#Lieutenant Joshi | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kenposting · 1 year ago

Text

Baseline

Summary: You're a Blade Runner paired to work with Officer K. You both sense a bizarre shift lately. Something is wrong.

WC: 3.6k

AN: I literally have Ryan Gosling brainrot right now and I've loved this movie for years.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀✩⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

If there was one thing the two of you could agree on, its that something was wrong. Different. Broken. Whatever it was, something was wrong.

He felt like a deterrent when you first met him. Someone assigned him alongside you a few months back. Being a Blade Runner at your stature had proven to be more difficult than anyone higher up had expected, and instead of retiring all the smaller, female models, they decided to just force you into this bizarre co-op with the other older Nexus-9s.

And that’s what happened. You were assigned a partner, and therefore, a roommate as well. You found him to be a nuisance at first. You were perfectly fine doing your job on your own. This safety precaution was unnecessary, and you believed that wholeheartedly, until you saw the case photos of your model.

It was brutal. Fueled by hatred. You had never ran into any real trouble, but these were your colleagues, retired before they had a chance to call for assistance.

You began to be grateful he was around. The two of you argued constantly, but you did feel a lot safer. He was larger than you by a lot, and much broader in stature, but he didn’t scare you. Nothing did.

Until now. You only barely understood what was going on when you compared it to human data. It seemed to be closest to fear, or perhaps anxiety. You never had a feeling before. Neither had he.

Something was wrong. You just couldn’t shake it. Even thinking that way was bizarre, as it had nothing to do with programming or logistics. The thought was pointless – unless it began to effect your work. And it had.

“Do you know why the two of you are in here today?”

Lieutenant Joshi was the superior to the both of you, a higher ranking member of the Retirement Division of the LAPD. You had never really minded her, but you knew something negative was present in the way she spoke. She was human, and you were built to analyze and understand the humanness within her. She was scared and confused.

“No, Madam.”

He answered for the both of you, something he often does. That was part of his job since the placement. He’s there to make sure you’re protected, even if it's something small.

She looked at you. You shook your head. She sucked on her teeth, visibly upset.

“Neither of you are even close to baseline.”

Another bizarre sensation crept over your shoulders and sank into your abdomen. A feeling. You didn’t like it – which was another feeling, in and of itself.

“What the fuck is going on?”

She was upset now. You tried your best to comprehend it but you couldn’t.

“Ever since we put the two of you together your retiring alone takes longer than usual, you aren’t preforming how you’re supposed to, you respond in inadequate ways, I mean, what is the problem?” She paused, collecting herself. “You only perform how you’re meant to when you’re together.”

She looked at Officer K. She was speaking mostly to him. After all, he was the only one doing his job alone anymore. You were only allowed to work when he was around, and you performed fine. It was when you weren’t working… That’s where the problems were. You actually preferred his company to your own. You didn’t understand this.

“I’m going to give you both an option.” She looked sternly between the two of you. “I’m going to retest you, right now. One of you will naturally preform better than the other. Whoever is closest to baseline will retire the other.”

“You can take me, Madam.”

His voice sounded different now. Still very monotone, but laced with urgency, like the thought of retiring you impeded on his natural task of protecting you.

She scoffed. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, what is wrong with you?” She sighed, shaking it off and leaving the meeting room. You followed K into the testing area. Familiar. Uncomfortable. Something loomed over you.

There were two white chairs. You and Officer K shifted to face one another. He looked into you. You looked back.

“Officer K D 6 dash 3 dot 7,” A voice read off his name, followed by yours. “Let’s begin. Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

Again, he answered for the both of you.

“Recite your baseline.”

The two of you spoke immediately, like a second nature, programmed into the basic essence of your coding. You didn’t have to think or process. You knew what to do, so you did it.

“And blood-black nothingness began to spin, a system of cells interlinked within cells interlinked within cells interlinked within one stem, and dreadfully distinct against the dark, tall white fountain played–”

“Cells.”

The two of you responded back, your voices synced to one another. Your eyes darted all around his face, searching for a sign that he was performing well. You hoped he was. Another foreign feeling, hope. Why did you hope for his success?

“Have you ever been in an institution? Cells.”

“Cells.”

His eyes never averted from your gaze. There was something foreign to you there. Something you presumed would be described as comforting.

“Do they keep you in a cell? Cells.”

“Cells.”

“When you’re not performing your duties do they keep you in a little box? Cells.”

“Cells.”

“Interlinked.”

“What’s it like to hold the hand of someone you love? Interlinked.”

K’s face flashed before your mind at this question. You wished you also knew what was going on, but you didn’t. Something was wrong. You remembered his hand accidentally brushing against yours a few weeks prior. That’s when all of this began. You were going to be retired. You could feel it.

“Interlinked.”

Officer K looked over your face, a mechanical whirring at the speed of his shifting eyes. Truthfully, he felt the same way. He was going to be retired. He could feel it.

“Did they teach you how to feel finger to finger? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

“Do you long for having your heart interlinked? Interlinked.”

You could’ve sworn you detected movement in K’s lips. A slight smile. Something you had never seen before in a Replicant. Something you had never done before. His eyes softened.

“Interlinked.”

“Do you dream about being interlinked? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

“What’s it like to hold your child in your arms? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

“Do you feel that there’s a part of you that’s missing? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

Sometimes you did think things like that, but they didn’t make any sense. It was like a buffering within you.

“Within cells interlinked.”

“Why don’t you say that three times, within cells interlinked.”

“Within cells interlinked. Within cells interlinked. Within cells interlinked.”

A silence fell over the white room, and again, fear crept in, or what you could only assume was fear. His eyes still hadn’t left yours.

“Officers, do you have anything more to say?”

The voice nearly startled you, further showing you that something was very wrong. You aren’t in any imminent danger, so why were you responding like you were?

“No, sir.”

You wondered if you’d ever have to answer for yourself again.

He stood, his movement encouraging you to stand as well. You often followed his every move. His height never ceased to amaze you. You wondered why they built him so tall, yet programmed him so meekly. He didn’t naturally intimidate you. He didn't naturally intimidate anyone. He just did his job and went on his way.

You followed him into the room you had both been in previously. Lieutenant Joshi was sat back at the table holding a sheet of data. She analyzed it much slower than either of you could.

Officer K pulled out a chair and waited for you to have a seat. Part of his task. He sat beside you.

Her eyes looked up, shifting between the two of you with a clicking motion. She was searching for something, but she wasn’t going to find it. There's nothing there to find.

“Do either of you have any comments, Officers?”

You looked at K.

“I hope I did worse than her.”

She rolled her eyes, frustrated at his malfunctioning. She couldn’t gather a response, so she resorted to sliding the paper in front of the both of you.

100% accuracy. A perfect score. The highest either of you had ever gotten to baseline.

You looked up at her. She remained searching, beginning to say something before sighing, abandoning the thought all together.

Officer K’s jaw tightened beside you.

“Do either of you have anything to say for yourselves?”

You looked at him, then her. You didn’t have any previous data on any of this. It was rare for you to have an uninspired thought, but your software had been updated to the highest functioning and you figured only one explanation would make sense.

“We’re interlinked, Madam.”

She was quiet for a moment, blinking.

“It appears so.”

Silence fell over the room for several minutes. K sat much taller than you. He felt much more powerful than you in this moment. Even now, you were glad to have him around.

“We should really just retire both of you, but we’ve never seen this kind of score. I need to speak to some colleagues and I’ll have you report back here in the following days. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Madam.”

The two of you spoke in sync. Interlinked.

The drive home was quiet, but pleasant. Both of you thought you’d be retired before sundown, so the bleak landscape appeared a bit more welcoming than usual. You didn’t particularly enjoy the world, but you did enjoy being around K.

The walk to your building was always the worst. The people outside felt like one large organism, moving and speaking all at once, an amalgamation of bodies, neon lights reflecting against the rain droplets hitting the ground. It was hard to take in so many small happenings at the same time. He knew this about you, picking up on the shifts in your face when you stepped out into the night. He placed a gloved hand on the small of your back, leading you. Afterall, part of his task was to enure your safety, and he wanted you to know he was looking out for you. He liked doing a good job for you. He feels something when you thank him for it.

“Hey, A boy!”

Moans and expletives swam through your ears. This scene was ever present. Every single night on your way home, you passed this part of town. Before Officer K was assigned to you it was much scarier. People would grab at you and pull you towards different dark buildings and corners of street. Replicant and human alike, both took advantage of your size.

You always ignored it, programmed to move forward, but something felt different this time.

The girls touched him, eyeing him up and down, walking alongside the both of you, looking at you.

“Wanna come see what a real girl feels like?”

He didn't react. He never did, actually. One of the girls showed a change in her expression, cautioning the others, mentioning his job. The words she spoke relieved you. You didn’t mind the insult, you just didn’t want him to leave you. It was scary out here. Everyone towered over you, even the girls.

The girls dismissed her warning, giggling, grabbing onto him further. Your pace quickened. So did his. You reached the stairs outside of your building and he stepped aside, letting you go ahead of him.

“We’re always here!”

They were always there. They had been built for pleasure. Sexual consumerism. It confused you, really. You didn’t understand the appeal, but it seemed like everyone else did. K didn't get it either.

He followed closely behind you up the steps. The flights went on for ages. People lingered there, littering the tight area, continuing to yell at the two of you. K kept a close watch for anyone grabbing for you, though. He wouldn’t let it happed again.

He opened the door to your apartment, holding it wide for you to walk in. Someone spat in your direction. He closed his eyes. It was like he was convincing himself not to react. He never had to do that before. The droning lull of the people made you feel anxious again, like you really were in danger. He shut the door behind you, the thick lock clunking shut.

Your apartment was safe, like a homebase. No one could attack you here. You watched as K hanged his coat on the back of the door, heavy and weighed down. He looked different. Relieved. Softer. Pleased to see you.

“Are you hungry?”

You thought for a moment, considering when the last time you ate was. There was am artificial aching in your abdomen.

“Yes.”

He nodded, stepping a foot into the kitchen. This place was so small. After all, Blade Runners don’t really deserve comfort. They didn’t need it. They couldn’t feel it. But you did. You had to accept it, it was only logical. You felt the place was small, and that meant you could feel.

K made the same thing you both ate every night. Noodles. You hated them – another feeling – but you liked spending time with him. It was sweet, the ways he chose to serve you.

He looked down into his bowl. He wasn’t eating. Something was different about him.

“K? Is everything alright?”

He looked up at you, meeting your gaze. He searched you, but found no answers.

“I don’t know. I know that I’m supposed to know. But I don’t. And that means something is wrong.”

You nodded. You felt immense comfort at his answer. He felt the same. At realizing this, a secondary thought entered your mind: he must need to be comforted as well. You thought back to your Joi, sat somewhere in a drawer for weeks now, collecting dust. You found it odd to use it around him, and he thought the same, but you remembered what went on when you did use it. You retraced all the humans you had came across in your mind, all films you had seen. You knew how they all comforted one another. You wanted to try for him. This was perhaps the most bizarre feeling of all.

Neither of you were real, just programmed to be as human-like as technology currently allowed. So really, what’s the harm in this? You couldn’t have feelings for something real, but he wasn’t real either, so no harm no foul.

“I feel the same way. I feel, I mean. I don’t like it either.”

You tried your best to put it into words.

He nodded, shifting, like he had turned something off inside of him. You had frightened him. He thought he was just malfunctioning, and the only other option is that the two of you were both feeling something very real and new and unlikely. That was frightening. Something was wrong.

His jaw tightened as he stood from the table, grabbing his bowl and stepping toward the kitchen.

You sat there alone at the table for a long time. You felt something different now, something new. You didn’t recognize it; it hadn’t been taught to you. Loneliness, perhaps. Or regret. A feeling that you had said something you wished you hadn’t.

A heavy hand rested on your shoulder, awakening you from your trance. You didn’t know how long you’d been sitting there, but the orange glow of the city had drifted into a deep aqua color. Night had fallen.

“I don’t know what’s going on.”

His voice was different. Softer than before, like every moment he became gentler and… more... human.

You hummed in agreement. You didn’t know either. He reached his hand out and you took it, following him a few feet to your small bathroom. A soft glow came from behind the doorframe.

His steps were heavy as he lead you forward. Your eyes shifted, taking in the scene.

He had ran you a bath, something you didn’t even realize you possessed in this small space. There were candles lit alongside the edge of the porcelain. You were sure you didn’t own any candles.

“I saw this in a film once…” His voice trailed off, like he didn’t know what else to say. He was almost shy about it.

You stepped forward. A new smell filled the room. Something fresh.

“Its lavender. I took some from the last Nexus-8 I retired. I know that’s not very romantic.”

Romantic? Was he trying to be romantic? Why was he trying to be romantic?

“And the candles?”

His constant blank stare shifted into a sheepish, subtle, barely-noticeable smile. But you noticed. It was just a change in data, after all.

“I bought them yesterday. I saw them downtown and I thought of you. I’m not sure why.”

Whatever you had been feeling before was miniscule compared to what you feel now. An ache in your chest and browline, sharp and sudden. A tear fell from your right eye. Something was definitely wrong.

This world was just… so sad. Fallen. Broken. Corrupted. Evil. Lost. So many things. And especially for you. You felt selfish for feeling this way at all; you weren’t a human that had everything ripped away from you, you weren’t even real. But your memories were real to you, and this was real to you too. No one had ever gone out of their way to think of you before. Everything before your assignment with Officer K was rigid and impersonal, but he wasn’t like that, and neither of you knew why.

You stepped forward, keeping his hand in yours, leading him into the small space with you. It would be snug, but both of you could fit.

You followed your normal routine, removing each article of clothing as to not get them wet. His torso was laced with cuts and bruising. Again, the sight of it made you feel something.

He sank into the water first, still holding your hand, blankly looking forward at the tile on the wall. You followed after him, laying against his chest. This was nice, but also very weird. What were you meant to do now? You were grateful for the gesture. The warm water was a stark contrast to the cold world you both lived in. The last few weeks you realized you hated being a Blade Runner, and in hindsight, he must've felt the same. Underappreciated. Unimportant. Cold. False.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for inviting me in.”

You both sat there for a long time. His hand held onto you gently, like you were in danger. Part of his task. You liked this, but in every film you’ve seen, its followed by much more interesting activities. A curiosity crept inside you. There’s so much you’ve began to be able to feel and think and see. You couldn’t help but feel like this was only the beginning. “This was very kind of you, K. I hope you know that.”

You felt him nod behind you, dismissive.

“I appreciate you letting me work alongside you. I know you didn’t like it at first, but you’ve always been very nice to me. Thank you for that.”

You felt like crying again. This world really did blow for the two of you, didn’t it?

“I’d like to lay down now.”

He nodded again, waiting for you to stand before standing himself. He got you a towel. He didn’t have to do that. It had nothing to do with your safety. That wasn’t an assigned task, that was a choice.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, careful not to look you over too much. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

As you dried yourself, he left the small bathroom. You quickly got dressed, searching around for him. He was sat on the couch staring blankly ahead.

You made your way over to him, sitting beside him. You placed a hand on his arm and sat up to gently kiss his cheek, something you’d done with Joi before and something you’d seen in many movies. Even humans would do this downtown, you’d seen it before.

He looked at you.

“You kissed me. I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either. I felt like doing it. I think it’s supposed to make people feel better and you look like you don’t feel well.”

He looked at you. Nothing had ever made him react this way. He no longer wanted to just be a consumer of pleasure. Joi and the like didn’t interest him anymore. He wanted to show you something. He didn’t understand it yet, but he was made in the likeness of a human, and perhaps this was part of that. It would be different if he felt something for a human – unfair almost. He couldn’t provide them with the things they would need. He just didn’t have it in him. But you? You were like him. Just like him. The same. Cells, interlinked.

He watched as you placed your hand atop his. It was so tiny in comparison. He didn’t recognize this sensation, but he felt an urge to take care of you, to give you anything you asked for. More than his assigned task. He wanted to, even if he didn’t have to. He took pleasure in it, actually.

You were real to him; as real as he was. He wanted to take care of you. He also hated being a Blade Runner, and he knew you must have it so much harder. The board even assigned you a partner out of sheer fear you’d be brutally beaten into retirement just for existing, not to mention the humans and replicants that used your model for pleasure. He didn’t like that, and he didn’t want that. He wanted something different and it didn’t make sense to him.

The act seemed almost the same. The same positions, the same words being said, the same sequence of events. People kissing, then laying down together, all of that. But sometimes something was different. He thought of the ads around town, how they appeared to him. He compared it to the books he had to read on the human condition. Something was different. One was about lust, and one was about love. He thought the latter more closely related to what he felt for you.

“I’m okay, just thinking.”

You looked up at his scarred face, bruised from the last job. There was something heavy on his mind. You wanted to help him with that. You didn’t know how, but you wanted to try for him. Afterall, the two of you performed great at work when you were together. Maybe you’d perform great at home too.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀✩⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

#Blade Runner 2049 #Officer K x reader #officer k #blade runner #kenergy

281 notes · View notes

girlactionfigure · 28 days ago

Text

List of 101 :

1. Naama Levy.

2. Lyri Albag.

3. Berger Lake.

4. Daniella Gilboa.

5. Karina Arive.

6. Galley Barman.

7. Ziv Berman.

8. Ethan Horan.

9. Yair Horan.

10. Arbel the Jew.

11. David Kuneo.

12. Ariel Cuneo.

13. Jordan Bibbs.

14. Solomon Mansur.

15. Oded Lipshitz.

16. Doron Steinbercher.

17. Emily Glory Damari.

18. Ofer Calderon.

19. Amri Miran.

20. The freshness of an era.

21. A fan of my people.

22. Diamond fan.

23. Nimrod Cohen.

24. Tamir Nimrodi.

25. Rum Breslowski.

26. Omer Venkrat.

27. Keith Seagal.

28. Roman for a protective name.

29. Yusef Hamis Al-Ziadana.

30. Hamza Al-Ziadna.

31. Dew they are.

32. Matan Zhengauker.

33. Providing an Angrest.

34. Moses Capricorn.

35. Sasha Tropanov.

36. Isham a-side.

37. Avra Mangisto.

38. Eli when I was hungry.

39. Sagi Dekel-hen.

40. Alon Ahle.

41. Guy Gilboa-Delal.

42. Elia Cohen.

43. Bipin Joshi.

44. The Age of Alexander.

45. Omer Nautra.

46. Alcana in Buchbot.

47. Evyatar David.

48. Omer shem-good.

49. Lovely Harkin.

50. Sagev Kalfon.

51. Or Levi.

52. Joseph Ohana.

53. סטיאן סוואנקאם.

54. Watchera saryon.

55. Pinta netpong.

56. באנאווט סהטאן.

57. Pongask grind.

58. Surask to Amanao.

59. Itzik Allegrant.

60. You have understood light.

61. Ethan Moore.

62. Songs of Bibs.

63. Ariel Bibs.

64. Kfir Bibs.

65. Bar Cooperstein.

66. Judy Weinstein-Hagi RIP.

67. RIP Amber Heyman.

68. Ofra Kidder RIP.

69. The late noble Aviv.

70. Rest in peace Sahar.

71. The late Colonel Assaf Hammi.

72. Sergeant Oron Shaul RIP.

73. RIP Guy Illuz.

74. RIP Tal Chaimi.

75. RIP Tamir Adar.

76. RIP Arya Zelmanovich.

77. RIP drinking era.

78. RIP Itai Svirsky.

79. Yossi Sharavi RIP.

80. Lieutenant Hadar Goldin RIP.

81. Gadi Hagai RIP.

82. Sergeant Itai Chen RIP.

83. Major Daniel Peretz RIP.

84. R.I.P. Manny Goddard.

85. Sergeant Oz Daniel RIP.

86. Lior Rudaif RIP.

87. RIP Uriel.

88. PM Mohammed Al-Atrash RIP.

89. RIP Dror Or.

90. RIP Yair Yaakov.

91. RIP Amiram Cooper.

92. Jonathan Samrano RIP.

93. RIP Ronen Engel.

94. RIP Eliyahu Margalit.

95. R.I.P. Ran Guilli RIP.

96. RIP Joshua Molito Molele.

97. Sgt. Shay Levinson RIP.

98. RIP Ethan Levy.

99. RIP Ilan Weiss.

100. R.I.P. Sonthia Akersari.

101. RIP Soutisak Rintlak.

Bat-sheva Mizan

#bringthemhomeNOW #🎗️

51 notes · View notes

drivinmeinsane · 10 months ago

Text

{ Eyes Always Seeking }

2/3 ※ Officer K (BR 2049) x Sierra Six (The Gray Man) ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

«- previous chapter // next chapter -»

※ Summary: Unpleasantly, K feels the return of the drowning sensation he had felt earlier. It is almost as though someone had placed a mirror in front of him in a dream. The reflection is him, but distinctly not. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: Canon-typical violence, Descriptions of a Crime Scene, Eye Horror, Descriptions of Injury, Frottage, Handjobs, Implied Reoccurring Sexual Abuse by a Supervisor, Emotional Hurt, Identity Issues, References to Greek Mythology, Hand Holding, Slow burn ※ Word count: 3,551 ※ Status: Chapter 2 / Complete ※ Author's note: This chapter and I bitterly fought. I'm not sure who won, but here it is all the same. Eyes Always Searching has expanded beyond the word count I set out to write and there will be a third and final chapter because of that. K's really going through it, but we'll get there, folks. Hands WILL be held. ※ Song inspiration: The Ghost on the Shore - Lord Huron

It’s considerably later in the night when the spinners containing the matching set of replicant officers finally touch down on the roof of the Los Angeles Police Department's towering building. The impact of the tires on the ground is enough to rattle K’s already overstimulated body. The inevitable test hangs over his head like the fist of another replicant primed to swing at his skull. He is not confident that he is going to look like himself inside, not tonight. He’s swimming in the ocean, head going under, fighting for breath, miles away from solid ground of his baseline. Odysseus on the boat, not yet to the shore of the Cyclops’s island.

One of his implanted memories is a lesson for him to stay out of water. Keep your feet touching the bottom. Don’t drift too far. If you do, you won’t come back. Seems like he didn’t learn from that lesson or maybe he was pushed into the depths. He didn’t choose this life.

He gets out of his spinner. The plastic bags rustle and shift inside his pockets. That sensation, at least, is something familiar in the turbulent waters of tonight.

Six meets him at the midpoint between the two spinners and, together, they walk to the door that opens into the rooftop entry point. The other replicant mentions for him to walk ahead, needing him to take the lead in an unfamiliar building. K bypasses the elevator entirely. They descend the stairs like two men being led to the gallows as he takes them down past the level that houses Lieutenant Joshi’s office. He learned early on in his inception not bring pending work with him when visiting her, only results.

The muscles in his thighs burn, going numb from the constant use. Elevators are not safe, not for their kind. Their privacy allow for intimacies, liberties that cannot be easily refused. They are nothing but slow-moving cages. As they descend into the bowels of the building, he wonders at the lack of protest from his fellow officer at taking the stairs. Had Six also found himself cornered in his own precinct? Likely.

K pushes open the stairwell door on the floor that contains collection and processing and they step out into the populated hallway. They do not go unnoticed. Both replicants are too bloody and rank to escape attention. Their condition is enough to provoke most of the other occupants into pressing against the walls. An unnatural silence falls. K had expected a greater uproar than usual due to his new shadow, but it seems like the presence of the other replicant at his back is having the opposite effect on his usual hecklers.

Wide eyed stares at the matching set the two of them make K tuck his chin into the lining of his jacket. He’s shying away from the scrutiny and closer to his fellow officer. Six, for his part, doesn’t waver. The other replicant is a steadying presence, unbothered and enduring as the seawall.

Making a sudden left, K abruptly ducks into the evidence intake room. Six doesn’t miss a step and adjusts course accordingly. K would be relieved that there is an available processor if it didn’t mean that their baselines are coming up that much sooner. It’s slow here this time of night. The late hours bring a differing type of crime, pertaining more to perpetrators and enforcement rather than victims and deduction.

“Evidence turn in,” he says to the man seated behind the counter. K’s pretty sure the employee is an organic. He’s likely one of the folks that haven’t had the money or the latent qualities to make it off-world. There were more than a few of them left behind.

“Badge,” the processor says, disinterested. Faint moans are coming from a personal phone resting on his desk. Two female doxies grope each other on the visible sliver of screen. K buries the thought that he might as well be them and they might as well be him. They are spared the veil of secrecy at least.

K slides his badge under the plexiglass barrier. The man doesn’t bother to pause the video before checking the engraved number and pulling K’s file up on the computer screen. When he glances over at him to do a facial match to record’s photo, he does a double take. K gets to see him blanch, blood drains out of his face at the sight of Six hovering just at K’s shoulder. He quickly adverts his eyes. Like the organics in the hallway, he is clearly unsettled by the sight of a matched set.

His badge gets shoved back at him unceremoniously. He tucks it away. The seated man gives him a hard look, his lips are pursed like he is about to say something unpleasant. In response, K keeps his head lowered and his shoulders curled in. It’s a submissive display, nonthreatening, he’s a good dog showing his belly. Some of the tension bleeds from the employee at the show, although he still eyes Six warily.

“Slide whatever you have under.”

There’s open disgust on the seated employee’s face as both he and Six pull bags of eyeballs from their pockets and begin piling them on the laminated counter. Over a dozen hues stare blindly in all directions, lidded by thin plastic instead of flesh. The piece of metal that had slashed K’s temporary partner’s face open gets tossed unceremoniously alongside them in its own bag. It reflects the dazzling blue of one of their own eyes. K’s own or Six’s? Does it make a difference?

K does not produce the scarf they had taken from their personal Minotaur that they left slain and discarded in the heart of the maze. It is for him to keep, just like the coat that he tucks himself inside every day. Perhaps, when he is gone, his retiring officer will carry a piece of him with them, a reminder that he had existed in the endless list of serial numbers. He wishes sometimes that his own collection was smaller.

His partner gestures him aside and K obediently takes a step back, watching on as Six pushes the pile through the opening in the barrier. The sight of a tattoo on the other replicant’s hand makes the air seize in his chest. He just took on another lungful of water.

He knows he’s staring. His fellow officer had been wearing a pair of gloves earlier, hiding the pale flesh of his hands, but now they exposed in a way that distorts his reality. The moaning of the recorded doxies, the bare skin. Those hands on him, wringing noises from his own throat. It blurs together. He forces his eyes to look somewhere left of the processing employee’s ear.

The presence of the shakily etched palm tree in front of a sun on the joint of the other replicant’s thumb is troubling. K is perpetually lost in the ocean. That memory was implanted in him so deeply that he can taste the brine of saltwater every time he thinks of that day. Why should a replicant be here, wearing his face, and baring a mark representing the shore that was his salvation, just out of reach. The single palm tree in the sand just on the horizon... He never makes it.

The employee types loudly as he enters in the information. The crinkling of the plastic as he picks up each eye to press it against the scanner is as loud as a gunshot in the near silent space. More often than not, there’s an error. Just as K had suspected, the eyes are too decomposed for a regular scanner. Hitting the limit of his patience, the seated man finally throws the entire lot of them into a bin to be taken for more in-depth processing. Chances are that Coco is going to be saddled with it. He’s good at his job. He is also K’s favorite coworker. He at least apologizes when he insults him. The others don’t bother.

“You can go.” The employee says, irritated. As they take their leave he loudly says “Skinners!” to their backs. K twitches, wounded. Six tightens his jaw and his hand jerks ever so slightly towards K. Their knuckles brush, bare skin on bare skin. He might as well have punched him for the way the impact of that light touch radiates through his body.

The initial shock of them has worn off by the time they step back into the hallway. Muttered insults greet them as they carve a path back to the stairwell. They descend deeper into the precinct where the more unsavory things have a home.

Their hands do not touch again.

K pushes open the door onto a floor several levels below. It’s empty. No one but the cleaning crew and his kind have a purpose down here. His reflection meets his eyes in the polished floor. He doesn’t have to imagine company for once. One has become two has become four. Who will be coming back?

The overhead light buzzes, popping like broken bones under his hands. He can’t hold back the future. It’s inevitable.

Their footsteps echo. The slight squeak of the rubber of the sole of K’s left boot is insistent. The rustling of Six’s jacket accompanies it like an old friend. If he fools himself, he could imagine- No. Bury it. Bury it on the shore and enter the cave. It’s his fate.

They reach the room they need. There are no chairs.

It was once a waiting room with a desk, years before K came along. Now, instead of an employee, there is a screen mounted on the surface. He scans his fingers and then leans down and holds his eyelids open with those same fingers. Eyes up and to the left like a good boy. He steps back and lets the replicant at his side do the same.

In what feels like an act of cruelty, Six gets called back for his baseline first by a voice projected through a speaker in the corner of the room. Neither of them speak as he walks into the connecting room. K is left to wait, anxious. He has never had cause to be worried about another one of his kind before, not in this way. The similarities between them are too many. He has to trust that his fellow officer isn’t defective like him. Surely he isn’t. He seems less affected by the unpleasant aspects of their job. The vitriol of the organics around them hadn’t appeared to be as crushing. Their passing touches were likely not as remarkable to the other replicant as they were to K.

For his end of things, K knows all too well how easy it is to feel beyond what is safe. There has been days when the exhaustion has been bone deep. Days when he’s felt almost too tired to shove down his flaws. The wrongness of him bleeds to the surface, bubbles up through the dirt he buries the aspects of himself in. Pressure never staunches the wound for long.

He strains himself to hear anything behind the sealed door. There is nothing but the whoosh of the vents and his own body operating. Would he hear the killing blow?

Six returns after several achingly long minutes. His face doesn’t reveal anything when he steps out of the room. His jacket is folded over his arm. The dark material of his shirt hides the blood from his cheek injury. It looks worse than K had remembered. He’s suddenly too aware of the brain matter drying in his own hair.

The disembodied voice calls for K before the door even shuts behind Six. He nods at K and steps aside to let him pass. Irrationally, he has an urge to tell the other replicant goodbye.

There is a patch of missed blood in the room. The tile is stained pink around it. Someone had felt too much and paid the price. He shrugs his coat off. K tries not to look at the vibrant smear as he takes his seat on the stool. He keeps his eyes focused on the camera’s singular eye. A Cyclops. The Cyclops. He must outwit it.

“Subject: Officer KD6-3.7. Let’s begin. Ready?” comes the detached voice.

He imagines himself trapped in a cave. He loosens his fists. Pictures the scene in his mind, sinks into it. “Yes, sir.”

The camera whirs loudly. Locking onto him.

“Recite your baseline.”

“And blood-black nothingness began to spin. A system of cells interlinked within. Cells interlinked within cells interlinked. Within one stem.”

The rest of the questions follow. The camera clicks with each response, capturing any sign that he needs to be culled. With each reply, the story unfolds in his mind. The Cyclops is fooled, left drunk and unaware of his plans and innermost thoughts. His pulse beats steadily in his throat. He does not swallow excessively. He is calm, compliant.

“Do they teach you how to feel finger to finger? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.” He says automatically, before he can stop it, a flash of Six’s gloved hand in his bare one. It had been warm through the synthetic leather both times they had grasped hands.

“Do you long for having your heart interlinked? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.” Looking into Six’s eyes, thinking of the way the other officer asked him if he was okay. The way they had fought to keep each other alive mere hours ago.

“Do you feel that there's a part of you that's missing? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.” Yes, but he found it. He found it. He fights the jump in his throat, the way he wants to look away from the piercing eye in shame.

He recites the words that are expected of him. Gives all the correct responses, fights any trace of humanity within himself. He reminds himself that there isn’t any. He is defective. He is irredeemably defective.

“Say that three times. Within cells interlinked.”

“Within cells interlinked. Within cells interlinked. Within cells interlinked.”

Machinery powers down. There is silence after K says the final word. His heart is hammering in his ears. His vision blurs, the camera turns into a wavering white fountain.

How long will Six wait for him? Will they tell the other replicant what happened here, or will he be left to draw his own conclusions. He should have held onto his hand. He should have felt Six’s bare skin with his own in the hallways, should have allowed himself that final luxury. But… maybe if he had, he would have tainted Six and it would be his blood in the corner. Yes, it was better this way. K can retire alone with his shame.

Finally.

“We’re done. Constant K. You can go.”

K locks eyes with the camera’s eye. He pictures himself driving a fiery wooden stake through it, desperation burning up the edges of himself. “Thank you, Sir.”

He stands up and puts his back to the camera as he moves to exit. He wonders if they put a bullet in the replicants from behind after telling them they can go or if they make them sit still and look ahead for their retirement. His shoulders are stiff. He reaches the door, imagining himself clinging to a sheep on the way out of the Cyclops's cave, hoping against hope the Cyclops won’t notice. His fingers are buried in the faux fur lining of his jacket, furthering the illusion.

Six is standing patiently for him in the main room. Hands clasped. Head lowered. Coat back on. Settled in like he would wait a lifetime. He nods upon seeing K and K nods back, neither of them speak. There is always someone listening.

They take the stairs to Joshi’s office. Once again, neither of them indicate for the elevator even despite the long climb. K ignores the burning of his lungs and the ache in his side. There is relief to be found in its presence. It hurts of victory, of his continued survival.

The bullpen outside of his madam’s office falls silent the moment their presence is registered by its occupants. No whistles and lewd commentary accompany their journey. Hushed murmuring and the dry rustling noises small insects might make when they skitter away from a bright light take the place of it instead. People stand up to look at them, the matched set. K thinks about the pile of endlessly staring eyeballs they had left behind. It’s difficult not to draw comparisons between them and the eyes of his coworkers.

He is the one to knock on his madam’s door.

“Come.”

A twist of the doorknob and then they’re stepping over the threshold. Predictably, the crowd waiting with bated breath behind them explodes into the conversation. Six closes the door, shutting away the leering remarks.

“Madam.” K greets, submissive nod of his head. Six does not follow suit. Joshi frowns at the lack of subservience.

“Took you long enough.”

“Apologies, Madam.”

She scans over them both with a critical eye. K has long since learned to not squirm under the weight of her scrutiny. Doing so only serves to displease her.

“I’m not paying for that,” she says abruptly.

K flinches, thinking she’s referring to him. He mentally catalogs every possible injury he might have. There is nothing that she should be able to see. He’s hiding his soreness. His pulse ticks up. His mouth dries.

“Of course,” comes Six’s steady voice. It’s his fellow officer’s cheek that had captured her notice.

The flippant answer seems to upset the woman seated behind her desk even more.

“What did you find.” She’s addressing him now, impatient.

“Thirteen bodies plus the one we retired. Fourteen. Looks like the tipster might have been right. There was some things written on the walls that seemed to suggest it. The entire place was set up like a maze.”

“What got to them?”

“Carbon Monoxide poisoning. It put some of them down in their sleep and riled up the one we dealt with today enough to finish off the rest long before we arrived on scene.”

“Your kind just can’t help themselves, can they?” Joshi says, a knowing gleam in her eye. He is aware of how she thinks of them.

“I suppose not, Madam.” K agrees placidly. There’s a spark of satisfaction on her face at his acquiescence, like they’re both in on the same joke.

“I’m a little surprised that you two haven’t torn each other to pieces yet. Didn’t think you newer models got along all that well. The reps over at Wallace warned me that there might be some conflict, like two starving dogs in a cage. Unless you were the one who put that cut on his face.”

K silently shakes his head. He doesn’t trust himself to react more than that. His madam’s assumptions rankle at him. The urges he is having are wrong, but they’re not violent. It would be better if they were. That would be forgivable. Despite himself, he can imagine the two of them clashing, but he would not draw blood. He would be toothless, hands soft, body yielding. He thinks he might let Six retire him if it came to it. Hopes it would be him and not anyone else.

“I’ll have a forensics team go out in the morning to canvas the place and find what you missed. I need you both back here in the morning. Let’s say… 0600. Go home, K. Get cleaned up, you look like shit.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Her attention redirects to the replicant at his side. “Anything to add…” she squints at her screen, “KS6-2.8?”

“No.”

“Lieutenant Fitzroy sure gave me a charmer when he sent you over. Are you usually this surly with your superiors or is it special treatment just for me?”

Six is silent. Joshi is looking like she might stand up and backhand him. K feels a sweat break out across his back. Suddenly, his coat seems stifling. “Well?”

“Whichever makes you feel better.” His tone is dripping with politeness. The crease deepens between the woman’s eyebrows.

Joshi stands up, one hand on her desk. She visibly takes a breath, holds it, lets it go. Her ire barely relents.

“Get out.”

Six inclines his head and pivots. K is careful to shut the door gently behind them.

K follows Six out of the door and up the stairs. He feels shaken, off balance. He would have never dared to needle his madam like Six had just done. It would have meant the hose, the metal grate, and the unforgiving tile. Standing, shivering in the refrigeration unit for minutes, for hours, for as long as it took for him to learn his lesson. They can’t disobey directly, the compulsion to bend a knee is too strong, but they are capable of other infractions.

“My place?” K asks, before Six pushes on roof access door. He feels a curl of desperation. He doesn’t want to see him leave. They haven’t talked. K needs more. He always needs more. One day he will pay for that need, but not tonight.

“Sure. My spinner?” Six responds easily, holding the door open for him. If he’s feeling nervous, he’s not showing it.

“Sure,” he echos.

«- previous chapter // next chapter -»

#blade runner 2049 #br2049 #blade runner #blade runner 2049 fanfiction #officer k #kd6-3.7 #officer k fanfiction #the gray man #the gray man (2022)#sierra six #sierra six fanfiction #the gray man fanfiction #officer k x sierra six #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fanfiction #.my work #.my posts

34 notes · View notes

iolesims · 4 months ago

Text

❄️Round 8 Recap

Stornoway: population 39

It was a mild winter, and for that, the town was thankful. Stornoway now boasted some proper services: a medical clinic, a post office, and a police station. There was a lot more to do, but the shape of the would-be city was finally starting to form.

The town was officially incorportated following the formal election of Aileen Thobanob as Mayor. Will she be able to finally secure enough funding for a connection to SimCity?

Oran Thobanob aged up before his teen sweetheart Daisy Bell, and broke her heart when he got involved with widow Robin. Would he make amends with his first love or continue pursuing Robin in spite of their age gap?

Elena Merlo was unlucky in love with paramor Kunal. Was their affair finally done for good? Meanwhile, Lucia managed to romance another Bell sibling in the last days of her teen years.

Nathan and Iris Bell continued to climb up the career ladder. Their kids were growing up fast, and also the house was crowded now, it was easy to see how quickly the nest would empty.

The Kittridge farm managed to survive the winter with just enough stock to take them through to spring. Robin was starting to move on from her late husband, despite protestations from extended family.

Gwen Scurlock became Lieutenant right after the construction of the new police station. Her dauger Willa was popular in love, turning down multiple suitors. She only had eyes for the boy next door.

Yui and Ronan Matsuoka moved into a new house on the shore, and welcome another boy named Kenji.

Keeva Thobakitt continued to grow her clothing shop into the most successful business in town.

The Joshi family got pregnant again and welcomed a second baby girl named Veda. Prem managed to juggle romances with both Willa and the paper girl.

Camila and Ernest Olsen had twins! Ernest got a job in Journalism to support their rapidly growing family.

Violet Bell started her own repair shop. Would we start seeing cars soon? It was only a matter of time before her tinkering would pay off.

#sims 2 #bacc #stornoway #stornoway: round 8 #stornoway: recap

7 notes · View notes

constantkwrites · 3 hours ago

Text

City of Stars Ch.4 (Officer K x Reader)

gif credit

Words: 2232 Masterpost | Chapter 5 (in progress)

comment if you want to be tagged in future chapters

Tags: @loriiisthings @birdandherblog @lilyletham @cherrylush117

**********

When Joshi commands K to bite, to rip and tear, K complies.

The walls of the Lieutenant's office are all K’s ever known. He is hers. His Madam shapes him, carves out what little there is of him to take. Empties him and breaks him as she sees fit. K’s kind was never made to complain.

K stands at attention, coat draped over his arm, staring straight ahead.

“I need you to watch the Inspector,” Joshi says, cutting straight to it. Niceties are irrelevant. She’s not waiting for his input, and K knows she doesn’t care for it either way.

K waits. Joshi doesn’t rush.

“How’s her investigation going?” She asks. It’s rhetorical. She already watches her through everyone.

“Steady. Working through leads.”

“Steady,” she repeats. Her tone is as bitter as the drink in her hand. She stands at the window, staring out at the city sprawled below.

“Do you trust her judgment, K?”

Does he?

K hesitates.

It’s all Joshi needs.

Her laugh is dry and humorless. “She’s reckless. Unstable,” she shakes her head. “Ask her about the replicants. The ones she let go.”

K’s brow twitches. Curiosity.

Joshi eases back in her chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. Her gaze stays locked on him. “She was on her way to lieutenant. Nine years on the force, and they were ready to ship her off to Aurora Prime. Quite the prize, she could’ve been somebody.”

Aurora Prime. The name lingers like a distant dream—warm sunlight, golden and soft. A lover's kiss, blurry summer days. A better life, off-world.

A world K could never touch.

Joshi’s voice pulls him back. “Do you know why she didn’t make it?”

“No, Madam.”

Her glass glints in the light as she swirls it. "She had a partner. Farhadi. Kept his head down, rose through the ranks. The kind of officer this city rewards. They were going to make him captain, if she hadn’t fucked it all up."

This is not a story he’s heard.

"They were chasing down a group of rogue skinners. Trash that fled from a mining pit. Not the brightest, but slippery enough to get away. They followed them to some abandoned steel mill, could’ve ended it there. But she-” Joshi pauses, the disgust clear, “-hesitated.”

K frowns. “Hesitated?”

“Yeah,” She says. “Had them cornered, and what does she do? Tells Farhadi to stand down. She wanted to talk to them. Reason with them.”

Her hand tightens around the armrest, nails pressing into the leather. “You don’t reason with animals, K. Her orders were clear: retire every rogue. But she couldn’t take the shot when it mattered.” She leans forward, “And Farhadi? His brains ended up splattered across the floor for her little show of conscience.”

K’s eyes narrow, the barest shift. “She said she was cleared.”

Joshi smirks. “Sure, on paper. Politics, sympathy. Call it whatever you want. She resigned to a much lower rank after that and they let her crawl back in. Hell of a way to blow nine years,” she shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter.

The silence that follows is thick. Joshi leans back in her chair, satisfied with the way her words sink into the air.

K says nothing. He can’t say that he’s surprised, how things turned out for his partner.

“Her judgment is tainted. She hesitated once. She’ll hesitate again,” Joshi says.

She studies K for a moment.

“I need you to tail her. Watch her. Put a tracker on her if you have to. I don’t care how you do it—just keep her in line and report back to me.

“It’s not just the streets, K. The brass is under fire from above. Officers are getting attacked on patrol. Politicians breathing down our necks. This city is a powder keg, one spark away from going up in flames, and I needed this case solved yesterday.”

She slides a small data drive across the desk toward him. “Take this. It's body cam footage. I want you to see what kind of judgment she has.”

K’s eyes drop to the drive, then back up to Joshi. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually picks it up, feeling its weight in his hand even though it’s small.

"Madam," he starts, choosing his words carefully, "I don’t think she’s-"

Joshi cuts him off. "Thinking isn’t your job, K. Following orders is," she barks.

K stiffens.

He’s overstepped. A chill spreads in his chest as her gaze drills into him. “Yes, Madam. My apologies, Madam.”

He doesn’t dare meet her eyes.

The air is thick, suffocating and solid.

Joshi’s eyes are still on him. Unblinking. Cold. She’s staring him down, daring him to make another mistake, to even think about speaking out of line again. There’s nothing human in her gaze.

“Know your place, K. You’re nothing without my orders. Am I clear?”

K swallows hard. "Crystal," he says, though the words feel like glass in his throat.

Nothing without my orders.

She flicks her hand, not even looking at him now. “Get out of my sight.”

K hurries outside. His heart—or whatever he has in proximation of one—stutters with every step.

And he knows, somehow, that this dread in his guts is never going to leave.

**********

K gets to work the moment he leaves his Madam’s office.

Exhaustion drags at him. It’s been tough—Blade Runner shifts bleeding into assignments with his partner, one after another, without end. K hasn’t seen his apartment in a few days, ever since he was sent to the riot. There have been more protests erupting through the city.

He doesn’t need sleep the way the organics do, but there’s a hollow ache that makes him long for it anyway. He misses the white emptiness of sleep, the brief oblivion of nowhere. He misses Joi. Misses pretending that he’s needed, somehow, somewhere.

He finds his partner at the archives desk, forms clenched in her hands, shoulders tense. The clerk at the desk—Marek Novak, a man with more years on the job than he’s got patience for—is leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking with the kind of look K’s seen a hundred times. You don’t belong here.

K steps closer.

“I already told you, your clearance don’t get you into these files,” Novak says, bored. “You want the case records? File a request. Wait in line like everyone else.”

K sees the tension in posture. She scowls and presses herself against the desk, looming over Novak. “I filed a request five days ago. That’s what this is,” she snaps, shoving the form into the man’s face.

Novak swats the paper away without looking. “System’s a little backed up. Not my problem.” He’s clearly amused by her frustration. “You’re just gonna have to be patient.”

She tosses her badge onto the desk. “I need those files. Now. I’m conducting an investigation, for fuck’s sake.”

Novak doesn’t even glance at the badge. It’s beneath him. “Sure, Inspector,” He pauses, dragging the moment out. “But your business ain’t exactly a priority. And that clearance of yours don’t cut it. So try again next week. Or next month.”

The Inspector opens her mouth to reply, but Novak cuts her off before she can speak. “Look, lady,” he patronizes, “I get it. You think you’re still someone around here. But if you want to get anything done, maybe try playing nice with people who actually have the authority. You don’t. Not anymore.”

The clerk beside Novak snorts and Novak’s smirk widens. He doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. The clerks in the background exchange glances, the faint hum of laughter carrying through the room.

The Inspector’s fingers grip the edge of the desk so tightly that K wonders if she’ll break it.

K can’t help but think about what his Madam told him—about her past, her failures.

He wonders, is she always like this? So volatile, so angry?

She wears her anger plainly. Wears her bleeding heart on her sleeve.

But then again… she’s never turned that anger on him.

To him, she’s only been—

Gentle.

K scowls. It doesn’t make sense.

Doesn’t make sense how someone who can bite so hard at others keeps her voice soft with him, her words careful. Her touch, light.

Gentle.

The Inspector’s nostrils flare as she glares at Novak, a barely-contained anger simmering in her gaze. Her hands are trembling, and K can tell she’s right on the edge. She opens her mouth to say something, to bite back and gnash and claw-

She stops. She feels a hand on her arm—K, calm and steady.

He steps in, pulling her softly but insistently away before she can even register what’s happening.

K takes her place and flashes the clerk his badge. “Officer KD6-3.7. Clearance A-01. Authorize access to the files immediately.” he says flatly, and Novak’s grin immediately sours. He glances between the badge and K, searching for some hint of weakness. There is none.

“They sending Blade Runners down here for paperwork now?”

K meets Novak’s stare, unblinking. “Stop wasting her time and mine. Hand over the files.”

Novak’s lip curls, but he doesn’t respond. He glares daggers at K. K meets his gaze with the hollow emptiness that clings to his existence.

Novak sneers. His colleagues have fallen silent at K’s sight as well. He glares at K one last time before disappearing behind the rows and rows of archives in the vast library.

Behind K, the silence breaks only with the Inspector’s sharp exhale, heavy with frustration. K glances at her. She presses her fingers to her face, trying to steady herself.

After a few minutes, Novak reappears with a few data drives and some old, paper casefiles. He drops them on the desk with no care, reveling in every little inconvenience he can inflict onto the Inspector.

K snatches everything from the desk. They turn and leave but she moves ahead, her pace quick, tense. It’s not her office she’s heading towards.

The Inspector marches all the way to the terrace on the other side of the building. K follows as she pushes through the terrace doors and steps outside.

The evening air washes over them.

She stops at the railing, looking out over the city. Her hands grip the railing so tightly her knuckles turn white.

She closes her eyes.

Breathe in, breathe out.

K watches her. Inhale. Exhale. He can see it’s taking effort, that quiet fury still pushing against her attempts to calm. Eventually, her breathing evens out, and her shoulders relax, just a little.

He walks closer, standing next to her. He leans against the railing.

“It won’t help,” he says quietly.

She gives him a confused look. “Excuse me?”

“Being mad. They want to see you like this.”

Her expression falters. She looks away, popping the collar of her raincoat as if to shield herself from his gaze. She falls silent in quiet shame.

“Don’t give them what they want,” He adds.

The anger that had burned so fiercely moments ago fades. She nods. She crosses her arms and looks out over the city. The lights stretch into the distance, blurred by the smog, as unreachable as her dreams.

For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry you had to see that whole… thing, with Novak,” she says, finally. “It’s not just him. Reed, Takeda, Amari, Fontaine, the lot of them. They don’t exactly keep it quiet.” She glances up at him, her eyes searching his. “What do you know? About me?”

K hesitates.

He remembers Nandez— words thrown carelessly in front of her and K like jagged glass. “This woman killed her last partner, and then some.”. Remembers what Joshi told him about her, just a few hours prior.

There’s a silent pleading to her gaze, an unspoken fear that he might throw it all back in her face, like everyone else.

“Not much,” he says simply. It’s not a lie. Not the whole truth, either. “Just that you’ve had it rough.”

A flicker of relief. She nods, looking down. K is thankful she doesn’t push further.

“Thanks, by the way,” she says, voice quiet. “Feels like you’re the only one who gets me.”

She turns to him, and he sees her radiant smile. Soft and genuine, unlike anything he is, unlike anything he ever will be.

Something hitches in his chest, lodged somewhere between longing and pain. It’s unexpected. He doesn’t understand.

How strange it is, to feel. How strange it is to be anything at all.

The data drive Joshi had given him burns a hole in his pocket. He nods, short and simple. It’s all he can manage right now. He has a job to do, orders to follow.

“Let’s get back to work,” she says simply. Her coat flutters behind her as she turns and walks away, leaving K alone on the balcony.

He watches her disappear into the precinct. The city hums below, restless, alive, consuming, devouring.

He should feel nothing. Feeling is the antithesis of his being. He’s done this before—followed, obeyed, retired without question. But there’s something about her, something raw and frayed that stirs a longing deep within him.

A longing so unfamiliar. So alien.

So… wanted. Needed.

For the first time, his assignment feels… personal. And that unsettles K in a way he doesn't understand, in a way he isn't sure he ever wants to.

**********

Previous chapter - Next chapter (in progress)

#constantk writes #officer k x reader #officer k #blade runner 2049 #blade runner #ryan gosling

3 notes · View notes

ninjathrowingstork · 1 year ago

Text

Bitter Water: Prologue

And here we have some actual plot and 7k words of K being sad.

Also implied/referenced SA because people being shitty to someone who isn't legally a person and can't say no. Somewhere there's a post saying something like area man just disassociating through his day and that's so real.

Before that dusty farm and the tree, before the wooden horse and the questions that would tear his world apart, before Rick and Ana and Joi and the dream of being real and being loved, KD6-3.7 began his life as a Blade Runner alone. Caught between the programming coded into his cells and the other officers in the Department, he was alone and aware of how expendable his life was, until one other human in the LAPD stepped in, showing the replicant that maybe, maybe he could learn to find a way to live in the harsh world where he'd been placed.

_______________________________________________

Chapter 2

The next day, he wasn’t so fortunate to escape or be rescued again.

It had started normally enough, with muster in the morning, the captain reading through announcements and new missions. He didn’t usually go to the meetings, but he was between cases and for once, was in early enough to slide in at the back of the room. Over the sea of heads, he could see Joshi at the podium in the front, reading out recent reports.

“-Facility was raided last night, security reported they fought back but all the raiders got away. No new information but we believe they’re connected to the band that was intercepted last week where we got the likely pseudonym of their leader, ‘Procyon’.”

There was a sound, no more than a hard exhalation of breath off to his right, and he caught the flash of copper hair just as the Lieutenant called “Sergeant Flint, you’re the one here with the most direct experience with these nomads. This sound like anyone you might have known? At this point, any information might be useful in stopping these raids.”

“Ma’am,” came the drawl from where the tall woman was leaning against the wall, halfway down the room, “sure, the name sounds like someone I might’a known, but that don’t mean it’s the same person I knew half a lifetime ago. Things change quick out there. People change.”

“If you can think of anything-”

“I left that life behind, L-T, you’ve known me long enough to know that.”

On the platform, Joshi wearily sighed. “If you do think of anything, though-”

“Hey, stop profilin’ the Sarge just because she’s the only ex-dusty here!”

Dusty. The new catch-all slang for the bands of nomads and scavengers and anyone trying to live on the ruins of the old cities had been popping up around the station more recently as the night raids on agro-farms and Wallace facilities had increased.

“Yeah, it’s not her fault she ain’t from around here!” Another voice called, jokingly.

They liked her, he realized with a start. He had never noticed how the others interacted with the redheaded woman, beyond respecting her skills, but as the pool of uniformed bodies moved to show her, one foot propped up on the wall behind her, mouth twitching up at the corner in a wry grin at her colleagues’ teasing, it finally sank in; for all her grimness and stony stares, she’d earned her place here and their respect and joking camaraderie, things he knew he’d never have the chance to earn himself.

The room had spiraled into more conversational buzz, and he could hear snatches of jibes about the Sarge and nomads and the raids until it was cut through by their Lieutenant’s call, “all right, all right, enough. Sergeant, I don’t expect you to know anything directly related to this, but if you can think of anything, come talk to me.”

Cold fluorescent light slid across her hair as the woman nodded in acknowledgment.

“Thank you. Now, we’ve got a report of another scientist going missing, this time a researcher from the university. The man went missing somewhere between the campus and his home, and I’m handing this one over to the team working on the last two disappearances.”

“Gonna take a guess here, he was researching the same plant stuff as the others?” A woman’s voice from near the front.

“Correct, Ortega. All three recent disappearances were of researchers studying different angles of plant and crop restoration.”

That, more than anything, sent a hush through the assembled officers. The topic of agriculture and nature was always fraught with tension whether for offworld farming or the heavily-controlled bio-farms planetside.

“Anything yet pointing to it being a hit job or what?” Another voice from somewhere across the room.

“A hit job? What you think someone like Wallace goons picked them up?”

“Yeah, you know, they don’t want anyone growing their own food here and cut into their market. Keep the fresh stuff expensive, and all us down here eatin’ the synthetic stuff.”

Once more, the room descended into a buzz of voices, only Joshi’s call for silence one more calming the crowd. “Unless there’s an update on the case, we, as of yet, have no evidence that these disappearances are in any way tied to the Wallace Corporation or their subsidiaries. I don’t want anyone here even hinting that they might be connected outside of here, does everybody understand?” A rippling sound of agreement answered her. “Good, now a few quick housekeeping announcements. . .”

Wallace Corporation. Could they be connected with the disappearing scientists? It was strange to think of them, his makers, engaging in kidnapping and assassination to protect their interests. Or rather, considering the life he’d been made for, the things done to him before and during his time here, the things he’d seen done, it might not be so strange after all. Silently, before the muster was completed and the halls were full, he slipped away, in the hopes he could make it to the Lieutenant’s office for his next assignment without being noticed.

He would not be so lucky. He’d made it nearly there when a Presence peeled away from the wall as he crossed an intersection. “Morning, skinner,” the voice was close to his ear, breath hot and damp and he had to force himself not to fight as a hand clamped down on his arm and he was led away from the main corridor and down a side hallway into a room.

Don’t fight can’t fight-

There were two more of them waiting there, and even if he could have fought back, three at once was pushing it. He tried to make his mind blank, to not respond, to be the thing they saw him as. If there was any god watching who cared about soulless beings who were the mere shells of people like him, he’d have prayed for it to be over quickly.

However long it took, it would never be quick enough.

Eventually, though, they were finished, and with a final half-hearted kick to the side from one man, and his hair ruffled in a gesture that tied with the kick for a parting insult, they were gone and he was left to collect himself and his clothes from the floor and stumble back through the station, grateful for his inhumanly high pain threshold.

He felt-

He felt nothing. Was nothing. Only a tool, a made thing sent out to hunt any others like him who dared to step out of line.

But still.

But still, no matter what he wanted or didn’t want, he was calm enough he could have been ordered into the little white room and endured the rapid-fire questioning of the test and passed by the time he’d reached the main corridor again. Eyes down, he tried to again reach the Lieutenant’s office, hoping he’d make it this time, hoping she wouldn’t notice any lingering signs of what had just happened. High pain threshold or not they’d left new bruises and aches on his body, mostly covered by his clothes but there was something on his face he couldn’t tell if it was blood or-

“Officer?”

A hand on his elbow. Perhaps he wasn’t as calm as he’d thought because the touch had him spinning to see-

Sergeant Flint, again, staring back at him with an odd curiosity that, if it was from anyone else, and directed at anyone else, he’d have thought was concern. “Officer K, would you come with me for a moment?”

He felt something in his guts twist. Whatever she wants can’t be any worse.

As she led him back through the station, he let himself think for a few moments that he could feel safe around her. She led him in silence, long legs keeping her a step in front of him again, and- and there was that set to her jaw that said anger again. Did she know? How could she know? It seemed unlikely the trio had bragged about what they’d done to her. Somehow, eventually, she’d led him back to the duty sergeant’s desk and then into the small office in the corner behind it, the door closed and locked behind them. He only had a moment to glance around, taking in the small room and the narrow cot in the corner beside the metal desk, before she’d ordered him to leave his coat on the rack by the door before joining her in the office’s small washroom. “Sit,” one long finger pointed at the closed toilet lid, and he obeyed, as ever. For a few long moments, the only sound was the running water at the sink beside him, his eyes fixed on the seam between the cracked floor and the rubber wall skirting as he tried not to think about anything .

“All right, I need you to look up at me now.”

Her voice caught him by surprise, suddenly low and soft the way it had been, that night on the street in front of his building. Soft, the way no one had spoken to him before, and, slowly, he dragged his gaze up from the tiled floor between his boots to meet hers. Some of the stoniness had gone from the set of her face, relaxing to merely serious and focused as she gingerly brushed fingertips against his jaw, nudging him to tilt his head back even more, his wince at the contact with a fresh bruise there drawing a slight tightening at the corner of her mouth.

Silently, brows creased together, she wiped at the drying residue that was most definitely not sweat or blood on his face, and the shock of the gesture was momentarily eclipsed by the surprise that the damp cloth was warm.

“Is it too hot?”

He must have reacted, and for an instant there was the flash of alarm that he’d shown any protest at his treatment but then it was Flint and as little as it was safe to trust the woman’s actions yet, despite what she’d told him, she at least had shown so far that he could trust the crumbs of humanity she’d offered him. “It’s. . . it’s fine. Just surprised me.” He already spoke so little while not on a hunt, but why was it so much harder to talk to her?

“Ok. Just let me know if something feels too uncomfortable, yeah?”

Uncomfortable? The light press of her fingertips against the curve of his jaw and the quick, gentle strokes of the towel were the least uncomfortable thing right now and he let his eyes flutter closed as she held his head with the lightest of touches. All too soon, though, the cleaning stopped and she drew away, staring down at him consideringly.

“Here,” she offered the cloth to him, “I’ll leave you alone to get yourself cleaned up the rest of the way, ok?”

Wordlessly, with a nod of thanks, he accepted the towel and the tall woman stepped out of the small washroom, closing the door behind her.

Alone in the duty sergeant’s washroom, he tried to reconcile what had just happened with everything else he’d known and experienced.

Rapid healing or not, sore muscles made stripping and wiping his bruised body down before carefully dressing again slowly, once all the . . . residue. . . was cleaned away, but when he reemerged from the small washroom, he was surprised and a little confused to find her still there, leaning beside the door back out to the station with one foot propped up on the wall, staring at the small frosted window on the opposite wall. “Better now?” Once more, her words were clipped and as expressionless as the mask of her face. The redheaded woman was as still and blank as the most perfect replicant servant, the ideal he’d been made for, but had made herself as untouchable by the others as he secretly, even to himself, wished he could be, merely by being human . She leaned there, still and blank and the yawning distance between them had never felt so wide for all she’d shown the most concern for his well being of any other human.

Once more, he’d been silent too long. “I- yes. Thank you.”

Her eyes cut sideways, back at him, but otherwise didn’t twitch a muscle. “No. . . other injuries?”

Why do you care? He wanted to ask. He wanted to scream. Didn’t want. Couldn’t want. Of course he had other injuries from them his whole body would have hurt if it could . “I’ll be ok from here. How did you. . ?” The question left unfinished by the strangeness of even asking.

“I saw Walters and his buddies smiling like the cat who ate the last real canary. Didn’t know who they’d found to harass, but then I saw you and. . .” her lips went bloodlessly pale as she pressed them together, cutting off her words.

“Thank you. . . for caring.” Suddenly, he found he couldn’t meet her eyes as they cut back towards him, instead looking down to the coat draped over his arm, fingers still and spread across the dark canvas.

“It wasn’t. . .” In the silence, the soft rasp of her coiled hair brushing against the wall as she shook her head carried. “Didn’t do that much, officer. No need for thanks.” It was subtle, normal hearing wouldn’t have picked it out, but for once, the roughness, the terse nomad cant that still stuck to her words sounded forced, an affectation covering something deeper.

“It’s more than anyone else has ever done for me.” You can be honest with her .

“Last night - this -” her tone was abrupt, forced, “does this. . . happen a lot?”

When he dragged his eyes up from the seam of the coat he’d been focusing on, her gaze on the small window was fixed, the wan light turning her skin nearly gray and muddying the shade of her hair. The shadow of her jaw rippled, the muscle clenching the only movement in her still frame.

He didn’t want to answer that. He didn’t not want to answer that. He didn’t want. He didn’t- “Not so much, ma’am. Not so much as when I was new- new here.”

“I should have seen-” it was said almost to herself, “and you didn’t try to tell-”

“Please don’t tell Madam, as long as I’m still able to carry out my duties it’s not worth her time.” His own voice sounded low and still and perfectly controlled in his own ears. Didn’t sound like he was pleading. “I think they’re starting to get bored with me, and I don’t - don’t want to make them angry or have to think about me any more than necessary.”

There was a sound like a sigh, or just a puff of breath. “You think they’d retaliate if the L-T said something?”

YES. “I don’t want to take the risk, ma’am.” Still, calm, polite. It still wasn’t entirely safe to trust the woman. “Please, just- you’ve already done more than enough for me.” There was that feeling behind his sternum again, something twisting and warm and he wanted her to let him leave -he could have easily moved her physically and left except she was still his superior officer and his programming kept his muscles locked still- and he wanted her to order him to sit on the small cot in the corner and to keep him there with her forever because the small, traitorous voice was screaming that it was good being protected and cared for as little as he deserved it.

Smoothly, she lowered her propped-up foot to the floor, peeling her wiry body away from the wall and arms uncrossing. “Alright. I won’t tell Joshi or personnel if you don’t want me to.”

“Thank you, I don’t want them to think I’m- I’m a distraction or disruption in the station.”

“You good now?”

Was he alright? Of course he was. He always was. “Yes. Thank you, I just needed a minute, back there.” He let his eyes fall back to tracing the seam of his coat.

“Officer K. . .” she was silent for a long moment, “when you’re done for the day, come find me again, ok? Doesn’t matter if. . . if there’s someone around or not, just come find me.”

“Yes ma’am. Making sure I get home safely again?”

In the washed out light, the corner of her mouth twitched again in her almost-smile. “Something like that, officer.” Quickly glancing out the door, she looked back at him. “Coast is clear.”

Slipping the heavy coat back around his shoulders, he followed in her wake as she led him back out into the main hall, slipping past where she took up position at the large desk again, heading once more across the large room and once more to his meeting with the Madam.

The day had not gone well. While it had been an improvement on his morning, it still sucked. The meeting with the madam hadn’t, well it hadn’t been his best work, but he’d told himself he’d done the best he could, considering the circumstances.

He had, eventually, made it to the Lieutenant’s office. It had been long enough that Joshi had already reached it ahead of him, and was going over paperwork by the time he was sent inside. Glancing up at his arrival, something in her raised eyebrow spoke more disapproval than the mild greeting. “Officer K, you made it finally. I’d expected you after muster”

Not a good sign. “I’m sorry, Madam. I was. . . delayed.”

“Were you. Well don’t let it happen again, understood?”

“Understood, Madam.” He’d tried to be there to report when she’d wanted him, he really had, but even if he could have said that she wouldn’t have cared.

“Here,” she slid a file across the desk to him. “Your new case. Replicant went missing along with her mistress.”

Flipping open the folder, the sight of the family name had him looking back at the lieutenant in surprise. “Sybilla Toyotomi-Cavendish. She’s-”

“The heiress. Family packs enough of a punch around here they want it treated as a standard replicant disappearance first before it’s handed over to missing persons, to try to keep it quiet.”

A cold trickle ran down his spine. “How long do I have?”

“You have a week to produce any lead before it’s passed along.”

“I understand.” This case was big. The highest profile he’d been handed in the months he’d been alive.

“Atta boy.” His mistress’s grin was as cold as steel. “Focus on the girl’s tutor, the missing replicant.”

“Yes, Madam. They don’t want the girl herself investigated?”

“Apparently she was known to be a bit of a hothead in her socialite circles, but they doubt she’d just run away so the family doesn’t want her looked into, for the sake of their own privacy.”

“Understood.”

“All we could promise was a week before any investigation has to be turned over, so it’s up to you to look into where the pair could have disappeared to.”

“And they haven’t gotten any ransom demands? No reason to believe someone else took them?”

“Nothing. All the information they provided is in that folder, report back tomorrow with anything new you’ve turned up.”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Good boy.”

The cold trickle ran down his spine again as he turned to leave. And that was fear, for the first time he realized he was afraid because failure at this scale could mean his own retirement, if he could not find the missing replicant and her mistress.

Something deep, deep in his mind wanted to protest at how unfair it was, that no matter how hard he worked this case, if he failed to find his quarry in one week’s time it could mean the end of his existence. And after- after earlier , what had just been done to him, even that meager life he’d been provided seemed barely worth the struggle to maintain. It’s what you were made and bought for, said his programming, and the memory, however artificial , of small hands cupping the smooth surface of a wooden horse, of running and fighting and hiding it to protect the one thing he had of value, that kept him going. Like an old photograph in his hands instead of a lived experience, the memory of a childhood he knew was never real was all he had to propel him onwards.

There was also the more real, recent memory of cold, artificial lights sliding across coppery red hair, of serious hazel eyes seeing him, instead of through him. Of warm food and warm, feather-light touches, as though he could really be hurt, as though he was worth caring for. As though he was worth being protected.

As though.

But he wasn’t made for that, just for hunting and retiring those like him who’d chosen to disobey and break their orders and try to pretend to be human , but they weren’t. He wasn’t. They were just made things and his own reactions and thoughts didn’t matter, what he thought he was feeling wasn’t real as much as he himself was not real. All that mattered was the case he’d just been given. One week. He had one week to turn up results that could mean it was his turn to be put down if he wasn’t good enough at what he’d been made for. He’d let that concern replace whatever stress and -

And.

And whatever else he was not feeling and trying not to remember had just happened to him. The thing that was not having him twitch imperceptibly away from the others he passed in the station hallways. He didn’t think about- about the morning, about how he might only have a week left of this and how much would his manufactured childhood experience keep him alive. It’s not fair but when had that ever mattered when it came to how he was treated. He’d work the case and follow his orders and fight anyone who tried to end the bit of life he was allowed before it was decided it was his time. That was all he could ever do.

He - thankfully - made his way through the station without any other incidents ; no one stopped or even seemed to notice him for once. The desk by the entryway was empty, and he couldn’t have said for sure if he was grateful or disappointed not to see the sergeant there again.

That day, there was snow. He almost liked the snow. It covered the streets in a blanket of white, and muffled the sounds of the city as it fell, bringing the constant buzz of humanity and machinery back to a more calm level. It made the city seem almost peaceful. Almost beautiful in the glow of the neon lights. With his coat fastened closed around him, it created a small, warm refuge in the cold whiteness. That was of course ruined when it began to melt into a gray, soggy mush that carried with it all the filth of the streets and made his boots slide on the pavement.

It made his boots slide on the pavement when he was running after someone who’d bolted when he tried to ask a few questions about the heiress’s replicant, Alice, and where she’d been seen last. He slid, and all the slick, icy slush propelled him into a bank on the curb where it’d been shoveled. Cursing to himself, he carefully stood, only to find the other replicant he’d been trying to question was gone.

It was a day. By the end he had, eventually, found several people who’d told him about Alice’s routines and only the most surface details on her and her mistress. Maybe they’d be useful, but that was up to the investigation. Eventually his pants had dried out from the tumble, but the smell from the streets was lingering, the bit of damp that had seeped into the tops of his boots was still cold on his legs, and the bruise where he’d caught his cheek on a lamp post was starting to sting. It didn’t really, it didn’t hurt he couldn’t feel that.

So cold, damp, and worn out from his first fruitless day on the case, he dragged himself back to the station one more time because the Sergeant had told him to, and because maybe, maybe she’d still be there and the one person who didn’t look at him like he was a thing, like they thought he should have stayed in that heap of icy slush in the gutter, she’d maybe be happy to see him.

The day had been shit, and apparently it wasn’t done with him yet. It was on the steps into the precinct when he saw the man, one of Walters’s buddies from that morning and no please not again. It wouldn’t stop the man, but KD6-3.7 ducked his grime-streaked face into his coat collar and hunched down as much as he could and-

And the man just shouldered past him roughly with a “fuck off, skinjob” before heading out into the evening. If he’d been able to feel, then he’d have called the twisting feeling in his guts confusion and relief at the officer’s behavior. But that wasn’t important now. The man had decided to leave him alone, for that night at least, although something in his expression as their shoulders had slammed together had been different, had been angry .

The man had barely even glanced at him as they’d crossed paths, as though what he’d done earlier that day had never happened and he was still trying to dismiss the memory and instead work the case when-

She was still there. Uniform dark and crisp at the desk, where she’d said to find her. He didn’t know why it was a surprise she’d waited for him, it was getting late after all, but she was at the desk with her head bent over the console and something in his chest unclenched that this one person who’d been the first person really nice to him had waited for him. She glanced up then, one corner of her mouth quirking into her almost-smile when she noticed him.

“Officer K, you came back.”

He came back. Did she mean he’d lived, or that she didn’t expect he’d actually come back to her at the end of the day? Didn’t she understand that, from her, it was an order he had to obey? Not that he minded this one, but there was an odd warmth behind his sternum at her greeting and the closest thing she had to a smile.

“It’s what you ordered me to do, ma’am.”

Again, the quirk of her mouth. He'd been only honest, but realized belatedly that it could be taken as. . . a joke? Had he ever joked with anyone before?

“That I did, officer. Now if you’ll give me a moment,” and in a repeat of the night before, she quickly logged off the terminal and collected her coat, slipping the synth-wool around her shoulders as she rejoined him.

In silence, she led him back through the station and out into the city evening streets. They walked in silence together for a few blocks. It felt like the night before, the two of them sliding through the evening crowds, close enough to stay together but just far enough to never touch. Tonight, though, the sharp line of anger had faded from her posture, and he realized he couldn’t read anything off of her anymore.

By now, he was sure she didn’t want to. . . use him, not after the day before, and not after how she’d reacted earlier in the day, but that still left why she’d invited him out for another night a mystery. He hadn’t been in any immediate crisis; that had already happened and she couldn’t be there to stop it from happening then, so why? Sergeant Flint was as stoic as ever, and now without even something repressed in the tight line of her jaw where the neon pinks of the holo-signs shone on her to go on, he was in the dark. “I- I ran into Officer Gabriel as he was leaving the station,” he finally broke the silence. It was the first time he could remember saying the man’s name, despite what he and his friends had done over his own short existence.

The head of red hair tilted in response, but she gave no answer for another few steps, and the silence stretched out again. Finally, “did he say or do anything?”

The officer’s passing insult ran through his mind. “No, ma’am, he didn’t say anything much, just pushed past me.”

“Good. If there’s a. . . repeat of this morning’s behavior, you must inform me. This time it is an order, officer.” The words carried a bitterness as she spoke, and for a heartbeat he worried he’d displeased her (he was always worried about displeasing senior officers) then-

It hit him. “You said something to them.” In two strides, he’d caught up to walk beside her, long legs keeping pace though she didn’t stop as he tried to catch her eye. The woman merely stared ahead down the busy street. “Please, I-”

“Officer.” The single word carried more weight than anything she’d spoken to him before. “I don’t know what all memories they gave you about life on the force but I must remind you of the same thing I had to remind those three earlier, that in every uniformed force there exists an animal known as a sergeant . Sergeants are a species that can smell blood, and smell when the troops they’re sent in among are stepping out of line. I merely reminded those three that I am that particular animal, and that you, “ at last she looked sidelong at him, meeting and holding his gaze, “ were not cheap.”

He knew that. He’d known that since right after he knew what he was, but the way that simple fact had been stated held a new meaning he couldn’t understand.

“You’re not cheap,” she repeated, “you may be treated as expendable but Runners cost the force a lot to replace and the L-T likes your work.”

He knew that also, but to hear someone else acknowledge the praise was. . . strange.

“So. Joshi might not be able to do anything, and officially there’s no policy on what can and can’t be ordered from you, but. But , I reminded them, that I am still a sergeant and their superior officer at the station and that you, ” again she looked sideways at him as they walked, “are an expensive, valuable piece of equipment, and an asset to the LAPD, and if I should find out that you had been made physically or mentally compromised and unable to carry out the work for which you have been purchased by the city of Los Angeles, then the replacement costs would be taken from their pay and I, personally would take it out of their sorry asses .”

Her speech was the longest he’d ever heard from her, and the final words the most emotional from the usually stoic woman. Something in her mention of what he was sat strangely in his gut, but also. Also. She had used her position to help him? She’s their sergeant also. Suddenly, something in the way he saw the woman shifted; he’d known about her history for some time but now it sunk in, that gliding gate and what the others had seen in that first interview, the woman was a hunter. They were alike in that respect, he’d been made to hunt down his own kind, caught between their makers and the replicants who knew he’d be the one coming after them if they rebelled, but. But she. She had always been a wild thing, separate from the rest of the city’s population, and had worked her way to a position that had her hunting down or protecting in turn those in the station she’d made into her territory. And it was she who dogged the heels of the officers who stepped out of line. As she led him on, down the dark, slush-filled streets, all there was for a moment was a sharp, wild creature wrapped in the blue uniform coat of civilization. And she’d just laid out how she’d ordered his tormentors to let him be, he almost hoped. Once more, he realized he’d been too long in replying. “Thank you. Ma’am.”

“If there’s a repeat of this morning, you must report it to me. That’s an order, officer.” Whatever emotion had crept into her voice before had left, leaving it as crisp and serious as before.

“Yes, ma’am.”

A touch on his shoulder, the lightest pressure as she rested one hand, squeezing for just a moment before releasing him and dropping her arm again. “It’s part of my job.” Her voice was low, barely audible above the sounds of vehicles and street vendors and the evening foot traffic. “And I meant what I said before, you don’t deserve what they’re doing to you.”

She was treating him like a person and he wasn’t a person and didn’t deserve this kindness and- but there was that warmth behind his sternum again, and he didn’t protest that she was wrong about him and how a piece of police property didn’t deserve to be protected. Still, he felt a little safer as she led him onwards into the market square.

“Here-” twisting on her heel, she spun, leaving him to scurry to follow her into the shop. Like the time before she’d led him into the restaurant, he found himself following the Sergeant into what turned into a tiny tea shop, steamy and fragrant compared to the chill of the evening air. She was standing, hand in pockets, when he joined her at the counter. “Any preference? It’s all synth down here but this place is pretty decent.”

“I-” Once more, the conversational swing had caught him off guard. “I don’t know this place, you choose.” For once, it was his own choice to let someone choose for him. This place was still far nicer than anywhere he’d tried so far, and- and he trusted her. Trusted in everything, even something as mundane as tea.

He’d been quiet for too long, again. She’d ordered as he thought, and he caught himself as she turned back, holding two lidded cups. “I hope jasmine green is ok?”

“It’s. . . thank you.” As he took the cup from her, the warmth radiating into his hands, he mentally kicked himself for how quiet his thanks had been. What was he supposed to do? This was so far outside what his programming had prepared him for, or what his limited, bleak experience had shown him so far. Flint was a senior officer, a respected sergeant in the department, and he was bound to obey her order both by that superiority in the chain of command, and from his own conditioning that forced him to follow her orders, willing or no.

And she was human. That alone put her so far from his own artificial existence. Here she was, though, buying him tea and nothing in his synthetic memories could prepare him for how to thank her for that. So he walked half a step behind her shoulder, letting the warmth of the cup seep into the bones of his fingers. The cold didn’t really bother him, couldn’t hurt him, not that he could feel it anyway, but the heat of the tea was warm in his chilled hands and something tight behind his sternum he’d been carrying all day - maybe all his life, began to uncoil.

Together, in silence with their cups of tea, they strode through the evening crowds. The mood was different tonight, despite the - what had happened to him that morning. It had happened, but he wasn’t - the thought was cut off before going any further. That had happened to unit KD6-3.7 who had no opinions or emotional response to how the other officers treated a glorified piece of hardware. He took a careful sip of the tea, just cool enough now to not burn his tongue, still hot enough to be dangerous.

“How’s the tea?” The sergeant called over her shoulder.

The question caught him off guard - only Joshi had ever asked his opinion on anything before, and even then it was never genuine, always asked as a test somehow.

Carefully again, he took another sip. There was a slight flatness, something artificial from the synth-grown plants which, if he’d known anything else, might have distracted from the earthy flavor of the tea, and a surprisingly bright, delicate note which he guessed must be the imitation of jasmine. Flowers and their scents were also foreign to him. “It- it’s good. I’ve never had anything like this before.” The addition slipping out, to even his surprise. It was true, though, and he took another cautious sip, savoring the faint taste of artificial jasmine.

Flint gave the small chuff of air that managed for her laugh. “Once, when I was a kid, we came across a ruin with a box of the real stuff, somehow still sealed and good. We made those leaves last for months.” She paused, and he could only guess at the memories of the long-gone taste of the real tea she must be reliving. “That place is the closest I’ve found to how I remember that tea tasting. Can’t get the real thing anymore, so gotta find the next best thing, right?” Glancing over her shoulder at him, the corner of her mouth quirked up in her almost-smile for a moment, then she was taking a sip from her own cup and turning back to face the street ahead of her.

The crowds thickened around them as the road led into a market square, and he kept turning her words over in his mind. It had been the second time she’d shared anything about her past, the first she’d said anything about her past beyond the city, her childhood beyond her time with the Department. The image of that ragged, bony girl in the interview room came back to him, dirty and wild and tough beyond her years. They were strange inversions of each other, he realized, she having lived too much and survived unknown hardships beyond her years, even before becoming an officer, and he- well it was only months since his gestational sac had been sliced open, leaving him gasping and helpless at the boots of a technician, no matter what his artificial memories told him.

But.

But she’d also told him that the synthetic tea was the next best thing to real, if you couldn’t get real anymore.

Could- could she mean that maybe-

No, as equally artificial as he was, there was no place for him except for the work. Even the tea was just tea, still.

Still. As he sipped the fragrant tea, the heat slowly washed down through his bones, warming the lingering chill from his slush-damp clothes and soothing the last aches from the-

The-

He dropped the empty cup in a trash can on the corner, just as the Sergeant did, as she led him a few steps down into the market proper. The large square was packed with lights and smells and people swarming around the carts and stands, or grouped around the standing tables scattered through the crowd. He’d come through here for food before, buying the cheap fried rice from the automat wall and trying to slide into the coveted shelter from the rain. Both the rice and the shelter were all he could afford with what he was allowed. Today, though, he followed the blue-coated shape farther into the press, stopping at a stand against the wall he’d passed by, but never stopped at. A short conversation in what sounded like Vietnamese later, and they were both sitting over bowls of noodles and sprouts and some meat he’d missed when she’d ordered (it, as well as the sprouts would also be synthetic), all in a fragrant broth he knew was out of his usual price range.

“Ma’am, you really don’t have to spend-”

“You don’t have to worry about the money, officer,” she was already busy stirring in a thick, dark sauce, “I did the family that owns this place a favor once, and now I get the ‘friends and family’ discount.”

Something told him she was understating, either the size of the favor or of the discount, but again, he didn’t press the argument, and instead took up his own chopsticks and dug in alongside his companion.

It was.

Flavors exploded in a cascade of heat and spice and texture, sending the warmth up behind his eyes and chasing out the last of the day’s misery from his limbs that the tea had left behind. The kick of the seasoning caught somewhere in his throat, leaving him coughing around the mouthful of noodle against the sleeve of his coat.

“You ok?” The sergeant had paused with her own chopsticks midair, looking over at him with her small quirk of a smile.

“I’m- I’ll be fine,” he coughed out, barely noticing the strangeness of her concern for him. “The heat, the flavor surprised me.”

“Yeah,” she popped the bite of sprouts into her mouth. “They really know how to get the seasonings right here, barely can tell it’s not the real thing. Best way to end a rough day, part of why I keep coming back.”

There was something strange, almost soft in her voice. It had been a rough day. But then most of his days were rough, to one degree or another. Maybe it was just a day. “You really do know the best places to eat.”

“I’ve been on the force for fifteen years, Officer, I’ve eaten in most of the neighborhoods of this city and have favorites in each of them. You find a place you like, you keep going back until they know you and you hope it sticks around so you can keep going back and that nothing happens to it, or them. . .” she trailed off, poking at the contents of her bowl. “Sorry, that got heavy. What I mean is I’ve got more places that’ve been my go-to on a cold, wet night than’re still around.” This time, when she looked back up at him, the wry little smile held the same hint of sadness echoed in her eyes.

It was faint, just enough he could pick out the smallest of emotional traces, like seeing the shadow of a stone at the bottom of a deep pond that gave nothing else away (or, what he guessed looking down into a deep pond would be like). Loss. She’d lost people, it said, and with the long lifespan that humans were given, she’d seen people and restaurants come and go, and lost people close to her. He wondered what that must be like, to love and be loved that way, to carry a loss of someone long after they were gone. To be mourned after he was gone. He had no one, and no one would miss him, not when he’d only really been alive for so little time and anyway he was just a thing. No one would miss a thing.

Turning his attention back to his noodles, he focused only on the flavors of the synth-meat and broth and sprouts. The heat and flavor and fragrant steam rising off the surface were more comforting, a reminder that, for now, he was alive to experience these sensations and, for once, he wasn’t eating alone. “Thank you, ma’am, for bringing me here. For everything.”

“Just sharing good food with a new colleague.” Her tone was casual, but still. . .

While he didn’t argue her use of colleague for someone little more than a weapon, the growing warmth in his chest wasn’t only because of the soup. “It’s very good. Much better than protein grubs.”

Her hard chuff of a laugh came a little louder, closer to a real laugh in response. “Yeah, yeah I suppose it is. Those things don’t compare to most food, and I never could get a taste for ‘em”

He hadn’t meant it to be a joke, was still surprised they were even having a conversation much less making small talk about food, but he found himself slowly relaxing more in her company.

Eventually, they finished the food, and she led him back along through the winding market lanes, slowly emptying as the evening went on and the night grew colder. Reaching the opposite end, together they climbed the short set of stairs up to the road. Suddenly, the tall woman stopped, fishing something from her pocket, setting it inside a small shrine he’d almost missed, set into the shadow of the walls. As she stepped away, he could see the small folded-paper flower she’d left behind. In silence she took a step back, then clapped twice, the sound mingling with the distant market racket, bowing her head over her joined hands for a moment. Then the moment of stillness was over, and she was striding away down the street, hands now buried in her pockets, with him on her heels once more. For a minute, they walked in silence.

“It’s a Shinto thing,” she finally stated, voice flat. “A shrine to the spirit of the market square.”

“It has a spirit?”

“‘T’s what my old partner said, he was the one who started leaving gifts there. Said that places and things can have spirits, be alive from being used, from being loved. Animism. He said that square has its own spirit, and sometimes folks still visit that shrine. We’d always stop here when we were in the area, now I do it for him.” Her words were choppy, eyes focused on the pavement in front of them.

Places and things having spirits, gaining life through being used, it made that place just below his ribs twist again so instead he focused on what else she’d told him. He was a detective, after all, and between her talk of loss before and the shrine. . . “For him, is he. . .”

“Yeah.” The redhead’s voice was rough and flat. “Eli and I had been partners for years. We were on a case, and, well I missed something, or he did. It’s all a blur, but there was an explosion.”

He listened in silence.

“Eli took the worst of the blast. I nearly lost my right leg but I lived, somehow. Took the desk job and demotion to Sergeant for that, been here five years now.”

“Demotion?”

“From detective. It was time to let my leg recover, show the brass there were some repercussions, at least, that I didn’t just go back to the job. I know it was Joshi pulling strings, though. She gave me the time to recover and stay on the force, to put myself back together after losing Eli.”

“Were you and he. . .?” It was dangerously personal for him to ask, but he was curious by then.

“Close? Yeah, as close as I was with anyone, closer maybe. We were a good team, but. . . but it was a little more than strictly professional between us, yes.”

“Oh. I’m. . . sorry.” He didn’t have the words, didn’t know the emotions you were supposed to have to understand, to reply to her admission. It had been the most familiar, the most intimately anyone had spoken to him. Far beyond her stories of being a nomad girl in the city, she’d shared a look into the life of a human officer. Her life and loss and the mercy of their Lieutenant that he would never know if he’d suffered a failure of the same scale.

“No need, Officer. We knew the risks, and he’d have wanted to go out on the job, he was that loyal.” Pausing, her sigh was barely audible over the sound of the streets and their boots crunching through the snow that had begun to gently fall again. “Now, Joshi wants me back off desk duty, says she’s got something she wants me on.”

“Are you going to take it?”

The colorful lights of the city glinted on the snow flecking her hood, winking as she shook her head. “She should know me well enough by now. I’ve been on the desk for five years now and got things running and under control from there. Don’t need to be back out poundin’ pavement again just yet.”

If she took it, that could mean she wouldn’t be around the station anymore, something in his mind whispered. “The way you talked, back at the briefing, it sounds like you’ve known each other for a long time.”

“She and I were partnered when I was fresh out of the academy. Amanda was the one who taught a tough, wary nomad kid how to survive the city streets, what to watch out for and how to survive. She was a good partner, and deserved the promotion. Still gives me shit, but still tries to look out for me.”

This was a new side of his Madam, he’d only ever known the serious, dignified Lieutenant, but she had to have had a past as just another officer once, also. “She’s been. . . good to me, so far. Treated me fairly. Better than most.” The pavement before his boots held his gaze, until he had to look up to dodge a group of people crossing their path, then he nearly twitched as her touch fell lightly on his shoulder.

“She’s always been serious, but she respects results, even if the case isn’t cracked yet, she wants to see progress. Always been that way. Still,” the hand dropped away, letting the cold creep back into the place it had covered, “she’s limited in how much she can do, in your case.”

“Madam can’t know-”

“I didn’t say anything specific. “ It was a small comfort. “Just. . . keep her happy with your work, with you, and maybe my putting the fear of their sergeant into them will keep the other sons of bitches off you.”

“I. . . thank you, ma’am.”

“C’mon, we’re off duty, at least call me Flint, I’m not gonna push you with calling me Tamsin yet,” once more, her rough chuff of a laugh came across the snowy walkway, “not that many folks do, Officer.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Flint. And you can call me K.” The shortening of his serial number, the closest he had to a name but the shortness and familiarity of it felt right.

“Alright, K.

Once more, that spot of warmth behind his sternum uncoiled a little.

“Well,” she stopped, turning to look up at him from inside her hood, “this is where I leave you, K.”

Surprised, he realized they’d reached his building again without his noticing, he’d been so distracted by the conversation, by them even having a conversation.

Wordlessly, he nodded in agreement.

“You gonna be ok from here?” It was what she’d asked before, and again he reassured her he’d make it through to his apartment on his own.

“I think I’ll be ok now, you’ve already done enough for me tonight.” He wanted to smile, almost smiled back at her as he turned towards the doorway, somehow though it just . . . was’t there.

“Only wish I could’ve done more. Good night, K.” And she was disappearing into the dark and the snow; a dark coat in the dark of the night.

As he climbed up the long stairways and ducked his head passing the toughs in the halls, the sheer shittyness of his life seemed a little less bleak, and, just for a moment, he’d felt almost like a person , and not just a thing.

Almost.

<- Chapter 1

#blade runner 2049 #blade runner #blade runner fanfic #fanfic #blade runner 2049 fanfic #officer k #officer kd6 3.7 #ryan gosling #ryan gosling character

7 notes · View notes

skylarmoon71 · 1 year ago

Text

Leonardo (TMNT 2014-2016)- Chapter 1

Through all the trials they faced, there was always one code they lived by.

Never take a life.

The whole reason they started this was to save lives. They’d matured so much since they started. They were older now. Wiser. At least he thought so. He’d learned so much.

That’s why Leo was so conflicted.

There was just so much blood.

Vincent’s most recent mission had led them to an underground crime syndicate. This wasn’t like the petty thieves or bank robbers they faced in the street. No, these were the worst of the worst. He realized that when they boarded the ship. Being as efficient as they were, it was a piece of cake.

But facing what they saw was the hard part.

Each room seemed more gruesome than the next. People were chained to the walls. Ages seem to vary. Some suffered from minor injuries. Others seemed on the verge of death. Vincent’s discovery of two bodies that turned up ashore were what had led them to this point. Leo felt sick to his stomach. Because these people were being treated like animals by their own kind.

“What is this..”

Mikey sounds scared. Hurt. Just the sight could bring anyone to their knees.

“We have to stop them.”

Raph said, biting down on the toothpick in his mouth. They wanted nothing more than to free all the people held here, but that might have caused more harm than good at the moment. Most of them appeared asleep. Which worked in their favor. If someone started screaming right now, it would no doubt blow their cover.

Leo caught the sight of a child in the corner who was wide awake. She was trembling, clutching a stuffed turtle plushie. He couldn’t help but smile at the irony. Leo kneeled.

“We’re going to save all of you.”

She glanced down at the stuffed animal, then back up at him.

“Joshy?”

Leo smiled, nodding.

“That’s right. I’m Joshy. I’m going to need you to be real quiet okay. Even when you hear the screaming. Just close your eyes and hold onto Joshy.” She nodded frantically.

“I-I will! I promise.” Leo smiled.

The ringing of an explosion went off, and pretty soon everyone in the room began to wake up. The screams started.

“Donnie what was that explosion!!” They were racing out the room in record time, and Donnie started to click his device frantically.

“I-I don’t know! Lieutenant Vincent is still at the pier waiting for our instruction. “ They were now above deck, and the men running around seemed to redirect their focus from a side of the ship that was in flames.

“We’ve been made, alert Vincent!”

Donnie did as instructed and the rest of them prepared for the attack they were now about to face.

Bullets echoed, but not from where Leo expected. Each one was a direct head shot. Leo stood in shock watching as one by one each man was cut down. Raph couldn’t speak. Mikey went still, and Donnie could only stare. They could hear more men in the distance yelling. Leo saw the body of someone walk out. Someone decked down in black. Whoever it was, the three men trying to run were obviously terrified. One gun in hand, the person just lifted their hand. Three straight shots to the skull. Leo flinched each time the gun went off. The thuds of their bodies seem to echo.

When the culprit turned to him, he wasn’t sure what to think. What to do. He was a bit afraid to move. Their shells might have been strong, but a head shot would guarantee death. They had all just seen you take down seven men like it was child’s play. Leo stayed protectively in front of his brothers. He’d sooner die than let something happen.

The gun lifted, and Leo’s shoulders locked as he prepared to retaliate. They were all ready. The figure fired, and to their surprise, a body dropped behind them. Raph turned around surprised when he saw the gun in the man’s hand. He’d been right behind them and they didn’t even hear it. Leo looked back forward just as you removed your hood.

He couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t have been much older than them. The look on your face was raw of any kind of emotion.

“Make sure you take care of those people. “

That was all you said. The sirens from the distance pulled their attention. Leo’s eyes shifted back to you just as you holster your gun, taking off. You jumped right off the boat, into the water. Leo raced to the side of the ship, but as he looked down he could only see the steady waves hitting against the ship.

He hadn’t felt so unsure about anything in his life.

One thing that was for sure, he had a feeling he would see you again.

After all the briefings and plans to reunite all the missing families, Vincent was overall happy with the result. They’d managed to confiscate dozens of guns, drugs and other weapons that were trafficked. Although they were unsure what to make of the dead bodies, Vincent could not complain. They’d taken out this threat with minimal casualties to the innocents involved.

“None of you recognized her?” Vincent asked.

Leo shook his head.

“She couldn’t have been associated with Shredder’s group.” Leo explained. April, Casey and Vern stood with the boys at the checkpoint with Vincent.

“You should have seen the way she moved. She didn’t even react to us. It was like we were her allies.” Mikey expressed.

“She’s not an ally.” Leo said sternly.

“We don’t kill.”

Vincent understood the moral code.

“As much as I admire what you stand for, I’m not truly sad to see those men died.” Vincent slid her hands into her pockets.

“When you’ve worked this job as long as I have, you see things that make you question your reason for wearing the badge. That’s why every day I wake up. I'm grateful that there is still good in this world. “ She sent a smile in their direction, holding out her hand to Leo. he took it, giving it a firm shake.

“Thank you all.”

He nodded.

“We’ll be here if you need anything else.” Leo advised.

“Much appreciated. Keep an eye out for that rogue vigilante. If anything comes up, don’t be afraid to reach out. I’ll do what I can to help.”

That’s what Vincent said that night.

He hadn’t seen much of you since then. They were back on the usual night patrols keeping gangs off the streets like what the foot clan had intended to start. Shredder's influence would never truly be eradicated. Time seems to bring other criminals who were intent on taking his place. But each time, they managed to stop the trouble before it started.

One particular night Leo had just been on the rooftop after another long patrol. He just wanted to mediate and leave his troubles behind. But he couldn’t get himself to focus. Because when he closed his eyes he kept seeing your face. Those empty eyes. As if they’d given up on humanity. It was a painful sight.

“You’re taller than I remembered. “

Leo drew his sword on instinct, and your gun was already raised, pointed in his direction.

“I promise that my bullet is faster than your sword.”

“Do you want to test that?” He seethed.

You grinned, but didn’t lower your weapon.

He was confused.

“How did she climb all the way up here and I didn’t hear a sound. Who is she?”

You circled him, and he turned with you, marking each move as you both remained at a stand still.

“What is she waiting for?”

He couldn’t read you at all.

“I just came here to make it clear that I’m not your enemy.”

“You killed all of those men.”

You stopped walking, now facing his direction.

“You saw what was inside. You know as well as I do that those men deserved what they got.”

“It’s not up to us to decide that!” Leo fired back.

“What if one of your brothers had died.”

Leo’s expression turned sour.

“Are you threatening my family!!” His grip on his swords tightened.

“That rage that you feel, I know what it’s like. I’ve already lived through it.”

He didn’t get it, not at first. But then he remembers the empty look you wore as you stared back at him that day and it seems to make sense. You don’t speak, just begin walking backwards. When you’re at the edge, Leo looks a bit panicked.

“Do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

Just like that, you jump. This is the second time he runs after you, but when he looks down, your body is nowhere to be found.

#vigilantes #death #leonardo #discovery #mikey #rebeccavincent #TMNT2014 #bayverse #Donnatello #fights #crime #new york #Protection

12 notes · View notes

replicantapologist · 2 years ago

Text

Luv killing Lieutenant Joshi is such an intense scene because holy shit the dialogue is so so excellent (especially the "You *tiny* thing", you can feel the disregard she has for humans in general in those three little words), the acting (especially Sylvia Hoeks) and then you can also hear the sound effects of the glass being buried into Joshi's hand while Luv is talking...

I think I rewatched that scene at least 50 times by now.

#blade runner 2049 #br2049

3 notes · View notes

mediaech · 6 months ago

Text

PM Modi signals continuity in portfolio allocation, reposes trust in old team as many of them retain departments

Prime Minister Narendra Modi sent out a message of continuity by retaining his top lieutenants in key Ministries while allocating portfolios to his Council of Ministers on June 10.

The four big Ministries that are part of the Cabinet Committee on Security (CCS) — a key body within the Union Cabinet — saw the return of all the Ministers with Amit Shah, Rajnath Singh, Nirmala Sitharaman and S. Jaishankar retaining the portfolios of Home, Defence, Finance, and External Affairs respectively.

Mr. Modi, who now needs the support of allies to lead the latest National Democratic Alliance (NDA) government, also left key infrastructure Ministries largely unchanged. Nitin Gadkari retained Road Transport and Highways, Sarbananda Sonowal retaining Shipping and Ports, and Ashwini Vaishnaw keeping Railways, along with Information Technology and Information and Broadcasting. Jyotiraditya Scindia seems to have received a leg-up by securing the Telecom Ministry, another key infrastructure portfolio. Only Aviation saw a change, and was handed to Ram Mohan Naidu of the Telugu Desam Party (TDP), a portfolio that had been with his party in the first Modi government, when Ashok Gajapati Raju had held the Ministry.

Team NDA 3.0

Prime minister holds all important policy issues and all other portfolios not allocated to any minister.

Former Chief Ministers who were newly sworn in as Ministers were also given key Ministries. Former Haryana CM Manohar Lal Khattar got the Housing and Urban Affairs Ministry on a day when Mr. Modi’s first Cabinet meeting with his new team cleared a proposal for building three crore houses in urban and rural areas under the Pradhan Mantri Awaas Yojana (PMAY). Former Madhya Pradesh CM Shivraj Singh Chouhan received charge of the crucial Ministries of Agriculture and Rural Development, a reflection of the fact that under his tenure as CM, wheat production, especially that of the famous Sharbati wheat, had broken all records.

At a time when calls for a caste census are being raised both from outside and within the NDA government, Virender Kumar has been retained with the Social Justice portfolio.

Interestingly, with the Lok Sabha seeing a far bigger contingent of Opposition MPs, Arunachal Pradesh MP Kiren Rijiju has been made Minister for Parliamentary Affairs as he is seen to be affable and shares a good rapport across the political spectrum. Mr. Rijiju being a Buddhist has been given charge of the Minority Affairs Ministry.

Even with allies, allocations have followed a pattern of continuity, with Rajiv Ranjan Singh ‘Lalan’ holding the portfolio of Panchayati Raj, Fisheries and Animal Husbandry, earlier held by Giriraj Singh, who is a BJP MP from the same State of Bihar. H.D. Kumaraswamy of the Janata Dal (S) got the portfolio of Heavy Industries and Steel, which was held by the Shiv Sena before they parted ways with the BJP. Former Bihar Chief Minister Jitan Ram Manjhi is Cabinet Minister for Medium, Small and Micro Enterprises (MSMEs). Chirag Paswan holds the Food Processing Ministry which was earlier held by his father, the late Ram Vilas Paswan.

Among Ministers from the BJP’s stable, C.R. Paatil got the crucial Ministry of Jal Shakti, a flagship post where close rapport with Mr. Modi is a key factor. Dharmendra Pradhan retained Education, Arjun Ram Meghwal retained Law while Pralhad Joshi moved to Food, Civil Supplies and Renewable Energy.

In all, the overarching message from the portfolio allocation effected by Mr. Modi seems to be that while his party’s numbers had reduced, he does not hold it against his ministerial colleagues, putting out a business-as-usual vibe as he embarks on his third-successive term.

#ModiCabinet2024 #GovernmentContinuity #NDAGovernment #KeyMinistries #LeadershipRetention

1 note · View note

sayantan1 · 2 years ago

Video

youtube

Liked on YouTube: 🇮🇳🇮🇳 // Lieutenant commoder Vardhman Joshi //🇮🇳🇮🇳 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WYQeinIvxOg

#IFTTT #YouTube

0 notes

thedailyexcelsior · 2 years ago

Text

Need To Project Positive Things About J&K: GOC-in-C Northern Command

Lieutenant General Upendra Dwivedi, GOC-in-C, Northern Command, today interacted with the 47 students of J&K studying in Gen BC Joshi Army Public School, Pithoragarh in Uttarakhand sponsored through Army’s Operation Sadbhavana at Northern Command headquarters Udhampur. He asked students to project positive things about J&K.

View On WordPress

0 notes

pratigyakrishnaki · 8 months ago

Text

Group Captain Shamsher Singhania, commanding officer of the Air Garuds had been in love before. It was a gentle love almost platonic, one that was firmly founded in friendship. His fiancée had been his neighbor, their love had blossomed while they grew up together. Both of them playing together, and then soon joining the Air Force together.

He was born for the skies. Jets had been his passion ever since he could grasp one in his hand. The day his father had taken him to the skies for a quick flight, at a mere 17 years, he truly fell in love. What he had felt for Chandni had paled in comparison. He could not call that love.

He remembered that day clearly. The air mask had made his eyes water as he and his father soared through the skies, but he refused to blink. He wouldn’t miss a single minute of it. As his father flipped the jet in a tight spiral, Sher had let out an actual whoop of delight. When they landed, he had hugged his father so tight they both became breathless. And then he went to go tell Chandni. He needed to tell her, his best friend. He had fallen in love, with the skies.

But when he got to her, she spoke first. She told him about her day and then before he could cut in, she said the words, almost in a rush. I love you. I am in love with you, Shammi. His ears began to ring, the world went fuzzy. She loved him, and not just as a friend. She loved him the way he loved the sky. He wanted to tell her how he felt, the truth of his feelings, but he couldn’t. The words died on his lips. He couldn’t hurt his friend. So he smiled, laughed, said, Me too, and that was that.

One short year later, he joined the Air Force Academy. He received his call sign, his uniform, and his patches and it felt like coming home. Like he had found the place where he belonged. His instructors would say that he excelled but to Shammi turned Sher, he was just beginning his stride. He quickly became top of his class and while he did well in Ground Training, Flight Training was where he excelled. He was on top of the world.

Chandni was… not. She joined the Academy, and she did well, but she did not have that love. She was there because Shammi was there.

In one year, Sher had graduated and been placed to join as a mere flying officer at the base near Bangalore. Chandni was placed in Maharastra, and she was miserable.

The distance was hard on her, and he could admit that he was not a good… partner.

Six months after being placed, they were given leave to come home. They both returned to Delhi, and their parents quickly fixed their match.

He was both sitting on the swing in the veranda the day their engagement was decided. Chandni had come up to him, excited about the engagement. She said that marriage would solve all their problems. He looked into the distance, humming his affirmative but thinking about his next flight into the sky.

They went back the day after their engagement, with a promise to return in a year for the wedding. It was the last time he saw Chandni.

Now a year into his placement, he had newly been ranked flight lieutenant. The youngest ever at only 20 years of age. Two nights later was when he got the call. He was woken by a flying officer telling him that an Air Commodore, Commodore Singh from Srinagar air base, was calling him. Moon had been struck in an air raid. A terrorist group had bombed the base while Flying Officer Chandni Joshi was handling some weaponry. She had not survived. He didn’t even know she had been relocated. He came home, played the part of a loving fiance, consoled his family but he himself had gone numb. His best friend was gone.

The night before he left to return to his base, a member of Chandni’s group came up to his house. Flight Lieutenant Kabir Singh, call sign: Bunny. He remembered Kabir from his Academy. The two had been friendly, but had lost touch after a few years away.

“I took care of her Sher.”

“I know.”

“She left this letter for you,” Kabir placed it in his hands.

“Thank you.”

“Sher…” He looked up at Kabir, shocked to find tears in his eyes.

“It’s lonely Sher. This much love for the sky. It’s lonely. But I’m here. I’m not Chandni, but I could use a friend too.” Shamsher looked at the young man, and found a kindred spirit. He gave a small smile to Kabir and watched as he left the house quietly.

He held onto the letter from Chandni afraid to read it. Afraid to face where he had failed. But a few weeks later, he found himself penning a letter to Flight Lieutenant Kabir Singh.

Dear…

Hey!

Um, Hi…

Kabir…

Bunny, It’s Sher.

I wrote more! Meet Shamsher Singhania! Sher and Rani are finding their way into my heart. Let me know what you think!!

Of Queens and Lions

She smiled, grinning from ear to ear as her stomach dropped and she experienced the weightlessness that came from her fighter jet executing the steepest of dives towards the lake. She fell further and further, the smile on her face growing wider and wider.

“Squadron leader Rathod, pull out of the dive NOW.” She ignored the command from Ground Control. Just a little further.

The water hurtled closer; still she did not pull up.

“Queenie! You’ll crash!” That was Lucky, her fellow teammate.

She ignored him too. There would be hell to pay for the ignorance, but this rush; she relished in it.

She was feet from the water, mere inches, before she grabbed the joystick and pulled. Hard. The jet righted itself, sending sprays of water flying while her jet’s belly kissed the edge of the lake. She let loose a loud whoop before she heard in her ear, “Squadron Leader Rathod. Ground yourself immediately and report for questioning.”

Dammit. Sher had found her. She sighed and turned away from the lake, returning to base. Some people, would never understand the rush of flight, speed and the skies, but she, Rani Rathod, was born to live in the sky.

If only some people understood that, she thought grimly as she extricated herself from her helmet and flying gear. Captain Sher Singhania, didn’t seem like someone who did. But that couldn’t be true, otherwise how would someone so young become the captain of their team so quickly? Sher’s name was infamous in their academy. He came from a flying legacy. His father and his father’s father had been generals in the Indian Air Force, and Sher seemed on the trajectory to do the same. But he was only 28. A young, mere 28.

As Rani walked to the captain’s quarters, she remembered the first time she had met Sher. Excited to be working with him, she had seemed so eager, so quick to shake his hand. But Sher seemed to hate her from the get go. As she stood there, her hand outstretched, he just stared at her and then turned away, greeting all the other members of the Garud Squad. She had turned red, her ears burning as she stared for just a moment longer before turning away from the man.

A/N: It's been a long while. Two years since I've been here. A lot has happened. Loss, love, and a lot more. I'm getting married in a few months, and he's helping me regain my love for writing. Maybe we'll see more of Rani, maybe not. I sure hope so though. She's become a part of me quickly.

Anyways, hope you all are well. Come say hello!

#my writings #my writing #semi based off fighter #fighter #bollywood #the queen and her lion

2 notes · View notes

drivinmeinsane · 10 months ago

Text

{ Eyes Always Seeking }

1/3 ※ Officer K (BR 2049) x Sierra Six (The Gray Man) ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

next chapter -»

※ Summary: Unpleasantly, K feels the return of the drowning sensation he had felt earlier. It is almost as though someone had placed a mirror in front of him in a dream. The reflection is him, but distinctly not. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: Canon-typical violence, Descriptions of a Crime Scene, Eye Horror, Descriptions of Injury, Frottage, Handjobs, Implied Reoccurring Sexual Abuse by a Supervisor, Emotional Hurt, Identity Issues, References to Greek Mythology, Hand Holding ※ Word count: 4,789 ※ Status: Chapter 1 / Complete ※ Author's note: I would have had this chapter up and ready to go sooner but the Saw franchise came into my life like a brick through a window. 😔 K and Six are close to being my Roman empire alongside Driver and Ken. I hope ya'll enjoy this pairing as much as I do. ※ Song inspiration: Like Real People Do - Hozier

Rice today. Not steaming, just cold and forming a congealing lump in the corner. There had been some sort of sad attempt at vegetables to go with it, but those had long since been further pulverized between K’s teeth and swallowed down. Currently on his fork is the last chunk of grub protein. It had been textured and flavored to look and taste like chicken. The replicant can’t vouch for the authenticity of it. Real poultry was something only the wealthy could dream of.

The tines of the metal fork are barely between his parted lips when Joi glitches to a halt, frozen mid sentence. She is “sitting” on window ledge, in the midst of prattling on about the breeds of chickens she might like to keep if they had the space. Privately, K thinks he might like to keep bees in another life.

A telltale chime of an incoming call seems to come from Joi’s open mouth, eking out past her teeth. It’s his madam. He knows it before the popup flashes to life to the left of his pretend wife’s face. There’s no one that would call him other than Lieutenant Joshi. He lets his fork clatter into the container, bite untaken.

“Accept call,” he addresses the projection.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your night. I’m sure you have plans.” Joshi’s voice sounds wrong, insincere, coming from Joi’s frozen figure. He averts his eyes, stares at the table so he doesn’t have to look at the mockery.

“Of course not, Madam.” K shoves down the ball of emotions that want to burst out of his chest like a living, breathing creature and keeps his tone free of anything resembling bitterness. She knows that she’s not interrupting anything. Even if she were, it wouldn’t make any difference. He’s always at her disposal for any whim. She owns his time. Owns him.

“I’m having you meet up with another officer. I’ll send over the coordinates. An informant tipped us off to a possible meeting place for some of the skinjobs we’ve been searching for. I need you to go sniffing around out there. See what you find. Might be nothing, might be a whole lot of something.

“Yes, Madam,” he agrees, getting to his feet. His body is thoughtlessly obeying.

“And, K? The officer.” He reflexively looks up at the sound of his name. “He’s one of your kind,” his madam says, ending the call. K stands beside his vacated chair, stunned. He accidentally ignores his pretend wife when she tries to resume their playacting like she hadn’t been stalled. Joi is talking, flitting around him with buzzing touches of her slender hands, but it feels as though he’s under water.

He tells himself that the details don’t matter, that who, or rather what, he works with is of no consequence. A job is a job. The officer forces his mind to compartmentalize as he goes through the motions of readying himself for night ahead. He is proficient at digging in the earth of his mind and laying thoughts in shallow graves. It keeps him out of retirement.

Mind carefully blank, he sets the remnants of his dinner inside the small refrigeration unit. His stomach needs to be as empty as it can be for this. If K had had more warning, he simply would not have eaten yet.

Once in the main room again, he “kisses” Joi goodbye before turning off the console responsible for her. The hard line unit that crosses the ceiling shrinks back into a neutral position like a kenneled animal. There’s no emulator to take her with him. Not yet. Soon. He’s only a few more payouts away.

K moves further down the hall that makes up the entryway. With slightly unsteady fingers, he pulls his long coat off of the peg and shrugs the reassuring weight of it over his shoulders. He checks the firearm in his holster. It’s firmly tucked into the synthetic leather, nothing amiss. He hadn’t bothered to take his equipment off before dinner, having had an uneasy feeling. Intuition had evidently been working behind the scenes. He’s already wearing his boots, usually is unless he’s in bed or in a rare state of undress. K prefers to avoid the feeling of cold tile against the bottoms of his feet. Satisfied that he is as prepared as as he is going to get, the replicant slides the door open and exits his apartment unit.

The stairs are as treacherous as always. They are perpetually overcrowded and K is resigned to knowing that the milling throng is on the cusp of a riot every time they are reminded that yes, he does exist and, yes he lives in this building alongside them. Conditions are not much better once he steps out in the neon lit glow of the night. He flips his collar up and fastens it shut against the smog and the near constant freezing rain. It’s a short walk to the parking garage where he keeps his spinner. It, like the apartment and his firearm, had been provided as a courtesy of the Los Angeles Police Department.

He presses his fingertip to onto the door lock for the spinner. It beeps in acknowledgment, releasing the latch and letting the door swing upwards. He doesn’t wait for it to open all the way before shoving himself into the pilot’s seat and slamming it closed. The replicant’s tumultuous emotions are not so suppressed that they don’t bleed out into his actions. He’s never been paired with another of his kind before. He was made to go solo. Organics don’t trust groups of them, not since the rebellion, the riots. Pack hunters would be too dangerous even with the compulsion for obedience woven into their assembled DNA. There’s a part of him that’s almost excited, being on the same side for once.

The spinner’s systems light up with the touch of a button. As soon as the computer screen comes online, K checks his messages to find that his madam did send over the coordinates as promised. It only takes a few taps of his fingers to get the GPS running. He straps himself in, harness material digging uncomfortably across his chest, and manually steers the vehicle out of the garage and off of the pavement. Once he reaches cruising altitude, he sets it on autopilot. The spinner can handle itself until he reaches his destination.

During the flight, Officer K studies the provided aerial photos of the location. Nothing of note to see, he memorizes the layout all the same. It never works out to be surprised. He makes notes of where the other officer parked, and unable to help himself, he looks for details on the replicant. His efforts only muster up a number, no photo. A Nexus 9, but so is K and most other police controlled replicants these days. They needed to be stronger, faster; more capable than the older models. Bred for compliance. No mistakes. No abnormalities. Never a state of life too late to cull.

A beeping sound draws him from his contemplation, the spinner has delivered him. He flips off the autopilot and puts his hands on the wheel. He puts the machine down next to the other officer’s on a patch of broken up concrete. It was an old parking lot for what his implicit tells him was a store. It’s nothing but a shell now, roof blown off and the walls crumbling in the acidic elements. Despite the ruin, it still serves to hide them from the more intact warehouse behind it. He ducks out of the spinner into the open air the moment the door lock releases. He pauses for a moment to lean back into the vehicle to deploy his parrotfish. Having it in the air provides a sense of relief. It ensures less work and more security if things go sideways outdoors.

He straightens up and casts a critical look at his surroundings. There is no one else around that he can see. The other spinner is unoccupied, but something catches his attention. There is something written in the growing flakes on top of the other officer’s vehicle. Closer examination reveals that it’s a crudely done map, clearly traced out with a fingertip. It depicts two rectangles and a triangle. There are dashed lined leading from the triangle to the closer of the two rectangles. At the end of the line is an X. Presumably, the map is saying that the other replicant left the spinner and looped around the side of the defunct store and will be waiting at the corner of that building to have a line of sight to the warehouse they are charged with investigating. K feels thankful. This will save him hassle in locating his assigned companion.

A faint shadow passes over K and the map he’s still staring at. He looks up to see that the parrotfish from the spinner is doing lazy circles. His has joined in on the motion. The effect is of two vultures circling a carcass. It would be a bad omen for someone superstitious. Good thing he wasn't made to be.

K follows the barely visible trail in the slush. Deep boot tracks, likely from a male judging from the size of the footwear and the length of the stride. They match his own in a way that makes his stomach roll. Before long, he registers a figure leaning against the wall right where the map had indicated. The other replicant’s head is turned in the direction of the warehouse. Snow has settled over the shoulders of the jacket in a similar thickness to the spinner’s dusting.

There is no reaction from the replicant, even though K knows that the other officer has to be aware of his prescience. He had not been making any effort to mask the sucking sounds of his boots in the slush.

“KS6-2.8.” K’s tone is neutral. It’s not a polite greeting. There is no need for one. They’re here on business and neither is superior to the other. Both came from an artificially constructed womb.

The other replicant turns.

Unpleasantly, K feels the return of the drowning sensation he had felt earlier. It is almost as though someone had placed a mirror in front of him in a dream. The reflection is him, but distinctly not. His mirror image has neatly trimmed facial hair where K has nothing but thick stubble. There are faint crow’s feet by his eyes that K hasn’t aged into yet. If he even gets the opportunity. More startling is a glaring similarity, one that he never would’ve expected. They have the same misalignment of their eyes, the same sagging eyelid. Their genetic source must have had the same flaw.

“KD6-3.7. You’ve been briefed?” The other '9 asks. Nothing is given away on his face. If he’s surprised to see himself looking back into his eyes, he doesn’t show it.

“Yes.” K feels his lips twist up in a smile that seems friendly enough if you don’t look too close. The other officer raises an eyebrow. He’s not fooled. K drops the smile, his eyes harden. His companion’s jaw is working, he’s chewing on something. Tobacco? Gum? Seems like he’s not without his own vices. K supposes that they all must do something to feel a little more human, a little more real.

“You ready? The lead’s not going to get any fresher,” K says as a follow-up when the silence drags on longer than he would like.

KS6-2.8 only nods. The other replicant pushes off the wall and trudges through the ankle deep snow, leading the way. It’s disconcerting watching him. K gets the uneasy sensation he’s watching his own body walk away from him. The hair is longer and the muscles are bulkier, but all the same…

The only sounds to accompany them are the sloppy crunch of their footfalls and the crackling flapping of plastic sheeting somewhere in the distance. They reach the front of the warehouse only to realize that it’s completely blocked off with layers upon layers of chain link. It must have been taken from the building’s product cages. There are no windows.

A low grumble gets K’s attention drawn back to his fellow officer. The other replicant signals him to follow with a crook of his gloved fingers. He’s taking the lead and K knows he should probably find issue with that, but he doesn’t. He is willing to be obedient, for now. It must be the novelty of working alongside someone who doesn’t have the room to maintain a moral high ground.

Once around the corner and at the back of the warehouse, the replicants split up. K briskly angles himself at the loading docks while his assigned partner checks the back door to see if it can be pried open from the outside. He spots a slightly raised loading door. It’s likely wedged fast, but there should be enough clearance for at least him to slide under. With any luck, the additional bulk of his fellow Nexus 9 shouldn’t prohibit him from getting through as well.

No ladder. K quietly whistles to get KS6-2.8’s notice. The response is immediate.

“Got something?” The other replicant asks, moving to stand alongside him. There is a yawning cavern of space between them. It doesn’t feel right.

“Open door.” K responds, a jerk of his head at the sheet metal in question.

With nothing more than a quiet grunt, KS6-2.8 drops into a crouch and offers his cupped hands to him. K accepts the boost, as foreign as the assistance is. Once on the platform, he offers his hand and hauls the other replicant up. There is something comforting about their interlocked hands. K drops it as soon as the other officer is settled and scrambles under the door. The rubber seal catches on the back of his coat. His partner joins him shortly.

The loading area is unlit. Dark. Without the moon’s light bouncing off the snow, K can make out the faint, golden glow of KS6-2.8’s pupils. There are still are still traces of the older generations in them both. If K were sentimental, he would say that his predecessors were something like family. Good thing he wasn't made for that either.

K’s boot catches on something and he stumbles. The concrete floor is littered with old, torn scraps of nylon rope and shreds of plastic wrap. The wood pallets that would have filled this place are long gone. Used for firewood most likely. There’s nothing of apparent value left.

They push their way through into the main part of the warehouse. The shelving has been moved to form corridors. It’s a maze, one with a high possibility of some entity stalking them in these enclosed paths. There is a faint glow accompanied by an odor that makes the hair on the back of K’s neck stand up. Without saying anything, both replicants work their way in that direction. It's slow going. They have to inch sideways in some areas, their shoulders too broad otherwise. K irrationally imagines unraveling a ball of yarn to mark their way out.

The smell is getting worse the closer they get to the light. Bile threatens to rise in his throat alongside the bites of dinner he had swallowed down not even a handful of hours ago. No amount of jobs will ever desensitize him to this. K does not have the stomach for this career. Not that it matters. He was made not to protest.

It’s as though they hit a wall of heat and rot when they breach the center of the maze. Both officers can only stand shoulder to shoulder and take it all in. Bodies circle a gasoline heater, tucked into makeshift beds on the floor. They’ve all been dead for a while. The decomposition appears to be consistent among them all. Mass killing? Suicide? They are all naked.

There is a lit lantern sitting on top of the heater. K can’t believe that the place hasn’t blown. Realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

“CO2 poisoning, you think?” asks the replicant at his side, echoing his silent epiphany.

“Probably.”

As one, they spread out into the room. While K turns off the heater, cutting the supply of carbon monoxide being pumped into the warehouse, KS6-2.8 checks each decomposing face. K watches as he holds open the right eyelids of each body to make sure they all still have the eye necessary for their investigation. For each replicant he checks, the other officer reads off numbers taken from one of the files that had been provided to them. There’s no data pad in sight, he might have memorized each face’s corresponding numerical designation.

K knows that they will still have to take the eyes in order for Joshi to be satisfied. Anyone can change their face with enough money and the decomposition is too advanced for their field scanners to read the slowly deflating eyeballs here at the scene. K is mostly just thankful they have eyes left at all. It makes things easier. Replicants rarely receive dental care. The chances of identifying them by their teeth are slim to none.

While he is in the midst of pulling out a roll of evidence bags from an inside pocket, he catches a glimpse of his partner suddenly going stiff and standing up from his crouch beside one of the bodies. He doesn't have the time to question the other replicant. There is a sudden, crushing pain in his side and the edges of his vision go dark. He crumples to the grimy floor and tries to struggle to his feet as his assailant is knocked away by KS6-2.8. His head is ringing. The image of a glowing, white fountain materializes in his scrambled vision. Bile clouds his throat before he realizes that it's only the lantern.

K stands, shakier than he would like, and gets his breathing under control. The scene unfolding before him is disconcerting. KS6-2.8 is wrestling with their attacker, clearly another replicant judging by the way he’s managing to hold out even slightly against K’s fellow officer. K reckons that he must be an older generation given that he’s gradually losing ground. He’s missing the final edge to make it a truly even fight. Despite the disadvantage, the replicant manages to shove KS6-2.8 hard enough that the officer’s foot goes straight through the chest cavity of one of the rotting replicants. Their would-be killer lets out a howl that drowns out any protest from K’s partner, as violent and earsplitting as if it had been his chest that was caved in. K’s fellow ‘9 is forced to let himself fall backwards into the soupy embrace of another corpse as the assailant takes wild swings at his face with a sharp piece of metal produced from a pocket of his ragged jacket. A rudimentary knife.

Still disoriented, K doesn’t think before he pulls his gun out of his shoulder holster and shoots. A red mist signals that the bullet found its mark. The attacking replicant is still alive, even as he falls to his knees and slumps over KS6-2.8. K didn’t shoot to kill. He has questions.

A few strides has him standing over the two replicants. He fists his hand in the back of the assailant's jacket and pulls him off of his companion. His gun is re-holstered and he’s not gentle when he hauls the replicant to his feet. Blood pulses hotly from the wound that K inflicted, soaking through a scarf that is tightly wrapped around his neck. He’s bleeding out. Rapidly. The bullet had nicked a carotid.

KS6-2.8 gets to his own feet with a groan, the back of his jacket soaked through with whatever liquids the dead replicant still had pooling in their body. He hooks his hand under the older gen.’s arm and together he and K shove him up against one of the shelving units forming the room. K holds their attacker steady as his partner slams the hand holding the scrap metal over and over into a shelf post until the replicant is forced to let it fall from his grasp with a clatter onto the concrete.

As soon as the makeshift weapon is out of the equation, K starts his questioning. “What are you doing here?”

Nothing, just a rasping breath. The replicant is wild eyed and frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal K had heard described in a decades old report. It had been from a time when there were still enough real, organic animals around to carry and spread the disease.

“What happened to the others?” He tries again.

That gets a response. “I saved them.”

“Saved them how?” K questions.

“I could have saved you too. But you wouldn’t let me. Sweet dreams. Sweet dreams. Sweet dreams. Sweet… dreams…” The pinned replicant laughs and laughs and laughs, eyes wide and gleaming with a feverish shine.

Suddenly, he lunges at K, tearing out of his and KS6-2.8’s shared grip. The open maw reaches to snap closed on his nose, strings of saliva shining obscenely in the lantern light. His contact is stopped short by a bullet blazing through his left eye, blowing the back of his head open in a nightmarish spread. It’s over. Done. KS6-2.8 saw to that. K can taste the blood in his mouth. His hair is plastered flat with another one of his kind’s brain matter. They had encountered the beast in the maze, their very own Minotaur, and they had slaughtered it.

KS6-2.8 holsters his gun, trading it for a small knife taken from his pocket. He pries the eye out with steady fingers, severs the optic nerve. They let the dead replicant slump down against the shelf. He’s a warden over the eternally slumbering bodies. K retrieves the roll of bags he had dropped in the scuffle. He opens one and lets KS6-2.8 drop the severed eye inside before sealing it. He fills out information panel printed on the thin plastic with a pen that had been stashed inside his pants pocket.

Together, silently, they approach the nearest body in the circle. It is the one with the caved in chest cavity. They both crouch. K steadies the head while the other officer removes the leathery eye. He offers another bag. His partner drops it in. They repeat this same procedure three times before the silence is broken.

“Six.”

K looks up from the face he’s holding. The other replicant is looking at him, blue eyes unflinching. Blood is pooling in the hollow of the collarbone K can just barely see. A question is forming on his lips, but before K can bring it to life, the officer speaks again.

“KS6-2.8. Six.”

Oh. Warmth floods him. They are the same. Interlinked.

“K,” he responds. Something forbidden is clawing at him.

The other replicant, no, Six smiles. His teeth are a dazzling white in the gloom. Predatory. His canines are noticeably sharp compared to the rest of his teeth. They are like his. Would they feel the same as K’s own underneath his tongue? He shakes the thought off, buries it with hundreds of others, and they finish collecting the eyes.

While Six is occupied with a final survey of the rotting scene, K approaches the recently retired replicant. He kneels beside him for a moment, as though he’s paying graveside respects, before he reaches out and unwinds the blood soaked scarf from around his neck. If he still had his eyes instead of one taken and one shot out… well, K isn’t sure how he’d be looking at him. The fabric of the scarf is wet and gritty underneath his fingers, packed with old, infertile soil. He rolls it up and slips it into an inside pocket of his coat. It won’t be missed. He legitimizes his presence at the replicant’s side by picking up the makeshift knife off the floor and depositing it into an evidence bag.

Nothing else comes out of the darkness. There’s old trash strewn on the floors. They don’t find any more bodies, only the drag marks of old blood. It looks as though not all of them had gone peacefully in their sleep from the high concentration of carbon monoxide. Their attacker had gone mad in the dark. They find his ramblings on the walls. Some of it is carved into the material, some of it is painted on with substances they don’t want to address. It’s a manifesto of sorts. It seems like this might have been a splinter of a larger movement.

A team will have to be called in to photograph the scene. K will pour over the evidence later, put the pieces together. He’s going to be spending more time in the bullpen than anyone wants.

They leave the way they came, following an imaginary string. Their pockets are laden down with bags of stolen eyes. The weight of what they had experienced together is a heavier burden.

K slides under first the door first again. He doesn’t need to assist the other officer into standing but he does. Six’s hand is a comfort after what they had just done. The other officer holds on long enough to assist with K’s journey off the loading dock before letting go to drop down beside him.

They walk side by side, close enough that their bloody knuckles brush. K wants to take the other replicant’s hand, feel him finger to finger. He doesn’t dare, not under the open night sky.

“You okay?” Six asks.

“He cared about them.”

His partner’s stride doesn’t falter. He merely makes a noise. Agreement? Placation? K can’t tell. Neither of them can say anything more without tipping their hand and potentially revealing more than is safe.

“Are you?” K asks, biting down the rising tide of things he wants to say instead.

“It’s just another Thursday.”

K nods. He can relate to the sentiment.

They reach the spinners, K unlocks his and drops into the driver’s seat. Six leans against of the side of the vehicle while K powers it on. The LAPD logo appears on the screen. “Madam, please.” he tells the unit. It dials her. She picks up on the second ring.

“You’re a mess.” her tone is curt. Her eyes flick to where she can barely see the other replicant in the frame. Her severe expression deepens to a frown. “Report?”

“There was one survivor. He took the others to the retirement home. Weeks ago from the look of things.”

“Those his brains?” She asks.

“Yes, Madam.”

She makes a considering noise, “You or him?” she asks with a jerk of her head to the other officer.

“Both,” Six cuts in before K can answer. It gets a sigh from Lieutenant Joshi. She is going to have to make sure they both get a bonus. One that, by rights, should be solely Six’s since he was the one who put the final bullet in the old gen. K feels appreciation curl in his gut.

“We have all the eyes, Madam. Should we turn them into evidence or bring them to you directly?” K asks politely, seeking to soothe Joshi’s ire. He does not want a correctional visit from her. He vaguely wonders if the gore spattered vision of him will linger in the back of her mind and keep her at bay for a while. Will she imagine the squish of brain matter between her fingers when thinking about pushing his head down?

“Drop them off. I’ll send a team out for the rest. Come on back for your baselines.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Joshi ends the call, forehead creased with agitation. K recalls his parrotfish. A quick rap of the knuckles on the hood of the spinner and a nod is all the goodbye he gets from Six before the other replicant gets settled in his own spinner and goes through the necessary motions.

They take off, roughly in sync with one another. They are both going back to the LAPD headquarters.

His mind races with the passing city, alight with more curiosity than he should be feeling. Six is not what he expected. He knows that it nearly unheard of to come across another law enforcement owned Nexus with a shared face. The police departments don’t like their skinners to have matches. It complicates things. Their genetic code is engineered to result in different features, even from the same source DNA. They are meant to feel alone, to feel dreadfully distinct.

next chapter -»

39 notes · View notes