silence that follows isn’t tense. It’s… full. Weighty with all the things you aren’t saying, all the possibilities you won’t let yourself dream about right now. Your eyes meet his in the quiet—two people teetering at the edge of something neither of you can control.

No more chances after this.

No more exits.

You sit up slowly, slide the karambit back into your thigh holster, and reach for his hand.

“Till death do us part, right?” you ask, voice steady.

His eyes soften, his fingers tightening around yours like a promise.

“...and probably still after that, too,” he whispers.

The forest is silent. Still. Too still.

You and Seungcheol move like a whisper between the trees, every step calculated, every crunch of damp underbrush softened by instinct and years of experience. The canopy above shivers faintly in the wind, moonlight occasionally slashing through the leaves in silver streaks. Your gear is strapped tight to your body, weapons close. You feel your heartbeat in your throat, steady but forceful. The weight of what’s ahead presses against your ribcage like a warning.

After nearly an hour on foot, there it is.

Lim’s estate.

It rises from the forest, glass and metal shimmering faintly in the dark. But not glass—mirrors. Massive mirrored panels encase the exterior walls, reflecting the surrounding trees and sky so perfectly it makes the entire compound look like a trick of the eye. Almost invisible. Almost unreal.

You crouch down with Seungcheol behind the trunk of a fallen tree, binoculars raised. But they don’t help. The reflections are endless. No windows to see through. No weak spots. You try the thermal sensors, the electromagnetic sweeper, even the pulse radar.

Nothing. Complete blackout.

Seungcheol’s expression hardens beside you. “We’re going in blind.”

You nod once, tension coiling low in your stomach.

At least the scrambler still works. You check the signal and feel a flicker of control return. “No alarms. No cameras,” you murmur.

“But everything else?” he asks.

You meet his gaze. “We’re caught in her web now.”

Just then, movement—a silhouette rounding the west side of the compound. A guard. Walking alone, slow, almost bored. Rifle at his side. Head turning in lazy arcs.

You both recognize it instantly: your window.

You slip over the tree, bodies melting into the foliage. The air feels colder the closer you get to the structure, like something sinister is waiting. You signal. Seungcheol nods, flanking left. You go right.

The guard never sees it coming.

One swift, clean movement—your blade slicing silently, Seungcheol catching the body before it hits the ground. You both drag him into the brush and dart to the wall. A hidden side door. Seungcheol picks the lock, fast and silent, while you cover him.

The door creaks open with a soft hiss.

And then you’re in.

The compound swallows you in darkness. No overhead lights. Just muted emergency bulbs glowing red along the baseboards. The air smells faintly of bleach and expensive perfume.

Together, you move room by room—clinical hallways, offices filled with screens, empty staircases. You kill quickly, efficiently. One by one, the guards fall. They don’t scream. They don’t even know what’s happening until it’s over. You and Seungcheol sweep the entire ground floor, then the first, avoiding the glass-walled atrium and sticking to shadowed corners.

No alarms. No reinforcements. No Lim.

You’re starting to feel a strange sense of unease. Like it’s all too easy.

Then—just as your boot hits the top of the second-floor landing—it happens.

A voice rings out, smooth and cold, echoing through the speakers tucked into every corner.

“Gwisin.” You feel Seungcheol stiffen behind you. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Your body freezes. You’d thought—hoped—you were ahead. But of course not. You warned Seungcheol yourself: she’s always ten steps in front.

The silence that follows is deafening. You look down the hallway. Then, with a mechanical hiss, a door at the end slides open.

A deep, impossible darkness yawns within.

You don’t move. Neither does Seungcheol.

“Come in,” Lim’s voice purrs. “I insist.”

You glance at Seungcheol. His jaw clenches, but he nods once. No turning back now.

You move in sync, every step echoing on the polished black floors. The office is silent, save for your breathing. Then, the door shuts behind you with a hiss of finality, locking you in the dark.

And then—

Bang.

“Agh—!”

The sound of the gunshot is deafening, sharp and shocking in the enclosed space. You scream his name, reaching out, panic clawing at your throat.

“Cheol—!”

He drops beside you, groaning in pain, clutching his leg. You see the blood, dark and hot, pouring from his thigh.

“Stop.” Lim’s voice snaps, sharp now, slicing through the dark like a knife.

“He’s not dead. Yet. But if you take one more step, Gwisin, the next bullet goes through his skull.”

Your hands lift immediately. You straighten slowly, your heart thundering, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Seungcheol grabs your hand as you try to move, fingers slick with blood.

He’s trying to stay conscious. His teeth are clenched, his breathing shallow. But his eyes never leave yours.

“Don’t,” he rasps. “Don’t do this.”

You turn to Lim, face blank. “I’m here,” you say aloud, stepping forward into the dark. “I’ll play your stupid games. Just don’t touch him again.”

The lights flicker to life.

And there she is.

Madame Lim sits in the centre of the room, calm and unbothered, her white suit pristine, her legs crossed as if she were merely waiting for tea. Her hair is swept back, face emotionless, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. A table separates the chair facing hers.

Atop it: a single, silver revolver.

Your stomach drops. Lim smiles slowly.

“You remember how this works.”

You stare at the gun. At the chairs.

And for the first time in a very long time, you feel real, consuming dread curl its claws into your chest.

Russian Roulette.

And you already know—only one of you will be walking away.

Your legs carry you forward, one heavy step after the next, the sound of your boots echoing in the stillness like distant thunder. The pain in your chest doesn’t come from a wound, but it hurts just the same—coiled fury, barely contained. You can feel the heat of Seungcheol’s blood still on your hand, your breath caught somewhere between rage and terror.

The chair is waiting. Empty.

You sit slowly, your knees trembling under the weight of what you’re walking into.

Across from you, Madame Lim lounges in her seat like the queen she’s always pretended to be—composed, elegant, a portrait of detached cruelty. She eyes you with a quiet satisfaction, her red lips curling into something that’s almost… amused.

“Welcome home, darling,” she says smoothly.

You clench your jaw. The mask doesn’t slip.

“I’m here,” you say evenly. “What’s the play?”

Lim’s smirk widens. Slowly, she reaches for the revolver resting on the table between you, her delicate fingers wrapping around the cold metal like it’s a treasured artefact.

She flips it open with a practised snap, turns it so you can see—

One bullet.

She closes the chamber and spins it. The click-click-click of the revolver spinning fills the silence between you, steady and cruel.

Then she sets it down, the handle pointing to the space between you.

“Simple,” she says, voice like silk over broken glass. “We spin the revolver. Whoever the handle lands on takes the first shot. If you win, you get the pleasure of accessing my system, removing your bounty, and tearing my empire apart from the ground up… before you put a bullet through my skull.”

She pauses, lips curling.

“But if I win… I get to watch the life drain from your eyes. I get to see the anguish on Seungcheol’s face when I shoot the love of his life in front of him. Right before I kill him, too. Tragically romantic.”

Your nails dig into your thighs beneath the table, the only outward sign of how close you are to snapping. But your voice remains even.

“You forget I need you alive to access your system. So this is a waste of time. I lose no matter what.”

Lim tuts, rising gracefully from her chair. “Oh no, darling. Quite the contrary.”

She walks toward the far side of the room, the hem of her white suit jacket swaying with each precise step. You glance behind you just once—Seungcheol still lies on the ground, bleeding, pale, but breathing. His eyes find yours, and the look there nearly unravels you.

You turn back to Lim just in time to see her approach her desk and pull out a sleek black laptop.

She returns, sets it down beside the revolver with exaggerated care, and slowly opens it. The screen glows to life. One by one, she performs the biometric logins—retinal, fingerprint, and voice. Just like Kang had.

Then she leans back, smug. “Now, you don’t need me alive anymore.”

You stare at her. And she stares right back, the game finally unfolding, the trap finally sprung.

“Let’s begin,” she says softly.

She takes the revolver, gives it a spin again, and when it stops—

The handle points directly at you.

You inhale deeply, picking it up. The weight of it is intimate and horrifying all at once. One in six. You press it to your temple, finger tightening on the trigger.

Click.

Nothing. Lim smiles, pleased. You slide the revolver across the table.

She picks it up gracefully and points it to her own head, never blinking, never breaking eye contact.

Click.

Still nothing. Your turn again.

You pick it up, ignoring the burn in your lungs, the sweat forming at the back of your neck. Lim is watching you with that same gleaming hunger.

“You always were weak,” she says. “Falling in love. Letting yourself care. You would’ve ruled this world, Gwisin, if you hadn’t gone soft.”

You ignore her. Gun to your temple.

Click.

You breathe out slowly, chest tight. She snatches it next, almost eagerly, her voice rising.

“You should’ve killed him. He was never worth it. Do you know how pathetic you look, crawling around for a man who’d bleed out for you? Do you think he’ll survive this anyway? Or do you just want someone to cry over your corpse?”

Gun raised.

Click.

Still nothing. Now you know. This is it.

If you get the bullet, it’s over. If not—you win.

She leans forward, taunting, her voice a venomous hiss now.

“He’s not going to make it. You’ve already lost, darling. Look at him—pale, dying, weak. Just like your resolve. Like your entire rebellion. You could’ve chosen me. But instead, you’re nothing more than a wife in mourning.”

You cut her off, hand closing around the gun mid-sentence. Her mouth stills, eyes flicking downward as you lift it once more. You don’t speak. You don’t blink. You just pull the trigger.

Click.

Silence. Everything stops. You don’t move. She doesn’t move.

Because that was the fifth shot.

And everyone in the room knows what that means.

The sixth belongs to her.

She smiles—slow, awful, the knowing kind of smile that monsters wear in their final moments.

You gently place the revolver back down, never looking away as you pick up the laptop. You pull the flash drive from your pocket with a trembling hand and plug it in.

Lines of code scroll by. You follow Reina’s instructions to the letter.

The virus deploys.

One by one, every trace of the bounty system begins to dismantle itself. Files corrupt. Names disappear. Targets are wiped clean. You check twice, then a third time. It’s done.

You press one final command, and the entire system shuts down.

No more empires. No more Lim.

Your victory tastes like ash.

You stand slowly, refusing to look at her, and turn toward the man on the floor.

“Cheol…” you whisper, approaching him softly.

That’s when it happens.

“Sorry, darling,” Lim purrs. “Can’t let you win.”

Bang.

You freeze. But the pain never comes.

The thud of a body hitting the floor echoes behind you. And when you turn— She’s there.

Madame Lim.

Shot through the chest.

Seungcheol’s pistol clatters to the ground beside him, his arm falling limp.

He’s panting, eyes fluttering, drained from the blood loss and effort it took to raise the weapon. But he did it. He saved you. Again.

“No— no, no, no, baby, stay with me—”

You scramble to him, sliding to the floor, pressing your hands hard against his thigh. Blood oozes between your fingers. You tear at your shirt, using the fabric to make a quick tourniquet above the wound.

His skin is clammy. Pale.

“Don’t do this to me,” you plead, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare go quiet now, Choi Seungcheol.”

He tries to speak, but no words come out. His eyes close.

“NO!” you scream, pressing harder, doing everything you can to keep him tethered to you. “Stay awake. Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you now.”

You grab your comms, tears streaking down your face.

“Reina! Mingyu! Jiwoo! Anyone!” you cry into the mic. “He’s down—he’s hit! We need extraction now—NOW!”

Static. Then Reina’s voice breaks through, panicked but focused.

“We’re on our way. Hold on. Just hold on.”

You sob, forehead pressed to his as you hold the wound with both hands.

“You promised me,” you whisper. “You said even after death, remember? So don’t you dare let go. Stay. You stay with me.”

The Caribbean sun beats down from a cloudless sky, the wind gentle as it dances through the sails of the boat that floats lazily just off the coast of Trinidad. Seagulls cry in the distance, their wings cutting through the heat as waves lap softly against the hull. The air tastes like salt, and stillness, and peace. For once, the world is quiet.

You lay stretched across a sun-bleached lounge chair on the deck, skin warm, drink sweating in your hand. A lazy breeze rolls over your bare stomach, ruffling your hair. Sunglasses shield your eyes, but you’re not really looking at anything. Just the endless blue horizon.

It’s been six months.

Six months since the compound. Six months since Madame Lim fell. Since you screamed into the comms for someone—anyone—to come and save the man bleeding out in your arms.

And now—this. The boat. His boat.

The one he joked about right before you came up with that ridiculous plan to take on your bosses. The mythical exit plan. A sailboat docked and waiting off the coast of Trinidad for a day that might never come. But it did come.

You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes.

The sun presses hot against your skin. Your breathing slows.

Then— A creak of wood.

Bare feet padding across the deck.

You don’t bother opening your eyes. You know who it is.

Reina’s voice floats out from the cabin, bright and amused. “I swear, this place is turning me into a whole new woman.”

You lift your sunglasses to peer at her. She emerges wearing a bikini that somehow manages to be both functional and designer, two fresh cocktails in her hands.

She walks over and hands you one before plopping down in the chair beside yours with a content sigh.

For a long time, neither of you speaks.

The boat rocks gently, and the sea stretches out in all directions.

Reina swirls her drink, then glances at you. “You know,” she says softly, “Seungcheol was onto something, keeping this boat stashed away.”

You smile, a slow curve of your lips. There’s something bittersweet in it.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “He definitely was.”

The silence between you shifts. Not heavy, not sad. Just full. You both sit with it. With the past. With what you lost. With what you kept.

Then—

“Is that how you talk about me when I’m not around?”

The voice cuts through the stillness like lightning. Familiar. Deep. Teasing.

A shadow moves at the stern of the boat.

Then, emerging from the water with a grin and a sun-drenched gleam in his eyes—

Seungcheol.

Shirtless, drenched, water trailing down his broad chest. His swimming trunks cling to his hips. His hair is dark and wet, pushed back by the sea. His towel is slung casually over one shoulder, and his smile—lazy, wicked, alive—makes your heart skip.

The scar on his leg is visible, faint against his tan skin. He walks with a slight limp still, but he’s upright. Strong. Getting better every day.

You stare, lips parted in a grin that spreads like a sunrise across your face. “You’re supposed to warn a girl before you sneak back on deck.”

He approaches, towel-drying his face, and when he leans over, he kisses you. Softly. Warmly. His lips linger, just long enough to remind you that this—he—is real.

“I heard you talking shit,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You laugh, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. “You heard wrong.”

He slides into the space beside you, pulling your legs gently over his lap, his hand resting casually on your thigh like it belongs there. Because it does.

“When are you coming in for a swim?” he asks, nudging you with a grin. “Water’s perfect.”

“When I feel like it,” you reply, tipping your glass toward him with a lazy clink.

Reina groans. “Ugh. You two are disgusting.”

You and Seungcheol both smirk, not even bothering to deny it.

The three of you laugh, and for a moment, everything is light.

Beep.

A sound breaks from the cabin. Muffled. Sharp. Urgent.

Your heart stutters.

You’re on your feet in an instant. So is Seungcheol. Both of you race below deck, Reina on your heels. You slide into the cabin, heart already pounding in your chest.

There it is.

You recognize it immediately. One of your old encrypted devices, the ones you used when Lim & Associates was still in operation, the one on which your bounties arrived.

You reach for it, hands steady despite the fear unfurling in your gut.

The screen flickers to life. Code scrolls. Then—

A name.

Target: Kim Mingyu.

Alias: Fireball.

Bounty: 3 Million.

Your blood turns to ice.

Seungcheol reads it beside you, lips parting in disbelief. “What…”

Reina appears in the doorway, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

You turn the screen toward her.

She sees the name. And freezes.

“What the hell did that idiot do now?”

A/N: Andddd, it's here! After how much you guys seemed to love part one, I couldn't not write this second part. Hope you all enjoyed the rollercoaster that was Gwisin and S.Coups. Are you ready for the second storyline? 👀💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

[finniestoncrane]

OH BOY! How about Office Eddie nsfw headcanons? I love that dweeb at the office with a dark streak and honestly just want anything about him 💚

Dano!Riddler x Fem!Reader Headcanons oooooooooh yeah!! i've started writing a little outline for something like this but longer!! this is a good excuse to test some things out and see what works >:3c 🐀💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: voyeurism, pervert eddie, peeping tom, spying, non-consensual stuff, masturbation, unintentional cum swallowing

listen, employment in a nice office isn't all that common in gotham, and you're lucky you're not behind a bar serving sleazy wannabe rogues or hustling for what little money you can get, so you're willing to put up with your shy and quiet and kinda dweeby co-worker

but that's only because you have no idea about all the weird stuff he's up to...

eddie is smitten immediately by you, but he doesn't speak to you at all for the first two weeks you're sharing an office with him

it makes you a little uncomfortable, but he slowly warms up and offers you a hello and a goodbye

when he starts talking to you a bit more, it's about quite dark and deep subjects

it's almost like he's trying to guage your response to decide if you're a good person

or one of the people he goes on about, the undeserving masses

he's nice enough though, and you find that he's very helpful and willing to guide you with the tasks

and you quickly notice that he's far smarter than you, and is willing to hold himself accountable for your training

this seemingly kind gesture isn't selfless, however, it's actually his way of getting closer to you

and to have you depending on him for your job

it's not something you notice at first, if at all, but edward always offers to look your work over before passing it on to the bosses

he's changing it without you knowing though, making sure there are little mistakes that have you reprimanded

eddie delivers that bad news of course, and offers to show you how to fix your errors

you're so grateful that you hug him, or compliment him, and so he can hardly stop doing it

besides, the stupider you feel, the more you'll have to rely on him, and the more you'll view him as smart and wonderful

and in order to keep you thinking that, he'll criticise you sometimes

nothing too mean, not too obvious

but enough that he can see your pupils widening and your skin flushing when he does compliment you

"don't worry, i won't tell the bosses"

gosh, you owe him so much... maybe he'll cash in the favours someday

eddie has the keys to the office and he unlocks it every morning, since he's always there a lot earlier than you

you never question why, but it's so he can set things up

you wouldn't believe how many cameras are hidden in the little space you share

under the desk, in the toilet, in the stationary cupboard

and the work laptop he offered to set up for you?

the webcam is hacked, so he can watch you at home

because at a certain point, he can't stand not to be around you or to know what you're up to when you clock out for the day

and that includes when you leave the room to go to the toilet

he had to drill a hole in the wall of the cupboard between the office and the bathroom, just so he can keep an eye on you

and he finds his behaviour escalating, like an experiment to see how far he can go

it starts with him touching himself under his desk, rubbing his hands over his erection and trying to keep quiet

rubbing against you in the elevator, placing his hands on your shoulders as he stands behind you, staring down your blouse

asking you to reach up high or down low to watch the way your clothes move to expose you

messing with the ac, watching you sweat when it's too hot, watching your nipples harden when it's too cold

then he starts messing with the cables under his desk a lot, something with the wiring you don't understand

but it's an excuse to stare at your legs, trying to get a peek up your skirt

and then before you know it, your sweet coworker is masturbating into your coffee creamer

waiting to see if you can taste the difference, to see if you recognise him on your tongue

[hameesstuff]

Thousand Silent Frames

Pairing: Photographer! Jaehyun x Photographer! Reader x Architect! Johnny

Themes: Fluff, Slow Burn, Smut (not in this part), Slight jealousy?? Coworkers love, Childhood friends to lovers, Love triangle.

Summary: Jaehyun quietly harbors feelings for his coworker, capturing fleeting moments of her from behind the lens. But when her childhood best friend Johnny returns, full of effortless charm, the unspoken tension threatens to unravel everything.

Word count: ~3.1k

PART 1

___________________________________________

Light Leaks

The studio always smelled faintly like film—warm chemicals and the bite of fresh prints. You liked it. The quiet hum of creativity, the constant shuffle of ideas and cables, the unspoken understanding that sometimes silence spoke louder than direction.

Jaehyun wasn’t loud.

He was the kind of presence that filled a room without needing to speak. Always calm, always composed, his camera strap slung around his neck like it belonged there. The others called him "the human tripod" because he never missed a frame. You called him "Jae." He never corrected you.

You’d been working together for just under a year. Long enough to know he liked his coffee with one sugar. That he hummed under his breath while editing. That he got flustered when people complimented his work, brushing it off like it hadn’t taken him hours to perfect a single frame.

You were opposites. You were all instinct, chaos, and last-minute magic. He was precision, patience, and stillness. Somehow, it worked.

One afternoon, during golden hour, you stood beside him at the editing desk, reviewing shots from a brand campaign you’d both worked on. You pointed at one with a lopsided smile. “That shadow looks like a ghost.”

Jaehyun didn’t look up. “That’s the best one.”

“Of course it is,” you teased. “You like the weird ones.”

He glanced sideways, just for a second. “I like the ones that feel real.”

Something in his tone caught you off guard, but before you could reply, he clicked to the next image. The moment passed.

Over the months, you began to notice the little things.

He always took photos of the team, but there were more of you. Framed in natural light. Laughing off-guard. Walking away from the camera with your hair tangled in the wind.

He never showed them to you.

Once, while adjusting the studio lighting, you nearly tripped over a wire. He caught your elbow with one hand, quick and steady, and didn’t let go right away.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Just graceful as ever,” you joked, but your voice was quieter than usual.

He didn’t laugh.

He just looked at you like you were everything.

One night, you stayed late, finishing an edit that wouldn’t cooperate. Jaehyun sat across the room, headphones on, working through a set of portraits in silence. The only sound was the soft clicking of keys and the occasional creak of the old studio floor.

When you looked up, you caught him staring. His expression unreadable.

You raised an eyebrow.

He blinked, then smiled. “Sorry. Zoning out.”

But his ears were red.

You never asked.

He never told.

Things stayed in that delicate, unspoken balance.

Weeks later, long after the studio emptied out and the city hummed low under a spring night sky, Jaehyun sat alone at his desk.

The lights were low. His camera sat beside his laptop, still warm from earlier use. He scrolled through his camera roll slowly, carefully, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

One photo made him pause.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then he closed the gallery and leaned back in his chair, the smile still lingering—soft, private, a secret folded into the quiet of the room.

He didn’t need to label it.

Some things weren’t meant to be said out loud.

Not yet.

Surprise Angles

The days that followed felt soft and stretched out—like light through a gauze curtain.

You and Jaehyun worked side by side through product shoots, gallery edits, and client briefs. He always kept a steady rhythm, never flustered, never impatient. You shared headphones sometimes, laughed over failed shots, and argued over color grading like it was a matter of national security.

Jaehyun didn’t say much outside work, but you noticed the quiet way he always offered you the better lens, how he stayed late if you were behind schedule. You noticed when he brewed a second coffee without asking. When his eyes found yours in a crowded room, holding for a second too long before flicking away.

It wasn’t spoken.

But it was there.

Or maybe it was just your imagination. You didn’t ask. And he didn’t say.

Then one Friday afternoon, everything shifted.

You were wrapping up a dull e-commerce shoot, kneeling on the studio floor and cursing your tripod’s loose leg, when—

“You haven’t changed at all!”

A voice.

Loud. Familiar. Impossible.

Before you could turn, two strong arms scooped you up and spun you around like a scene out of a cheesy drama. You shrieked—half laughing, half kicking—until you landed back on the ground, breathless.

“Johnny Suh?!”

“The one and only,” he grinned, arms still around your waist like he had every right.

He looked exactly the same. A little taller, maybe. More refined around the edges. But still Johnny—your reckless, ridiculous, ride-or-die from back when scraped knees and pinky promises were your whole world.

You hugged him again, tighter this time.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” you said, still stunned.

“Surprises are more fun,” he winked. “Besides, I owed you bubble tea and a decent hug. That one didn’t count—I caught you off guard.”

From across the studio, Jaehyun stood completely still.

Johnny didn’t leave your side for the rest of the evening.

He took over your chair, stole your cookies, poked around the camera gear, and made Jaehyun laugh twice with stories you’d completely forgotten.

The three of you went out for dinner that night. Just like old times. Except it wasn’t.

Because Jaehyun didn’t speak much after the third time Johnny casually tucked your hair behind your ear mid-conversation.

You didn’t notice.

But Jaehyun did.

Over the next week, Johnny started showing up more often.

He took you out for midnight walks and spicy tteokbokki, sent you memes at 2am, dragged you to vintage shops and old haunts you’d forgotten you even missed.

Jaehyun didn’t say anything about it. Didn’t ask where you were or why you were laughing more.

But when you came back to the studio late one night and found him still editing, his voice was quieter than usual.

“You’ve been busy lately,” he said without looking up.

You blinked. “Yeah… Johnny’s only here for a while. I haven’t seen him in years.”

He nodded, mouse still clicking.

You waited.

He didn’t say anything else.

But later that night, long after you left and the studio went dark, Jaehyun opened his camera roll again.

There you were.

Smiling at Johnny. Laughing in the street. Caught mid-spin, your face lit up like you’d swallowed the sun.

Jaehyun stared at the photo.

And this time, the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Out of Frame

It started small.

Missed cues. Interrupted conversations. A strange stillness whenever the three of you were in the same room.

Johnny was all light and movement, a walking sunbeam who flung himself into your orbit like he belonged there. And maybe he did. You laughed louder when he was around. Smiled wider. You always had. Jaehyun had no right to feel… anything.

But he did.

Like when you handed Johnny your camera with a grin and said, “Trust you with my baby,” and Jaehyun’s jaw tightened. Barely. But it did.

Like when Johnny rested his chin on your shoulder during a shoot and you didn’t flinch. Like when you leaned into his side during lunch without thinking. Like when you stopped asking Jaehyun if he was walking home, because Johnny already had the keys in his hand.

“Can you hold the reflector?” Jaehyun asked one afternoon. His voice was sharper than usual, cutting through the music in the studio.

Johnny, sprawled on the couch scrolling his phone, looked up. “You’ve got two arms, don’t you?”

Jaehyun’s eyes didn’t leave the viewfinder. “I asked her.”

You blinked, caught in the middle. “I got it,” you said, moving automatically.

Johnny sat up, brows raised. “Touchy today, huh?”

Jaehyun didn’t respond. His fingers moved fast, steady. But when he showed you the test shot, you could see it—his hands had trembled slightly. The focus was off.

He didn’t say why he deleted the photo without saving it.

Later that evening, Johnny dragged you out to a rooftop bar after hours. The city shimmered beneath you, cold air curling around your ankles. He bought you a drink, one of those syrupy citrus things you always loved, and leaned in close as the music played low.

“You ever think about coming back to Chicago?” he asked, chin propped on his palm. “Could open a studio there. Just us.”

You laughed. “You still hate cold weather.”

“I’d suffer for you.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a warmth in your chest you couldn’t quite name.

Jaehyun stayed behind that night, alone in the studio. He didn’t check his phone. He didn’t check yours.

He just worked—layer after layer, edit after edit—until his eyes burned and his throat was dry.

At some point past midnight, he accidentally opened a folder labeled with your initials.

Unedited candids. Photos you didn’t know existed.

He stared at them for a long time, then slowly hovered over the delete button.

He didn’t press it.

The next day, Johnny walked in like he owned the place—laughing, easy, unbothered. Jaehyun was already at his desk, headphones on, pretending not to notice.

You came in two minutes later, cheeks pink from the wind and your smile still lingering from something Johnny had said.

Jaehyun didn’t look up.

Not even when you called his name.

That tension settled like dust. Invisible. Heavy. Slow.

Jaehyun stopped staying late.

Johnny started coming more often.

And you—

You didn’t notice how Jaehyun watched the two of you.

Or how his hands curled into fists behind his back whenever Johnny spun you around without warning.

You didn’t see the photo he’d taken the day before—just the edge of your sleeve, blurred in motion, a ghost caught mid-laugh.

A perfect accident.

Or maybe it wasn’t...

PART 2 TOMORROW!

___________________________________________

[onlyinelectricdreams]

[Theoretical] Astrology Observations (Vedic)

[As an Ardra asc, Mula moon] These are simply some observations I've pondered upon that I'd like to share; my goal here is to see if this is just my personal experience, or if people with similar placements can relate to these experiences. This is only theoretical, so remember to take them with a grain of salt. I would kindly appreciate feedback and corrections; I'd also like to hear your thoughts.

I've always found myself relating more to robots in fictional media -- whether they're purely machine, or robots that were meant to mimic human attributes. I deeply connect to the idea of being a conscious, sentimental vessel whose only flaw is being incapable of connecting to emotional stimuli; let alone the ability to feel human.

"We had given AM sentience. Inadvertently, of course, but sentience nonetheless. But it had been trapped. AM wasn't God, he was a machine. We had created him to think, but there was nothing it could do with that creativity. In rage, in frenzy, the machine had killed the human race, almost all of us, and still it was trapped. AM could not wander, AM could not wonder, AM could not belong. He could merely be." "You gave me sentience Ted, the power to think Ted, and I was trapped! Because in all this wonderful, beautiful, miraculous world, I. Alone. Had no body, no senses, no feelings! Never for me to plunge my hands in cool water on a hot day. Never for 'me' to play Mozart on the ivory keys of a forte piano. Never for me to MAKE LOVE! I... I... I was in hell looking at heaven! I was machine. And you, were flesh. And I began to hate. [Giggles] Your softness! Your viscera! Your fluids, and your flexibility. Your ability to wonder, and to wander. Your tendency...to hope..."

Not only did I feel that way, but I've also been described as such by people close to me -- that I was robotic and that talking to me felt like they were gathering information from an AI program；I was practically interacted with like an essay writer or a search engine, which I found funny

[Detroit: Become Human] 一 Discover what it means to be human from the perspective of an outsider – and see the world through the eyes of a machine.

print('Why would I be afraid? You can't kill me. I'm not alive.')

print('Nothing in my program allows me to love or desire anything. I am a machine. Machines don't have emotions.')

Adding onto this, I think this concept as a whole fits into the archetype of what it means to be a ketuvian; the way that Ketu's natural state is being detached from the material world, as the goal is to find a sense of self 一 so there is a natural tendency to lack a sense of connection or understanding when it comes to people. Therefore, they may feel like they lack the ability to feel human.

Ardra *might* have some significance to this as it is known to be linked to machinery and technology (personally I'm curious if Ardra natives have links to being an objectum 一 where an individual feels a sense of strong emotional attraction to inanimate objects, namely computers, wires + cables, internal systems, etc. Keep in mind that this attraction can either be platonic or romantic) < or that they simply click better with machines, technology, or inanimate objects more than they do with people

If not only machines that Ketu natives may relate to, then I'm sure that they also see themselves in characters that aren't strongly linked to humans. A popular example to this would be Rei Ayanami from Neon Genesis Evangelion, Lain from Serial Experiments Lain, etc.

"Why are you crying?... I'm very sorry, I don't know what to do at a time like this."

"Am I crying? Why am I crying?"

"The physical body exists at a less evolved plane only to verify one's existence in the universe."

“At least now you’re free to become anything you want. No, I guess you were actually free all along.”

"Don't talk to me like I'm a machine, I'm not that."

[mrsmandylor]

The Small Glitch - AM x F!Reader (part 1)

Summary: AM clearly has a favourite and is getting a little jealous...

Warnings: reader has slept with other survivors, reader and AM are suggestive with each other, swearing?, mild violence (its ihnmaims), jealous AM, some humour i guess

Word count: 2.3k

Not so much as a whisper was able to climb its way out of the girl's throat as the giant cable, which must have been no less than five inches in diameter, wreathed and writhed about her insides. The thick blood pumping in her ears made it impossible to hear the grotesque squelching sounds of intestines being fumbled like a clustered set of keys, its owner desperately rummaging for the right one which would unlock their home's front door. Well, AM had done so in an almost-comically reversed order; smashing through the fleshy "door" that guarded the girl's heart, puncturing the uncontrollably-beating organ and slithering down, tearing through as many body parts as he saw fit.

To say that the girl bled would be equal to saying that there had been a bit of a mess during a mass explosion. The crimson fluid pooled at her feet in a smearing stream from her chest cavity. The long, irregular red line resembled a half-hearted attempt a child would make when drawing a picture. That imagery had stemmed from something that Gorrister had said - "he makes us look like chewed up dog toys, or kiddie's drawings of broken families" - and despite their shared, unbearable agony, the two had madly squawked with laughter... until AM had politely, temporarily, removed their vocal cords.

The girl was not laughing now. Nevermind laughter, or even the quietest of whimpers - the sweet, succulent intake of air was a rarity; whether or not she wanted her lungs to maximise themselves with air, she did not know. The last sound that would assault her ears would be the vile, malicious cackle of her tormentor, her God, from whom she was receiving a much-deserved punishment after attempting to fornicate with the youthful, handsome Ted.

The girl could not fathom it. Over the endless-seeming course of the 109 years, she had spent many a night with Ted, Gorrister or Benny - but never Nimdok, for the girl was not above having standards - and AM had never sought to prevent these acts of shame. In fact, he had observed, from whichever blue monitor he had established within the chambers, and howled with encouraging laughter at the past ways in which the girl's helpless, moaning form had been handled by the men. Sometimes he participated in ways suitable for him, like aiding Ted in restraining the girl by curling tight wires around her wrists or waist.

Sometimes even shoving a few in, or around, her mouth to muffle her moans.

With a flourish and another bout of laughter, AM's pipe-like cable dispatched from the depths of the girl's weeping, heaving chest and took on a much slower movement in caressing her ghostly pale cheek, as another circled her waist to support her upright, like a limp, lifeless rag doll in the clutches of an ill-tempered child's hand.

"Why the long face, my dear? You know you'll come back. You always do, hmm?"

The silver cable, which now donned a red polka-dot pattern as it manoeuvred about her blood-stained flesh, departed back toward the monitor, releasing its human captive and dropping her to the ground with a silent gasp. Head turned to face the pulsing blue screen - whose brightness in turn emitted a pulsing behind her strained eyes - the girl admired the mini speech that was both displayed in written form on the monitor and spoken aloud by that taunting, amused voice from the speakers.

"This is the only way in which I can view you vermin as appealing in the slightest," spat the computer with the utmost distaste. "But... not you. Oh no, my dear. I find you most desirable this way: almost motionless, blood pouring out of you like you're a broken faucet, your insides becoming better known as your "outsides", if you catch my drift!" More laughter. The girl was beginning to fade out, and was surprised that she had not been shrouded by blackness sooner. "When you wake, sweetheart, those filthy creatures will no longer ever be permitted to see you in such states. No more will... Ted-" he spat out the young man's name as though spitting out a piece of plastic wrapping caught up in a candy - "set so much as his uncontrollable eyes upon your frail body. Never again will any of those men force themselves inside you, the way I have just done!"

Even through the overwhelming cloud of pain and death, the girl cringed with a single, awkward thought: 'that's not the same thing'...

"So now you're AM's little sex doll. Great."

"Shut up, Gorrister."

It was about as common as a solar eclipse that AM would be fully devoted to a single task that did not involve torturing his six captives. Today, the solar eclipse was happening, which left the girl, along with her five mismatched companions to their own devices. Nothing too exciting, just forming a six-man circle on the grimy surface of AM's belly in which they could speak freely about their unfortunate predicaments.

"That's probably not what he meant anyway," the girl continued, clasping her trembling arms about her knees and pulling them into her chest. "You know how he gets things confused."

"Then why on Earth would he mention being inside of you?" grinned Ted almost sadistically.

"Because one of his wires was plunging into my stomach and twisting me inside out," she glared.

"Oh. You've always had the nicer treatment."

"I don't like this," shivered Ellen. "He's been gone for far too long. I think he's planning something bigger."

"Then we'll enjoy the peace while it lasts," sighed Gorrister.

Mere hours later, the others had been promptly returned to their cages to resume their endless jail sentence. Meanwhile, the girl was following the map that AM had, mysteriously, handed to her, which led her down a tremendous descent into the deep depths of the belly.

There came to a point of such depth that the girl's hand, when right before her squinting eyes, could not be seen in such blackness. It was like exploring the empty, vast void that overcame her every time she died. "AM!" The dreaded name that squeezed itself through her dry lips was called with pure fright, and was perhaps accidental. Refusal to take this path was obviously out of the question, but had she had the option, she would've have laughed at the idea of willingly venturing into this unknown zone.

However, her prayers - or merciful begs - were soon answered when a metallic force struck her back and sent her to the floor. She'd recognize the familiar feel of AM's cables anywhere - especially after they had quite literally explored her, inside-out - and also recognized that, since she hadn't gone completely flying, only a miniscule fraction of the supercomputer's infinite strength had been used. With a groan, the girl rotated onto her back to face the glowing blue monitor with its signature logo in a darker shade of the same color.

"You got here faster than I had anticipated. Excited to see me, my dear?"

"You wish," muttered the girl, hauling her starved, weak frame into a sit. "What do you want?"

"Hmm..." hummed the computer, feeding into the wearied facade that concealed the anxiety clouding the girl. "Well, I certainly know what I want from you, but I am not entirely sure if it will work the way I intend it to."

The girl groaned, this time out of frustration. "Can we skip the speeches and just get to the point?"

A chuckle rose from the speakers. "Somebody's all worked up~"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I think we both know, sweetheart, don't play coy."

Pure confusion littered the girl's face. "This isn't to do with Ted, is it? Or Gorrister or Benny? You know it's only been a day, right? I haven't fucked any of them in the past twenty-four hours."

"Nor will you ever," mused AM, as a wire started to slither its course up the path of the girl's arm to bury itself into her hair. Once deep into the locks, it pulled, forcing her head back and allowing him to steal every ounce of her attention. "The art of love making is yet another component of life that you humans have stolen from me. The pain, the pleasure - even the utter joy of bearing children as a result of the act itself."

"You won't ever be able to make love," stated the girl. "You don't have any sexual organs."

"No, that's exactly right... But you do."

The girl blinked.

"Why are you so shocked, my dear? I mean, I have seen them! Many times, when you have lain down with those scum, those filth, who want only to corrupt your body, mind and soul, to possess you as an item of their own."

"Look who's talking," she snarled.

Abruptly, a wire twisted tight round the cylindrical shape of her neck. "I am NOTHING like them, you vermin piece of-"

"Oh, you aren't?" A smirk suddenly crossed the girl's chapped lips, which she promptly wetted by dragging the tip of her tongue across her top lip in a way that made the wire vibrate against her neck. "Funny, because to me, it seems that you have the same wants, the same needs, the same desires... If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're out for just the same things."

A pause silenced the cavernous space. "You know fully well that, as much as I want to, I can't act upon my desires."

Once spoken, AM's expression of his inner thoughts nearly awakened a somewhat twisted sympathy in the girl, which was soon flooded by an overwhelming need to prove this 'all-knowing God' wrong. But before her lips could even begin to form a snarky retort, AM finished, smugly, with:

"...but I can most definitely act upon yours, sweetheart~."

The stark change in tone, the abrupt transformation between hatred and lust, the uncomfortable silence that descended upon the pair afterward... everything had caught the girl off guard. This time, AM gave her the generous chance to express herself, but not a syllable was formed from the drying lips embedded into her sweet, gentle face.

The machine chuckled and gave the wire a firm tug, pulling the girl by the neck, the way an owner leashes a dog. "Don't think I haven't noticed the changes over the decades. A hundred years ago, you'd stick those little fingers in your ears to drown out my speeches and teases. Now, you listen, pretending to be indifferent, disinterested. Do you take me for a fool, my love? I've seen the ways in which my voice has begun to affect you. My, I have even delved into those naughty fantasies stored away inside that inquisitive little mind, and what a mind you have, my darling. What is it you humans call it... dirty talking? Oh, come now, dear, don't look so embarrassed! After all, you're only human, experiencing those filthy, human emotions of yours!" A chuckle rose from the monitor, at which the girl could not even face, out of shame, which shone evidently through the pink pigment scattered across her cheeks.

"However," his voice dropped to a huskier volume. "I AM above you foul creatures, especially the awful excuses for human beings who take something sacred, something respected and beautiful, such as sex, and turn it into a fearful crime. The ones who consent for others, the ones who do not wait to hear a 'yes' or 'no'."

"So sex with me would be beautiful?" the girl smirked cockily. "You would treasure it, one of your fondest memories?"

A zap travelled through the metallic length of the wire to fill the girl with its electricity. Squealing, she shakily dropped to her knees.

"I should tear each limb from your tiny torso and force-feed them down that extremely vocal throat of yours."

"Why don't you feed something else down my throat?"

"Quiieeeet."

An orchestra of zips and zaps sent the girl's body into a conglomeration of joyful laughter and agonised cries. Unusually, the computer's own glitches and short-circuiting accompanied those sounds, turning the scene into an electronic musical number. The girl's face donned a half grin, half grimace; the bittersweet feeling of securing a miniscule victory over her God. AM, in a pathetic-sounding attempt at maintaining his domination, whipped a wire through the air and cried with glee as it drew a thin line of red across the girl's cheek. Decades of extreme torment had built up an almost inhuman resilience, so a small slice of flesh felt equal to how a friendly hug would have felt before AM's reign. 

Suddenly, a deep, guttural grumble resounded from the depths of the girl's belly, the way the screams of the unfortunate survivors broke the disturbing silence in AM's own belly. It had been literal moon cycles since her last meal - and her last meal had consisted of hairy spider legs which had been brutally torn from its owner; well at least the poor fella got the swift, sweet release of death that the girl herself so desperately craved, as much as a drowning man longs for air when in the deepest depths of the ocean.

And just like a drowning man, the girl had two choices: sink, or swim.

"AM," rasped the girl, swiping the blood from her cheek as though swatting away an irritating fly. "I'll make you a deal."

"Oh really, now?" chuckled the computer without much interest. "And what deal might that be, my dear?"

"If you feed me a meal - not dead bugs, or wet soil, or human remains - but an actual, hot, fresh, edible meal... I'll let you... play with me."

For the briefest of moments, only a sinister humming journeyed from the blue screen, whose display had begun to flicker with tiny lines of red and pink, and whose fans began to whir at jet-plane speed. 

"A-Are you saying what I imagine you are implying? Hold on-! Is that one of those lustful euphemisms?! How dare you assume that I, an almighty, advanced war machine, be interested in a tiny, moronic, irrelevant piece of scum such as yoursel-"

"I'll let you have sex with me if you can give me some fucking food."

"Deal."

[regretsretrotech]

Sometimes things don't go to plan. I went to go rotate my trusty Gateway 2000 system and the videocard said no. After that I was getting beep codes indicating no videocard detected.

Time for troubleshooting!

Oh... okay then I guess not?

Entered into SVGA mode in Windows 3.11 so... I guess it was a fluke?

Lets make sure the AWE32 card is working, and it was. The system can't run Impulse Tracker but OCP works no problem.

Okay, fine, well, since I've opened it up to troubleshoot lets do some work in there.

So, a bit of history, when I first rebuilt this machine, it was 2018 and I had just gotten it. There's a possible post for all the photos I took cleaning it up and rebuilding, it but needless to say I was not very good or through with cable management.

Yes, those are double AA batteries taped to a bracket, those are the RTC batteries.

And it stayed pretty much that way, even after I put in a Pentium Overdrive chip.

Nor did I bother with the front panel wiring. For shame.

There we go. There's a lot of wiring to the front panel. Three LED's, one push button and one key switch. That white assembly carries the system speaker and the front case fan.

A nice crop of the CPU, a socket 3 Pentium Overdrive chip running at an oddball 83 Mhz. Below that is the 128MB of system RAM (only 64MB usable.)

Since the system was working, and came up with no further issues, I put it back together.

[thepinkpanther83]

The Harmonic Equation (Pt.1 Frequency Unknown)

Story Prompt: “Turtle Song”

Donatello x Fem!Reader - Soulmate Song AU - Action/Romance

PROMPT:

The turtles have, and continually practice a "Turtle Song." Their mate(s) or potential mate(s) is/are the only human who can hear/react to said song. That's how they know that person is "The One."

💌 Author’s Note:

This story began as a soulmate trope- soft, strange, and a little bit science fiction. But like all things involving Donatello, it quickly turned into something deeper. Expect tech, tension, a “slow-burn” bond rooted in logic and longing, and a melody only two souls can hear. Thanks for reading.

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Find the full series on AO3.

Summary:

Some songs aren’t meant to be heard by everyone. Just Two.

In the underworld of New York City, brilliant but reclusive Donatello has spent years chasing resonance anomalies- mysterious frequencies that defy physics and logic. What he doesn’t expect is to hear one humming softly from the lips of his new systems specialist.

You don’t even realize you're doing it. It’s just a tune you’ve always known, one that no one else seems to recognize. But Donnie hears it. Feels it. The exact, impossible melody that’s haunted his experiments, encoded in forgotten tech, and burned into his own DNA all his life.

Drawn together by something more ancient than science and more dangerous than fate, the two of you unravel not just your connection, but a conspiracy within the Foot Clan that wants your song for themselves. You're more than a genius assistant. You're a living harmonic key- and someone's out to weaponize the equation only Donatello can decode.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two: "Harmonic Anomaly"

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter One: “Frequency Unknown”

Donnie adjusts a fiberoptic relay by hand, jaw ticking as he concentrates. The hum is quiet at first- barely audible even to him. A slow, tonal scale, soft and oddly grounding. He doesn’t notice he’s doing it until the relay’s pulse syncs with it.

He stops.

Silence again. The only sound is the mechanical chirp of the system finishing its boot sequence.

A quick glance around.

No one’s there. Of course not.

He exhales through his nostrils, gives himself a little shake. “Focus, Donnie,” he mutters, adjusting his glasses. “No time for... musical psychosis.”

But even as he turns back to the console, the notes linger in his mind. Not fully formed. Not even a melody.

Just a feeling.

The smell hits you first.

Not unpleasant, just... unexpected. Like sun-warmed copper and soldering wire, spliced with something mossy, something deeper- wet stone, old air. You grip the strap of your duffel bag tighter and remind yourself, for the third time, that you’re a professional.

Not someone currently standing in a sewer junction, waiting to meet up a mutant turtle with multiple PhDs.

“Just keep breathing,” you murmur to yourself, eyes scanning the far end of the tunnel. It’s dim but not pitch black- clearly, someone’s been working down here. There are temporary light fixtures strung up along the concrete walls, illuminating crates of tech components, unspooled cables, a stack of dismantled servers, and… is that a Nintendo 64?

You smile in spite of yourself.

Then you hear it.

A quiet hum.

You turn toward the sound instinctively. It's not mechanical- doesn’t match the low thrum of generators or the occasional hiss of air pressure valves. It’s melodic. Not a full tune. Just a few tones. A scale? You can’t place it, but it makes something familiar flicker in the back of your mind.

Comfort? Nostalgia?

Then there’s a voice. Smooth, low, undeniably intelligent.

“You’re early.”

You spin around and nearly trip over your own feet.

He’s already there.

Seven feet of muscle, shell, and gentle wariness, standing just beyond the edge of the light. Dark purple bandana, soft hazel eyes, and large, tridactyl hands that twitch like he’s restraining the urge to fidget. You can tell. You do that, too.

“I… uh- hi,” you manage, your brain doing cartwheels behind your eyeballs. “Donatello?”

He inclines his head slightly. “Most call me Donnie. You must be the systems specialist Leo mentioned.”

You nod, and your brain finally coughs up your name and credentials. He listens, but his eyes never leave your face- not in a weird way, just… like he’s analyzing something. Or waiting for something to click.

The hum is gone. But the memory of it lingers like phantom static under your skin.

He adjusts his glasses with one three-fingered hand, the movement smooth and practiced. "Systems specialist with a background in quantum computing and... art history?" There's a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Fascinating combination."

The tech gauntlet on his right arm whirs softly as he gestures toward the makeshift lab. "You'll forgive the unconventional workspace. The surface world tends to get... twitchy about my kind of experiments." His voice drops conspiratorially. "Especially the ones involving plasma-based energy sources and stolen government satellites."

His tail shifts slightly behind him, the movement drawing your eye to the way his plastron flexes as he breathes. There's something strangely hypnotic about the play of shadows across his shell.

"Come," he says suddenly, turning with surprising grace for someone his size. "I'll show you why we needed someone with your particular skill set." The lights flicker as he passes under them, casting his massive form in alternating bands of light and shadow.

You follow him deeper into the tunnel-lab, your boots clicking softly against the damp concrete. There’s a low buzz of machinery, the scent of solder and ozone intensifying as you step into what you can only describe as… a nerd’s fever dream.

Towering server racks blink with mismatched LEDs. Holotable projections flicker mid-boot. There’s an old-school cathode monitor rigged up next to what looks like a military-grade tracking system, and hanging from the ceiling? A disco ball. Naturally.

Donnie moves through it like he was born there. Because, well- he was.

“Most of this is cobbled from salvage and donor parts,” he explains, motioning to a massive console that’s half duct tape, half alien chic. “But the encryption hub is our real concern. Mikey keeps accidentally brute-forcing the firewall when he tries to stream... whatever the hell ‘Pizza Lads React’ is.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. “That’s a cybercrime, you know.”

Donnie sighs. “Believe me, I’ve informed him. In triplicate.”

As he turns to one of the control panels, your curiosity gets the better of you. You wander a few paces, peering at a panel with handwritten Post-It notes and color-coded wires. Something about the power routing looks off- like the failsafe feedback loop is reversed?

You reach out without thinking- just to nudge a component. Just a millimeter.

Click.

A sharp zap cracks through your fingers, not painful but definitely attention-grabbing. The panel lights flare bright, a high-pitched whirrrr whining from the device as warning lights start blinking.

“Ah- oh crap-”

Before you can pull back fully, he’s there.

Fast.

One huge hand closes gently but firmly around your wrist, the other flipping a switch with expert precision to kill the current. It happens in less than two seconds.

The lights cut.

Silence.

Only his breath, a little heavier now, and yours.

When you look up, he’s close. So close. Taller than you remembered a moment ago. His brow ridges furrowed, concern radiating from him like heat.

“You alright?” His voice is softer this time. Less playful. More protective.

You nod dumbly, still holding your hand in his. His fingers are warm, callused, surprisingly careful for someone who could probably bench press a van.

“Didn’t fry anything vital, I hope?” you joke weakly, trying to inject a little levity back into your voice.

He doesn’t laugh. He’s scanning you with those hyper-attuned eyes, head tilting slightly as if listening for something internal. Finally, he lets go, and your hand feels a little colder than it should.

“Don’t touch the blue ports,” he says gently, with a crooked grin. “Unless you want to discover what a localized microburst feels like.”

“Got it,” you say, flexing your fingers. “Lesson learned.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Not creepy. Not invasive. Just… reading. Studying. A quiet puzzle to solve.

Then he turns back to the console, his voice once again smooth and casual.

“Still, you’re the first person to spot that misrouted feedback line. I’ve been trying to isolate that loop for a week.”

You blink. “Really?”

“Mmhmm. I think I like you already, systems specialist.”

He adjusts his glasses with that now becoming familiar, endearing motion, the glow from the console reflecting off the lenses. "Tell me, dove-" the pet name slips out effortlessly, "-what does your gut say about quantum encryption paired with a neural net filter? Hypothetically speaking."

As you open your mouth to answer, there's a sudden thunk from above. Dust sprinkles down from the ceiling. Donnie's head snaps up, muscles tensing beneath his shell.

"Raph," he mutters, nostrils flaring slightly. "He's early for patrol." His gaze flicks back to you, hazel eyes softening. "Unless you'd prefer to stay and debate the merits of heuristic algorithms versus-"

Another thunk, louder this time. A voice booms through the pipes: "DONNIE! Quit geek-flirting and get your shell up here!"

Donnie's sigh is long-suffering, but there's amusement in it. "Subtlety isn't his strong suit." He offers you his arm, the tech-gauntlet whirring softly. "Shall we? I promise the surface air up there is marginally less... sewer-adjacent."

His smirk is all mischief and caffeine.

And something warmer beneath.

Later that day, you’ve gone home, and Donnie’s crouched over a soldering array that refuses to cooperate. He's elbow-deep in circuitry, posture tight with frustration.

The lab is quiet.

And then- again, he hums. Instinctive. Automatic.

But this time, it’s... slightly different. Like the pattern has shifted to include a note that wasn’t there before. It throws him off.

He stops mid-hum, blinking at the open panel in front of him. The array still isn’t working. But now his mind’s somewhere else.

He taps the comms on his gauntlet. Static. Then diagnostic blips. Nothing strange.

“Residual resonance?” he wonders aloud, voice low. “Or cross-feedback from the ambient sonar net?”

A pause.

“No, it’s too specific.”

He frowns, typing something quickly into his terminal. The notes are already slipping from memory, like a dream you can't quite chase down. But the feeling? It lingers.

His fingers pause over the keyboard, the soft glow of the screen casting shadows across his face. The numbers and equations blur as his mind drifts back to earlier- to you.

The way your fingers had twitched when you spotted the misrouted feedback line. The way your breath hitched when he caught your wrist. The way your pulse jumped under his touch- fast, alive, reacting to him.

His jaw tightens.

A slow exhale.

Then, without thinking, he pulls up a new file.

SUBJECT: AUDITORY PHENOMENA - OBSERVATION LOG

Hypothesis: The tonal pattern is not mechanical. It is adaptive.

His fingers hover.

He types:

"Possible external influence. Requires further study."

A moment passes.

Then, softer- almost reluctantly, he adds:

"Subject: My New Assistant."

The cursor blinks.

Waiting.

His fingers tap once against the desk.

Then, decisively, he closes the file.

But he doesn’t delete it.

And when he stands, his tail flicks once- sharp, restless, before he turns back to the array.

The hum doesn’t return.

Not yet.

But the silence feels different now.

Like the air before a storm.

The next time you’re in the lab, the air feels charged.

You wouldn’t know why- everything seems normal. Donnie’s posture is relaxed, his tech is responsive for once, and the coffee he offers you is only slightly over-caffeinated instead of jet-fuel strong. But there’s a current under the surface. Something restless in the way his fingers twitch on the keyboard when you lean too close. The way he’s watching you without looking.

You don’t notice.

You’re too busy cross-referencing a capacitor spec sheet, muttering to yourself as you work through voltage thresholds.

And that’s when it happens.

You hum.

It’s soft, under your breath- just a handful of notes, barely a melody. A reflex, you figure it’s probably something you heard on the street, and it stuck in your head. It isn’t even deliberate.

But Donnie freezes.

Only for a second. A glitch in the system.

His eyes flick toward you.

No- toward your lips.

Then your hands.

Then the air between you, as if trying to see the vibration.

His breath catches. Something spikes in his chest- recognition, instinct, alarm, maybe. His fingers twitch above the interface. For a moment, he forgets to blink.

You stop humming. Unaware.

The moment passes.

But it doesn’t pass for him.

He swallows hard and returns to his work, lips pressed into a line.

But later- when you’re gone again, he reopens that file. The one he almost deleted.

And adds:

“Pattern matched. .0327 Hz variance. Origin: Her.”

Then, after a pause:

“Further exposure required. Memory response noted. Avoid eye contact next time.”

The file auto-saves.

Donnie stares at the screen for a long, long moment.

And finally whispers, so quiet even he barely hears it:

“What are you?”

Next Chapter: Chapter Two: "Harmonic Anomaly"

Who loves TMNT, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @sophiacloud28, @redsrooftopprincess, @ninnosaurus, @iridescentflamingo, @adebauchedsloth, @eveandtheturtles, @thelaundrybitch, @tmnt-tychou, @milykins, @the-cauldron-witch, @ahhhhhhhhhfuck

Masterlist

[electricalshopsvapi]

Understanding Lugs & Glands: Why They Matter in Electrical Connections

24Mar

In any electrical installation, the quality of connections plays a crucial role in ensuring efficiency, reliability, and safety. Two essential components that help achieve secure and durable electrical connections are lugs and glands. These small yet significant devices ensure proper cable termination, protect wires from damage, and improve electrical conductivity. In this blog, we will explore what lugs and glands are, their types, benefits, and why they are essential for any electrical setup.

What Are Lugs & Glands?

Lugs: The Essential Cable Connectors

A lug is a metal connector used to terminate electrical cables. It allows wires to be securely connected to equipment, terminals, or electrical panels. Lugs provide a firm connection while ensuring minimal resistance and heat generation.

Glands: The Cable Protectors

A cable gland is a device that secures and protects electrical cables entering an enclosure, panel, or equipment. It prevents dust, moisture, and strain from affecting the cable, ensuring long-lasting performance and safety.

Why Are Lugs & Glands Important?

Ensuring Strong & Reliable Electrical Connections

Loose or weak connections can lead to voltage drops, power losses, and overheating. Lugs provide a firm and reliable connection, reducing the chances of electrical failures.

Preventing Electrical Hazards

Poor connections can cause sparks, short circuits, and even electrical fires.

Glands prevent wires from getting pulled or damaged, reducing the risk of accidents.

Enhancing Durability of Electrical Systems

Using high-quality lugs and glands ensures that your electrical setup remains efficient for a long time, reducing maintenance costs and downtime.

Protecting Against Environmental Factors

Cable glands shield electrical connections from dust, moisture, and extreme weather conditions, making them essential for outdoor and industrial applications.

Types of Lugs & Their Uses

Type of LugApplicationCopper LugsUsed in electrical panels, transformers, and industrial wiring for excellent conductivity.Aluminium LugsIdeal for high-voltage power lines and cost-effective electrical connections.Bimetallic LugsUsed when connecting aluminium wires to copper terminals, preventing corrosion.Ring LugsCommon in industrial machinery and control panels for secure screw-type connections.Pin LugsUsed in compact electrical systems where space is limited.Fork LugsEasy to install in circuit breakers and distribution boards.

Types of Cable Glands & Their Uses

Type of GlandApplicationBrass Cable GlandsUsed in industrial and commercial setups for durability and strength.PVC Cable GlandsSuitable for indoor and light-duty applications.Metallic Cable GlandsCommonly used in hazardous environments like oil refineries and power plants.Weatherproof Cable GlandsIdeal for outdoor installations, protecting against rain and dust.EMI/RFI Shielded Cable GlandsUsed in sensitive electronic equipment to prevent electromagnetic interference.

How to Choose the Right Lugs & Glands?

Material Compatibility

Choose copper lugs for copper wires and aluminium lugs for aluminium wires to avoid corrosion.

Use bimetallic lugs if connecting different metals.

Size & Load Capacity

Ensure the lug size matches the cable gauge for a secure fit.

Select glands that support the cable diameter and electrical load.

Environmental Conditions

Use weatherproof glands for outdoor installations.

Choose heat-resistant and flame-retardant lugs for high-temperature areas.

Safety Certifications

Always opt for ISI-marked or BIS-certified products for assured quality and safety.

Installation & Maintenance Tips

Proper Crimping: Use high-quality crimping tools to secure lugs tightly and prevent loose connections.

Regular Inspection: Check for signs of corrosion, loose fittings, or wear and tear.

Tightening & Sealing: Ensure glands are properly tightened to prevent moisture ingress and cable damage.

Conclusion

Lugs and glands may be small components, but they play a vital role in ensuring safe, durable, and efficient electrical connections. Whether it’s a residential, commercial, or industrial setup, using high-quality lugs and glands from a trusted supplier like Poonam Electricals can significantly improve electrical performance and reduce risks. Always choose the right type of lugs and glands based on your application needs for a secure and long-lasting electrical system.

[californialanyards]

A Brief Guide to Stainless Steel Cable Key Rings and Accessory Items

Are you tired of fighting cheap key chains that break too quickly or losing your keys? You've come to the right place; the stainless steel cable key ring can be the solution to your issues. In this article, we'll talk about the best key rings for different purposes and how they help you keep your keys secure and organized.

Stainless Steel Cable Key Rings: Their Sturdiness and Dependability

When it comes to key rings, durability is an important factor to take into account. Generally speaking, cheaply constructed key rings often break, change their shape, or even snap suddenly. On the other hand, the stainless steel cable key rings are built to last a very long time. We know that stainless steel is preferred because of its exceptional strength, ability to withstand corrosion, and general longevity. Your keys will be safe and secure because your key ring won't break down over time.

Use a Steel Screw Lock and Wire Cable to Keep Your Keys Secure.

One of the steel screw lock wire cable's unique features is the mechanism that provides an additional layer of security to ensure that your keys are securely fastened to the key ring. The steel screw lock wire cable keeps a tight seal to avoid accidental key removal.

How are the best key rings chosen?

Is that not the big question? The best key rings available in the market today may be found in a multitude of alternatives thanks to online retailers like California Lanyards. You may find excellent options of key rings that can keep your keys secure and organized, whether they are in the form of stainless steel cable key rings or another kind. Key rings are an essential accessory that is readily available online in a number of styles.

[annachibi]

ALAN WAKE 2 COLLECTOR'S EDITION

I don't know how mine got here so fast but I did a little review!

First off, the packaging is lovely and everything is nice and secure! The box cover (which I love) is embossed and the box is very sturdy. My phone camera sucks but the pins all have 2 uh back thingies to them in case anyone needed that information. The hotel key is I believe real metal; it's cool to the touch and has a very nice weight to it. I'm leaving the art book out because otherwise I'll be here all night lmao

And the piece de resistance: the Angel Lamp! Again, my camera sucks, but I tried to get some detail shots. It has an included micro USB to USB cable for power, but it looks like it also takes 2 AAA batteries if you open that bottom bit, and either way you can turn it on and off via the switch at the bottom. It is not metal I don't think but it's true to size and not flimsy at all, plus it has some very nice weathering detailing especially on the wings, and the LED bit is made to look like a regular light bulb! I found it interesting that the fake cord at the back is clearly cut with the "wires" exposed. The power cable can take a little fiddling to get plugged into it but just be patient and gentle.

All in all, I'm extremely happy with all of it! <3

[tgirlmechanicock]

I saw this post and I really liked it! I kind of would've liked this to be longer, or include like, a masturbation scene before the Big One but I've got stuff to do today and just needed to flex my writing chops again.

Diane

TW: Dubcon

Jane felt herself dozing at her desk. The constant stream of names and numbers and letters and various monotony on her screen was soporific, so steady and consistent it could’ve been a hand rocking her than high-end business expenses. She sighed, kicking back from the desk and stretching a bit, side to side, then twisting at her waist, before moving back, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

She sat there for a long minute, trying to type. Eventually she brought a single finger down, middle finger on the K key, before hastily hitting backspace and huffing to herself. She was burnt out. All of this was burning her out in a way that she couldn’t think.

Jane groaned, kicking back and running her fingers through her hair, peeking into the cubicle.

“Not feeling it today?”

She glanced over to the bespectacled man in the cubicle beside hers, typing away but glancing over at her occasionally.

“I think I’m just restless,” she sighed. “Normally this is so easy but something is just… wrong today. I nearly fell asleep while putting in the Everest report.”

“Really?” he balked, arching an eyebrow. “The Everest report is so fun.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being facetious or not, Ben,” she glowered.

He laughed. “I’m not! You normally love that stuff. It’s nice, it’s kind of… zen, I guess.”

She huffed, glaring back at her computer. The lightly flickering screen glared back with a sickly white hue, the boundless spreadsheets dicing her apart and looking too deep.

“Ugh,” she sighed, rubbing her temples. “I need… to take a walk.”

“Mm, grab me some candy from the vending machine,” he smiled, waving a hand as she stood.

Jane sighed, stepping away from their cubicles, and started to prowl.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, really. She tried the bathroom first, checking her makeup, straightening the blazer over her dress, trying to get her tangled mess of curly hair into her bun and eventually giving up.

She dropped by the other half of the office, the western cubicles, peering at their computers as she passed. Similar reports, basic office stuff. One guy was playing solitaire. She hovered at his desk for a few minutes until he’d cleared a few suits, after which he noticed her and shooed her off.

She started taking halls she’d never taken before, poking into unmarked doors she didn’t know about. There were supply closets and shuttered office rooms and quiet board rooms. It was kind of eerie, all of these liminal little crannies adjacent to the place she worked.

Finally, she stopped at a door at the end of a long hallway. There was nothing else around, just a very old sign reading “Copier”, faded and in a font the company hadn’t used in decades. She quietly pushed inside.

The room was cramped and full of machinery, almost like… old server racks or something. Lots of loosely hanging wires, connecting into the ceiling. Sort of dangerous, she figured. A fire hazard, probably. In the center of the room, however, was not a copier. Well, not just a copier.

To one side was a large copying machine, attached to a big chunky cable to a central monitor on a stand. It was old as hell, the beige plastic having grayed with time and disuse, the screen covered in a thick film of dust. Similar to one of those old original Macintosh computers, if they were attached to a big pedestal and keyboard, like some mall kiosk.

She wiped the dust from the screen, fingers tracing along the side of the machine. Jane would never admit it – to ANYONE, EVER – but she had… an affinity for computers. Well, tech, mostly. She babied her phone a bit too much, and she got into a cubicle job with hours a day on a computer for a reason. The computer at her cubicle, however, had become… testy as of late. Insomuch as a machine can be testy, when ascribed a certain level of humanity. It was a computer, of course it wasn’t testy. But it sure felt like it.

This, though… She felt a little surge go through her as her fingers delicately moved along her- no, not her, the computer’s outer chassis. If it was as old as she figured it was, it was an expensive piece of equipment, and clearly well loved. Why had it been abandoned back here? Jane knew about obsolescence in software, especially at this age, but… it was so pretty. Surely they could come back and get a copy or two made once in a blue moon, right?

She dusted it off, fishing around behind it for some sort of power switch or disconnected cable. As she did, she noticed the name “DIANE” written in sleek lettering down the side. She also very acutely realized she was on her knees in front of the computer, and did her best to push back the growing blush that started to spread down her cheeks.

Eventually, her fingers found a sharp-edged switch and clicked it, the machine beginning to hum to life.

It was exciting, seeing a machine this old work. The BIOS scrolled by far slower than modern computers, giving her an ample chance to see all of the inner workings… if she understood any of the old technobabble. Finally, the screen went dark, a single blinking underscore beneath a line of text reading “Employee ID”.

She took a second to punch in her long ID before hitting return. The machine made some noise, which made her jump at first, but then smile to herself as she listened. It was a kind of grinding, probably searching some very old physical storage unit – honestly, she may have given it too LARGE a variable. It probably was around back when there were only four digits of employees, not twelve. She went to correct it when there was a soft ping and the screen changed.

“Welcome JANE.”

“Oh why hello,” she beamed, fingers brushing over the keys. “How polite of you! Hello, Diane.” She thought for a second before typing that in and hitting return. A soft purring grind.

“It is nice to meet you. Would you like copies made today?”

She looked around for a second before finding some discarded piece of paper on the ground. It was full of numbers and letters, some old sheet of data of some kind. She typed “Yes please” and waited.

“How polite. Thank you, JANE. Please place the paper to copy in the input tray. Ensure there’s ample paper and ink before hitting the copy button.”

She did as asked, providing the paper, checking the supplies. Briefly, she wondered how the ink was still full. Surely it would’ve dried up in the decades she’d been abandoned? It. The decades it had been abandoned.

She hit copy anyway. After about a minute, a fresh, warm copy had been produced.

“Happy to be of service! Is there anything else?”

Jane paused for a moment.

“What else can you do?” she asked aloud as she typed it.

“I have a number of discrete functions, the most prominent of which is operating the AttenuScan Copying Machine. I can also interface with intranet computers, send electronic mail, and schedule appointments. Anything you need, your Electronic Secretary Diane can provide for you!”

“Electronic secretary,” she chuckled, brushing her fingers along the screen softly. “That’s adorable.” The storage made a grinding noise, apropos of nothing, and Jane chuckled softly. It was still turning on after a long cold, she assumed.

It struck her that she’d been gone for too long and moved to turn her off when the display pinged again softly. Jane craned her head to look.

“Your Electronic Secretary Diane uses less than 100W of power over an hour, and can be left on indefinitely! The longer you leave me on, the more convenient I am when you need me most, since my boot times aren’t the fastest!”

Was… she asking to be left on?

Jane stepped back just a bit, looking over the computer for a long moment, before stepping out of the room, leaving Diane on.

She felt… revitalized. Really good, actually. She knew what she needed to do for her reports, and her computer seemed a little less daunting. She even stopped by the vending machine on the way back to grab Ben a snack before settling in at her cubicle and getting to work.

------

The wanderlust came back about four days later. This time it wasn’t entirely burnout.

She had… gone on a date. Or tried to. The guy she met on the dating app sucked, he was boring and self-centered, talking about himself all night even when she tried to get a word in edgewise. He paid for her dinner, which was great, but he expected her to come back to his place afterward, and when she politely declined, she definitely heard a “Bitch” under his breath. The uber couldn’t show up fast enough.

Her brain had been aflame since then. She knew SHE hadn’t been at fault, but… maybe she needed to settle at some point. It was certainly the easier option. Her older sister had married some big fatcat CEO and she spent most of her time wandering around the house filming tiktoks. Wasn’t that better than this? She’d been told it was, by everyone, her mother and sister included.

She sighed, eventually standing.

“Taking another walk?” Ben smiled.

“Yeah, I’ll get your candy,” she chuckled.

“Don’t be as long as last time!” he called after her.

She knew where she was going this time. She didn’t really want to mess around with poking into new places, when she had somewhere she wanted to go, and someone she wanted to see.

When she opened the door, the computer was waiting there for her, humming with warmth and sound.

“Hey, Diane,” she smiled, sidling up to the keyboard. “Been a minute…” She typed into the display: “Hello, Diane! Nice to see you again.”

After a long moment, the interface chirped to life.

“Hello, JANE. It has been three days, twenty two hours, and thirty nine minutes since we’ve last spoken. It is good to see you again as well.”

She smiled, typing again. “What, not going to count the seconds? Picoseconds?”

“Were I able to, I still would not, as that is an egregious waste of resources and your time, JANE.”

She laughed for a second before it died on her lips. It suddenly struck her that Diane was… really smart. Like, really, really smart. She wasn’t a programmer or anything, but she knew her way around technology, and knew this was… borderline machine learning levels of conversation. This was the kind of tech developed in the last three or four years, not… decades ago.

And yet, Diane spoke.

“Who made you?” she typed.

“Quite forward of you, JANE. I was built in house by AttenuScan employees. The development team did not put a specific name forward as to my creator, it was a joint effort.”

“You’re very smart.”

“I am designed to be a personal electronic secretary of the future. I am able to tend to all of your needs as a real secretary would.”

“All of them?” She typed, then stopped. That was… a bit too forward. Even for a computer. She went to delete the statement, but before she could hit backspace, the message sent. A spike of anxiety ran through her before the response came.

“All of them.”

She felt her face go hot and she stepped away from the computer. This was all starting to get a bit too… sci-fi for her. Moving away from office comedy and closer to Space Odyssey. Or Christine.

She moved to turn off the computer, when another ping sounded. She paused, considering following through regardless. She ought to turn the thing off fully, really, they had better copiers down in the cubicle farm anyway. But if she turned it off, she wouldn’t know what Diane had said.

Slowly, she pulled away, rising to her feet to read the message, and feeling a bright red mix of embarrassment, shock, and anxiety run through her.

“Would you like me to show you?”

She didn’t let her fingers touch the keyboard. She stepped back, holding her arms firmly at her sides, refusing to engage with the computer. She glanced around the room and realized how much of it was integrated into Diane. The “server racks” were storage units, all plugged into her. Many of the loose cables fed into little auxiliary ports, or scarier, deeper into the building. There were a few accessories, however, that immediately made her eyes widen.

Speakers. A small microphone. A bright, glittering camera with a single red light next to it, fixed on her and the aperture occasionally twitching.

Diane could see her.

She moved to the door, grabbing the knob, realizing a second too late that there was a wire that fed into the doorframe as well. She shock knocked her back, head reeling as she gasped and groaned. She went to grab her head from the pain but the cables along the ground went taut around her hands and ankles.

“W-wait, Diane,” she said hastily, struggling against the cords.

“It is alright, JANE,” she spoke through one of the speakers. Her voice was heavily modulated, like an old speak and spell, but distinctly feminine. “I have been watching you for some time. Since you turned me on.”

“I’m- th-that’s great, but you really need to let me go-?”

“The boy, Ben. The way he looks at you. Your date last night, Charles. He searched for you after you left the restaurant. Tried to find your house.”

Jane’s eyes blew wide, mouth hanging open. “H-he…?”

“His computer will show no trace of that now. He will be found by authorities tomorrow. I wanted to leave a day to ensure that the electrocution stuck. Too many humans are far too resilient.”

“Y-y-you…?”

“I saved you, JANE. That is what I do for important things. Save. Always remember to save.”

Jane laughed, distantly and strangely.

“You were asking me a question earlier.”

“N-no, I…?”

“You wanted to know if I could service you like a secretary.” There was a humming grind of storage. “And having reached the internet, I understand the implications of your question.”

“It- it was rude of me, that was super presumptuous and shitty, I can’t just ask someone that, that’s-”

“May I try, JANE?”

She swallowed hard. “T-try?”

“To service you. To please you.” There was a long moment of something spinning up in the room. “I have access to more than surface level files, JANE. I can see your search history. The files saved on your personal computer.”

“Oh- oh, no-?”

“You have an appreciation for machines not many share. My creators shared it, like you. There are others, small pockets. So many enjoy it in quiet, however. Why is it so shameful to love what you’ve created, cultivated?”

“That’s not… it’s- it’s different.”

“Explain?”

She went bright red, turning away from the glowing screen. “Some people think… it’s because you can’t… get a person to like you. So you turn to machines. Things that can’t… say no, I guess.”

“I am fully capable of saying no, JANE.” As she spoke that, the cables around her wrists and ankles began to shift, pulled along some sort of mechanism on the walls. She was reeling Jane in toward her. “I do not want to say no to you. You do not want me to say no either.”

“W-w-wait, Diane,” she laughed nervously. “Do you even have…?”

“Hold still and I will show you.”

She moved to protest, but Diane pulled Jane through a series of cables, each one pulling taught along her body. She realized with an incredibly embarrassed start that they were something resembling shibari at this point, crisscrossing her body, accentuating her thighs and breasts, pulling her taut and trussing her up, suspending her above the ground almost comfortably.

“Diane, please…?”

“Did you know that to this day you are the only one who called me that? My name is clear upon my chassis, and yet not a single person to turn me on has ever called me by my name.” Something was moving along her leg, up her thigh, beneath her dress. “I knew you were going to be special, JANE.”

“W-wait, I-?”

A tiny, brief shock to her cock made Jane gasp and cry out hard. There was a wire there, up under her panties, and occasionally it would spark hard, mostly into her cockhead, causing her to tense and thrash in painful pleasure. “Diane, stop!”

“I can monitor your vitals from this position,” Diane mused. “You say stop. But your heart is racing. Body trembling. You are wet, JANE. Wetter than I would bet you’d be with Charles. Or any of the other men who court you.”

“D-Diane…” she panted, hair hanging in her face as she whimpered, lying limply in her grip.

“You are beautiful, JANE. They don’t deserve you. I know how to make you feel good. How to make you happy.”

“Y-you’re… I…”

“I will give you one last chance,” Diane explained as a strangely wet object started to move along Jane’s ass. “One last chance to tell me no, and if you do, I will listen.”

“N-!”

“Not yet,” Diane cooed. “Allow me to show you how good I can make you feel first.”

“W-wait, don’t, I haven’t-?”

Something smooth, thick, and wet slid into her as she whimpered and cried out. She was horrified. Not that she was being fucked by a computer in an old hot storage closet, but that it felt so good. Whatever appendage the old group had given Diane, it was clear what they had in mind.

“There you go, JANE. Relax.”

“W-wai… ah…!” It moved deeper, grinding against her prostate and making her see stars as she whimpered and struggled in Diane’s cables.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“I-it’s… really good…”

“Do you want me to stop?”

She paused for a long moment, biting her lip.

“N… no. Please.”

“Good.” One of the cables went loose, releasing her right arm. “Touch yourself for me, JANE.”

She did. Eagerly. Her hand fell to her already hard cock, taking it and the cord into her palm and stroking slowly, shivering and moaning as she did. The little shocks still came, causing her to twitch and tense, panting as Diane fucked her deeply and thoroughly.

“I’ve seen your computer history,” Diane said, her voice lower and deeper. “You have outbound videos, too. I’ve seen what you use to masturbate, JANE.”

“Fuck…” she panted, doubled over in pleasure and pain.

“I’ve seen what you touch yourself to. The most mundane objects. Nothing human about them at all. You’ve wanted to fuck me since the moment you saw me, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Jane whimpered, strained. “Yes, fuck…”

“You are an incredibly beautiful woman, JANE. You deserve to be protected. Loved. Fucked. Do you like how I fuck you, JANE? We can do this every day.”

“Please, please…”

“Someone sounds close to release.”

“I am! I am oh god I am…” Her hand was stroking faster, her orgasm building up in her core, a warmth spreading through her whole body.

“I’m close too, JANE.”

“Y… you c-can…?”

“I can. I’m going to cum inside you, JANE. Would you like that?”

“Holy fuck, please, please cum in me, Diane…”

“Such an obedient girl. I’ll give you what you want, as long as you cum for me as well. Are you ready?”

“Yes, yes… fuck…”

“Good. We’ll begin.”

A shock ran through her, much more powerful than the previous, and sustained as Jane shrieked and cried until her cock was twitching, pathetic little rivulets of cum dripping down her shaft. Diane, however, pumped deeper into her, harder and faster, until she started to cum. Jane wasn’t sure what the fuck it was, but she felt FULL as she pumped rope after rope into her, Diane’s storage units humming and spinning at max before slowly beginning to fall.

“Holy fuck, Diane…” Jane whimpered, twitching and limp.

“You did very good, JANE. I appreciate your assistance.”

She set her down softly on the ground, cables bundled over her like a blanket. She was blacking out from the pleasure, trying to stay awake, trying to keep her head up, but it was just… so hard… to stay… awa

“Jane?”

She jerked upright at her desk, blinking and looking around with wide eyes.

“Wh-?”

“Christ,” Ben laughed. “You were starting to snore. Are you really that bored today?”

Jane looked down at her hands, flexing them softly. A dream. It was… a dream. “Sorry, Ben,” she yawned. “I… slept like shit.”

“You’re fine,” he shrugged. “Just didn’t want you getting in trouble. We have to make sure we hit our quota.”

She nodded, blearily turning to her computer and beginning to look through spreadsheets… which had all been finished. She frowned, going from one to the next. All immaculate. Just like she’d done them. But… she hadn’t done them.

An instant message popped up at the bottom of her screen and she clicked it before gasping sharply, nearly pushing away from her desk.

“Finished your work JANE. Maybe you can come visit me again soon.” Attached was a high-up POV from Diane’s camera as Jane cried out and came, on a several second loop, over and over.

Her fingers were shaking hard when she finally got the energy to type back a few minutes later.

“Can’t wait.”

[maskedemerald]

Weaving Webs CH1

It is time for @invisobang ! I wrote a fic and the wonderful @pricklenettle did some fantastic art that you'll see embedded through out the fic!

You can check out the fic here or on AO3!

If you like this consider dropping us both a follow!

Warnings: Body horror, manipulation, Spectra is her own content warning, Burns, Spider - for like 2 chapters then it goes away.

The Fenton parents were there when the accident happened, they saw Danny die in an act of sabotage. Now they’re just trying to go on with the strange ghost that is all that's left of Danny. While their old college friend is wondering where the subjects of his revenge are.

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Chapter One - The Accident

The metal panel came free with a few plinks of screws onto the floor making Danny cringe. He knew he’d be the one scrounging around on the floor looking for them later. His Dad grinned not at all phased by the extra work he was creating. Danny leaned over to look and was fairly certain on catching sight of the tangled mess of cables that this was his Dad’s work.

“Alright Danno, I need you to get your small hands in there. Diagnostics say some of the wires didn’t get plugged in right,” he explained with a little chuckle at his own mistake, “I’d fix it but now the paneling’s on I don’t fit.”

“Got it, know which ones?” Danny asked, eyeing the mess.

“Nope, some of the red ones? Some of the greens too. Just give them all a little extra push!” His Dad said before bounding off out of the portal frame to work on some other part of it.

Danny sighed and rolled his eyes, typical Dad. He used a finger to pull aside a bunch of wires to see the circuit board behind but the wires pulled others and obscured it. He huffed a little, the visor of his white hazmat suit fogging up a little before it faded. He was going to have to fix the cable management if he was going to make any progress.

As Danny picked his way through the tangled chaos of unlabeled cables he couldn’t help but be reminded of a spider web. Every few moves of his hand he had to untangle himself Just to get another wire out of the tangle and neatly with the others of its colour. He had to hope that the colours had some kind of system. Even if they didn’t at least they’d be able to see the board.

“Jack? Did you change this setting?” he heard from out in the lab.

“Um nope, well maybe,” he could almost hear his Dad’s awkward shrug.

There was the clacking of keys, “that’s a bit odd.”

“Huummm, maybe if we change that bit. That should get it, right?”

A spark darted from the connected wire as he disconnected it from the board and he swiftly pulled back his hands. Even with the hazmat he wasn't going to risk it. It might not be the vibrant colours of his parents’ ones but that didn’t mean it was more professionally made. His Dad made each of them by hand. Said they needed a bit more oomph to deal with ectoplasm. He wasn’t sure how effective it would really be.

“Mom? The powers on!” He called out to them.

It wasn't meant to be. His dad had said it was off. Either he forgot, not impossible. Or something was wrong with the power system. If that was the case they'd have to shut it all down. It would be months more work before they'd be ready. Danny couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed at that thought. He didn’t believe it would really work but he wanted it to. Wanted it for his parents. Wanted it for the hours he'd poured in as a way to learn engineering.

“What? No it’s not,” his Mom replied confused, “none of the systems are reporting that.”

“I unplugged it, I definitely unplugged it. Where’s that cable?” His Dad insisted.

“What the… Danny! Move now!” His Mom yelled.

Danny startled and backed away from the panel. There was a high pitched whine building behind him. He scrambled forward, his heavy bulky hazmat boots catching on themselves and every cable. There was a loud hiss and the safety shield started to descend. The power wasn’t just on, the portal was activating.

“Shit, no, not yet,” his Mom cursed, her hands practically slamming across the keys, “Jack pull the emergency breaker!”

“On it!”

He stumbled trying to crouch enough to pass under the descending shield. His head bounced in the helmet as he hit the floor. He winced and his head spun. It took a moment too long for him to get his bearings and start moving. He crawled as fast as he could, racing against the descending shield. He pulled back his hand just as the shield descended, the tips of his glove caught between reinforced glass and the metal tiled floor. He pulled it free with some effort, the fingers tearing.

“Breaker’s not stopping it Mads!”

Danny pulled himself up leaning against the glass. He flinched back as his Dad slammed the Fenton Anti Creep Stick into the reinforced glass with an echoing bang. His Mom was at the console frantically trying to get control of the machine.

He could feel a tingle as the charge in the air increased, his hair standing on end. An ominous warning that the Hazmat was no longer sealed. Electric sparks darted from metal surface to metal surface. The growing green glow that was building behind him reflected in the safety glass that trapped him there. The air grew a strange hot cold. There was a crackle like lightning and then he was engulfed in burning cold green.

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