#Systems override detected

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Hello! I’ve always been curious about the “human in a space shuttle somehow ends up on a cybertronian ship and all the bots are trying to figure out what this random metal this is while the human is terrified” plot.

It would be interesting to see it played out with any character, but for the sake of direction, I’d like to request this with the Lost Light Crew?

It could be vore if that’s what you feel like wrong at the time, but I’d also go for some good ‘ol fearplay.

I apologize if this is too vague, have a good day/night and I love your writing!

Thank you for the request Glitch! I hope this is up to your expectations! I hope you don't mind that I picked specific members of the Lost Light crew to include in this story. Feedback is always appreciated! Have a great day/night as well! :D

Doctor’s (And Scientist’s) Orders

Pairing: IDW Ratchet, IDW Perceptor, and IDW First Aid x Human Reader

Word Count: 3115

Summary: You are a teacher who is being sent from Earth to a colony on Mars. A new life as an educator for the red planet’s children is on your horizon…until you are thrown terribly off course and end up in the bowels of the Lost Light. All seems lost for you when you find yourself injured and cut off from human society, at the mercy of the three Cybertronians who end up finding you and taking you in, whether you want them to or not.

The first thing you hear when you come to is the horrid screeching of your ship's alarms.

  You groan and sit up. Smoke and flickering emergency lights greet you when you open your eyes. Electricity sparks from the stasis tank you were asleep in. Gas spurts from the ceiling, and everything is strewn about with the chaotic air of a tornado that just tore through an entire town.

“Warning,” your ship’s AI urgently alerts. “Breach detected. Damage is collateral. Warning-warning-” It sputters and fizzles out.

  You rub the back of your head and feel something warm and sticky coat your palm. When you pull your hand back to take a closer look, you see blood.

  Shit. That’s not good.

  Standing up makes you feel like you are going to puke. Your head throbs and every breath you take sends piercing pain through your chest. Dragging yourself out of the stasis pod takes longer than it should while black spots dot your vision as you stumble to the dashboard and press your hands against it. “Run ship diagnostics,” you manage to rasp. The voice that struggles to exit your mouth is one you hardly recognize. It is thin and strewn with violent coughs. A metallic taste coats your tongue. More blood.

  The AI glitches as it attempts to answer you. “Severe damage to hull. Severe damage to engines. Severe damage to thrusters. Life support online, but rapidly depleting. Escape pod offline.”

  “Shit,” you breathe. “Try contacting Earth control.”

  “Communications systems offline. Attempting self-repairs. Current status…5%.”

  “How long until repairs are complete?”

  “Estimations indicate repairs will be completed in…5 days.”

  Not good. Not good at all. You push yourself away from the dashboard and take in all that has happened. This was not how the mission was supposed to go. When you were chosen to be sent to Earth’s Mars colony as a teacher for the young children growing up on the red planet, you thought it would be a smooth seven month trip with you peacefully slumbering away in stasis. You were supposed to be woken up by fellow human beings, not a devastating crash resulting in your ship being decimated. Something must have thrown you off course. A freak asteroid strike probably. Which begs the question…where exactly are you?

  Ignoring how much pain you are in, you hobble through the remains of the vessel and head for the airlock doors. They remain tightly shut when you make it to them, hiding the knowledge of where you are from view. “Open the doors,” you call out to the ship.

  “Warning. Remaining onboard is strongly recommended. Current exterior environment is unknown.”

  “Override. Open the doors.”

  The doors whoosh apart. You know there’s oxygen outside. If there hadn’t been, the ship would have prevented you from even entering the airlock chamber in the first place. Stepping off, you expect to see the barren landscape of Mars, or the alien environment of some other planet you might have ended up on. Part of you thinks you might still be on Earth; perhaps something went wrong with the ship before you could even break the Troposphere.

  What you see surprises you. You are in some sort of…massive cargo hold.

  Gigantic metal crates surround you, most of them exuding a pinkish glow. There are lights on the ceiling far above you, but they are dim, and serve little aid in giving you an estimate of just how large this place is. Turning in a circle, you feel awe fill you. “Yeah,” you murmur to yourself. “The ship definitely didn’t crash on Mars.”

  Speaking of your ship…you take in the damage. It's an absolute mess of warped, crippled metal doomed to remain collapsed on its side until self-repairs are complete. It would take days, maybe even weeks, for damage of this caliber to be fixed beyond the communications systems. With no way to contact Earth or Mars, you truly are stuck.

  You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. Calm. You are calm. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. Yes, your ship is destroyed. Yes, you are suffering from critical wounds. Yes, you are in an unknown place with seemingly no way out. But you're alive. That’s what matters. And now you just have to survive for five more days.

  You hear thumping in the distance.

  It takes you a moment to register the pattern of heavy steps that are coming towards you. It’s something alive, you realize with dawning horror. Wherever you are, you have obviously made quite a racket, and now this planet’s local faunal residents are going to seek you out. There’s no way for you to know exactly what sorts of animals live here; any technology you might have used to your advantage is directly connected to the ship. With the ship offline, thus go the tools as well. You are completely in the dark, relying only on the little information about alien lifeforms you have to keep you safe.

  You don’t need that information to know you have to hide right now.

  You scurry back into the ship, biting back a shout of pain. God, there’s pain everywhere. How have you not passed out yet? Adrenaline does wonders for the human body, you sourly think to yourself when you have to lean against the wall to catch your breath. A hacking cough swells within your chest. When you cover your mouth with your elbow and release it, blood is splattered over your suit sleeve.

  That’s when you hear the growling.

  It’s unlike anything you have ever heard before. You’ve studied a multitude of animals. You’ve heard big cats roar, wolves howl, hyenas cackle, and birds screech. This is not a growl you can associate with any of those. It…holds similar qualities. But there’s something about it that remains blatantly off.

  It sounds strangely like the growl of a machine.

  You look outside of the airlock doors, and something huge lumbers out from behind a stack of crates. The first things your brain registers are its red and white armor platings, its bright blue eyes, and the horn-like finials extending from its forehead. It’s humanoid, yet possesses qualities that remove it from any such grouping. This thing is definitely not like you in any sort of way beyond having a face and walking on two legs.

  “It’s…a robot,” you whisper. It’s a giant fucking robot moving all on its own, and looking none too happy to be here.

  The mechanical creature snarls, lips upturning to reveal sharp canines that are probably longer than your arms. It hasn’t noticed you yet. Its focus is trained on the datapad it holds in its hands. Your mind is blown. This is obviously a member of a clearly intelligent race. Have you just discovered a new extraterrestrial species?

  The robot looks up. At first, its eyes scan the crates around you, and it doesn't seem to notice the little ship nestled between them. You remain still, prey instinct taking its course and demanding you freeze where you are. Hopefully it will just move on…

  It backtracks, and to your utter horror, it makes direct eye contact with you.

  Fucking shit, you think.

  The robot stares at you with an expression of pure shock. You stare right back with an equal amount of terror.

  It steps towards you. That’s all it takes for you to scream at the ship. “Close the airlock doors! Close them now!”

  The doors slam shut. You hear a shout from the robot, and everything shakes as it thunders forward. You stumble and fall with agony ripping through your poor body when you make contact with the floor. The cry that leaves you is riddled with pain.

  “A-Activate self-defense protocol!” you order the ship.

  “Self-defense protocols offline,” it says back.

  “Well, how long until they are online?!”

  “Estimated time equals…ten hours.”

  “That’s not enough!” you scream rawly.

  A gentle tapping echos from the other side of the doors.

  You push yourself back, heart pounding as you listen to the robot move all around you. It’s growling softly to itself, and you can hear it touching the ship, running massive mechanical fingers across the walls that act as the only barrier between you and potential doom.

  You don’t know what to do. Panic makes you frantic and you desperately try to think of how you can get yourself away from the monster outside. You have no way to defend yourself. You can’t even run. This thing wants you out, and you know it has the power to rip your ship apart in order to get to you if it wishes for it.

  Suddenly, everything rocks. Your stomach drops when the entire ship shakes and you feel it being lifted into the air. Realization of what is happening hits you: it’s picking it up. If it can’t get you, it’ll just have to take everything.

  “Nononono!” you cry out. The ship tips a little, and you slam into a wall with a grunt. “Stop!” You bang your fists against the metal. “Put it down! Put it down now!”

  The robot simply growls in reply. You don’t even know if it hears you. There’s nothing you can do to stop this. You slump back and cover your face as hot, helpless tears finally begin running down your cheeks.

  “What exactly is it?” First Aid asks as he peers down at the mangled hunk of metal sitting before them on the medibay berth.

  “It’s a ship,” Perceptor flatly replies with a silent “What else would it be?” evident in his tone.

  “This is a ship?” First Aid looks horrified. “But it's completely destroyed! How could it have gotten here?”

  “It must have crashed during our last refueling.” Perceptor lays his servos over the top of the ship, examining it closely. He huffs and straightens, looking at Ratchet. “Where did you find it?”

  “The cargo hold,” the medic replies. “I was down there searching for some extra medical supplies I know we have stored. I wouldn’t have seen it if it hadn’t been for what’s inside.”

  “There’s something alive in there?” First Aid gasps.

  “A human,” Ratchet replies. “It locked itself inside when it saw me.”

  “Impossible.” Perceptor shakes his helm. “Humans are an endangered species that only occupy a small sector of a primitive solar system. They don’t have the technology to make it this far out in space.”

  “Well, clearly they do. I know what I saw. These old optics aren’t that far gone.” Ratchet raps his knuckles gently against the ship. All three mechs have to lean in close so they can hear the soft squeak from inside.

  “How do we get it out?” First Aid asks. “It could be hurt!”

  “It is hurt,” Ratchet answers. “I saw it before it hid itself away. I don’t know how severe the injuries are, but I know it's in pain.”

  “Then what are we waiting for? We need to help it!” First Aid presses his forehelm against the ship and whispers softly. “Hello, little human? Please don’t be afraid! We aren’t going to hurt you!”

  A whimper is all he gains in reply.

  Perceptor crosses his arms. “I can force it out, but you won’t like how I do it.”

  “You can’t hurt it,” Ratchet sharply snaps. “That would be cruel.”

  “I’m not going to hurt it,” the scientist bites back. “I’m simply going to pump a nontoxic gas into the ship that will cause it to eventually lose consciousness. It will have no choice but to come out, and then we can go on from there.”

  “Are…are you sure?” First Aid wrings his servos nervously. “I don’t want it to be scared of us.”

  “Whether it’s scared of us or not doesn’t matter,” Ratchet says. “It’s injured, and if we don’t do something, it’ll succumb to those injuries. It’ll understand we don’t want to hurt it after we patch it up.” He nods to Perceptor. “Go ahead, smoke it out.”

  The scientist’s right servo transforms into a syringe. Ratchet watches with anxiousness churning in his tank as Perceptor presses his left index digit against the side of the ship and presses a small hole straight through with little resistance to stop him. A terrified shout from the human within causes First Aid to whimper.

  Perceptor sticks the upper part of the syringe into the hole, pumping gas into the ship and pulling it back out after a moment, wisps of vapor trailing from the tip. A few seconds later Ratchet hears a string of weak coughs from inside. There is a tense moment where all three of them stand there, and then the doors open and you stumble out with a cloud of gas nearly enveloping your tiny form. You wheeze into your servos, then notice the mechs staring at you and try sprinting right back into the ship. Perceptor cuts you off, slamming his servo down and pinning you under his digits before dragging you back even though you yelp and thrash. You squirm one last time in his grip before suddenly going limp.

  Perceptor gently shifts you to lie in the center of his palm. For a terrifying moment, Ratchet thinks you are offline when he sees how still you are with your optics closed. But then his sensors pick up on the rapid beating of your organic spark, and he relaxes. Not dead. Just simply unconscious.

  “Give it here.” He holds out a waiting servo. Perceptor hands you over; you are given a quick look-over as Ratchet scans your body. There is a nasty cut on the back of your helm, and your vents are gravely bruised with terrible red marks. “Internal bleeding,” he mutters. “As well as external wounds. The crash really messed it up.” He curls his digits lightly over you and brushes his thumb over your forehead. “Doesn’t have a fever though, which is good. Damage is minimal, nothing life threatening. I can have it fixed in a few hours.”

  “You know how to heal organics?” First Aid questions.

  “I’ve been around for a long time. War changes you. I’ve had my equal share of saving Decepticon-ravaged planets inhabited by organics as well as machines.” Ratchet walks over to another berth, being careful not to jostle you too much. “First Aid, go grab the restrainers. We’ll have to keep it still so it doesn’t accidentally hurt itself when it wakes up.”

  “You’ll have to keep it sedated too,” Perceptor says. “I can help with that. Just a little puff of the gas will keep it asleep.”

  “Thank you,” Ratchet says, then pauses. “Listen. Don’t tell anyone about this yet. I don’t want everyone flocking into the medibay and stressing it out. We could accidentally scare this thing to death if we aren’t careful.”

  “I won’t.” Perceptor nods. “Just…make sure it heals properly. I don’t doubt your expertise, but…” He looks down at you, and his optics soften. “It hurts my spark to see something so small in so much pain.”

  First Aid returns with the restrainer. It’s a small mechanism that runs on magnetic power, created by the Lost Light’s resident mad scientist, Brainstorm himself. Ratchet places it directly over your lax form. With a quiet beep, it presses lightly over your midsection, and magnetic bindings weigh down your ankles and wrists. Seeing you trapped like this makes him feel guilty. This obviously isn’t going to be something you will like when you wake up. But there’s no other way for this to go. You won’t understand his good intentions until he heals you. Until then, he has to keep you still.

  He grabs a small serum of glowing blue liquid and bends over you, gently pinching your little fleshy cheeks and working your intake open. “C’mon little one, drink up,” he whispers when he carefully forces the liquid down your throat. He sees your faceplate tighten with discomfort, but your throat pulses as you subconsciously swallow. “There you go. Good human, good human.”

  “What are you giving it?” First Aid asks.

  “Something I learned to make back in my early days,” he replies. “It heals from the inside. Works on both organics and machines.” He pats your cheeks praisingly and draws away. “There. That should help with the bleeding. It’ll be fine now. I’ll continue to monitor it over the next few days.”

  First Aid exhales a relieved sigh. Perceptor reaches out a tentative hand and brushes your hair away from your closed optics. “It’s so small…so soft…”

  “We have to be careful with it,” First Aid frets. “We don’t want it to break.”

  “Listen.” Ratchet’s tone hardens authoritatively. “I said this before, but I’ll say it again. We have to keep this between the three of us. Don’t tell anyone about a human being in here.”

  “But what about the captain?” First Aid asks. “Shouldn’t he know?”

  “The captain can’t know. If he finds out there's a human on the ship, he’ll go nuts with excitement and probably end up accidentally crushing the poor thing. Until I confirm it’s not going to drop dead at any moment, we keep it a secret. Got it?”

  Both bots nod. Ratchet nods with them. “Alright. I’m going to stay here and make sure it’s condition remains stable. You can come back tomorrow to check in on it and see how it’s doing.”

  Perceptor dips his head and leaves without another word. First Aid lingers, optics never leaving you.

  “It’ll be fine,” Ratchet reassures him. “I’ll take care of it. Go recharge.”

  It takes a lot for the other medic to step back and exit the medibay. Ratchet watches him go, then sighs and drags a servo over his faceplate. Becoming the caretaker of an injured organic lifeform was not something he had planned for today. Primus, how the hell am I going to tell Rodimus?

  A soft noise drags his attention away from the alarming thought of what might happen if the extroverted captain learns about his new “crewmate.” He looks down at you and startles a bit. Your eyes, foggy and unfocused, are staring right at him. There’s a fatigued expression of utter terror on your face that once again has his spark feeling like it's been ripped from his chassis and stomped on.

  “You’ll be okay,” he whispers to you. “I promise.”

  You close your eyes and let your helm loll to the side. Ratchet watches the soft rise and fall of your chassis for a few moments longer, then dims the medibay lights and returns to his previous work on the other side of the room.

  Never do you stray far from his mind.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

AI’s “human in the loop” isn’t

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

AI's ability to make – or assist with – important decisions is fraught: on the one hand, AI can often classify things very well, at a speed and scale that outstrips the ability of any reasonably resourced group of humans. On the other hand, AI is sometimes very wrong, in ways that can be terribly harmful.

Bureaucracies and the AI pitchmen who hope to sell them algorithms are very excited about the cost-savings they could realize if algorithms could be turned loose on thorny, labor-intensive processes. Some of these are relatively low-stakes and make for an easy call: Brewster Kahle recently told me about the Internet Archive's project to scan a ton of journals on microfiche they bought as a library discard. It's pretty easy to have a high-res scanner auto-detect the positions of each page on the fiche and to run the text through OCR, but a human would still need to go through all those pages, marking the first and last page of each journal and identifying the table of contents and indexing it to the scanned pages. This is something AI apparently does very well, and instead of scrolling through endless pages, the Archive's human operator now just checks whether the first/last/index pages the AI identified are the right ones. A project that could have taken years is being tackled with never-seen swiftness.

The operator checking those fiche indices is something AI people like to call a "human in the loop" – a human operator who assesses each judgment made by the AI and overrides it should the AI have made a mistake. "Humans in the loop" present a tantalizing solution to algorithmic misfires, bias, and unexpected errors, and so "we'll put a human in the loop" is the cure-all response to any objection to putting an imperfect AI in charge of a high-stakes application.

But it's not just AIs that are imperfect. Humans are wildly imperfect, and one thing they turn out to be very bad at is supervising AIs. In a 2022 paper for Computer Law & Security Review, the mathematician and public policy expert Ben Green investigates the empirical limits on human oversight of algorithms:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3921216

Green situates public sector algorithms as the latest salvo in an age-old battle in public enforcement. Bureaucracies have two conflicting, irreconcilable imperatives: on the one hand, they want to be fair, and treat everyone the same. On the other hand, they want to exercise discretion, and take account of individual circumstances when administering justice. There's no way to do both of these things at the same time, obviously.

But algorithmic decision tools, overseen by humans, seem to hold out the possibility of doing the impossible and having both objective fairness and subjective discretion. Because it is grounded in computable mathematics, an algorithm is said to be "objective": given two equivalent reports of a parent who may be neglectful, the algorithm will make the same recommendation as to whether to take their children away. But because those recommendations are then reviewed by a human in the loop, there's a chance to take account of special circumstances that the algorithm missed. Finally, a cake that can be both had, and eaten!

For the paper, Green reviewed a long list of policies – local, national, and supra-national – for putting humans in the loop and found several common ways of mandating human oversight of AI.

First, policies specify that algorithms must have human oversight. Many jurisdictions set out long lists of decisions that must be reviewed by human beings, banning "fire and forget" systems that chug along in the background, blithely making consequential decisions without anyone ever reviewing them.

Second, policies specify that humans can exercise discretion when they override the AI. They aren't just there to catch instances in which the AI misinterprets a rule, but rather to apply human judgment to the rules' applications.

Next, policies require human oversight to be "meaningful" – to be more than a rubber stamp. For high-stakes decisions, a human has to do a thorough review of the AI's inputs and output before greenlighting it.

Finally, policies specify that humans can override the AI. This is key: we've all encountered instances in which "computer says no" and the hapless person operating the computer just shrugs their shoulders apologetically. Nothing I can do, sorry!

All of this sounds good, but unfortunately, it doesn't work. The question of how humans in the loop actually behave has been thoroughly studied, published in peer-reviewed, reputable journals, and replicated by other researchers. The measures for using humans to prevent algorithmic harms represent theories, and those theories are testable, and they have been tested, and they are wrong.

For example, people (including experts) are highly susceptible to "automation bias." They defer to automated systems, even when those systems produce outputs that conflict with their own expert experience and knowledge. A study of London cops found that they "overwhelmingly overestimated the credibility" of facial recognition and assessed its accuracy at 300% better than its actual performance.

Experts who are put in charge of overseeing an automated system get out of practice, because they no longer engage in the routine steps that lead up to the conclusion. Presented with conclusions, rather than problems to solve, experts lose the facility and familiarity with how all the factors that need to be weighed to produce a conclusion fit together. Far from being the easiest step of coming to a decision, reviewing the final step of that decision without doing the underlying work can be much harder to do reliably.

Worse: when algorithms are made "transparent" by presenting their chain of reasoning to expert reviewers, those reviewers become more deferential to the algorithm's conclusion, not less – after all, now the expert has to review not just one final conclusion, but several sub-conclusions.

Even worse: when humans do exercise discretion to override an algorithm, it's often to inject the very bias that the algorithm is there to prevent. Sure, the algorithm might give the same recommendation about two similar parents who are facing having their children taken away, but the judge who reviews the recommendations is more likely to override it for a white parent than for a Black one.

Humans in the loop experience "a diminished sense of control, responsibility, and moral agency." That means that they feel less able to override an algorithm – and they feel less morally culpable when they sit by and let the algorithm do its thing.

All of these effects are persistent even when people know about them, are trained to avoid them, and are given explicit instructions to do so. Remember, the whole reason to introduce AI is because of human imperfection. Designing an AI to correct human imperfection that only works when its human overseer is perfect produces predictably bad outcomes.

As Green writes, putting an AI in charge of a high-stakes decision, and using humans in the loop to prevent its harms, produces a "perverse effect": "alleviating scrutiny of government algorithms without actually addressing the underlying concerns." The human in the loop creates "a false sense of security" that sees algorithms deployed for high-stakes domains, and it shifts the responsibility for algorithmic failures to the human, creating what Dan Davies calls an "accountability sink":

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

The human in the loop is a false promise, a "salve that enables governments to obtain the benefits of algorithms without incurring the associated harms."

So why are we still talking about how AI is going to replace government and corporate bureaucracies, making decisions at machine speed, overseen by humans in the loop?

Well, what if the accountability sink is a feature and not a bug. What if governments, under enormous pressure to cut costs, figure out how to also cut corners, at the expense of people with very little social capital, and blame it all on human operators? The operators become, in the phrase of Madeleine Clare Elish, "moral crumple zones":

https://estsjournal.org/index.php/ests/article/view/260

As Green writes:

The emphasis on human oversight as a protective mechanism allows governments and vendors to have it both ways: they can promote an algorithm by proclaiming how its capabilities exceed those of humans, while simultaneously defending the algorithm and those responsible for it from scrutiny by pointing to the security (supposedly) provided by human oversight.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/30/a-neck-in-a-noose/#is-also-a-human-in-the-loop

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en ==

[hawkinasock]

haiii pls spill abt ur chimera yq ideas... i have my own (https://www.tumblr.com/waterfrontcomplex/758520749229277184/dunmeshi-chapter-37ep-17-spoilers-look?source=share)

i also drew my own idea of him (swallow + abundant deer)

Yes ofc!! I'm so happy that someone else has had this idea too, it has so much potential. I want to see all the chimera Yanqings.

Mine looks like this. I actually didn't have a design drawn out for him initially, so I had to whip something up quickly. That's why it took me so long to answer </3

Originally, he had a more swallow-based design.

I still really like it, but I changed the lore a lot, so I made the new one, the current au, which goes something like this:

(CW for blatant body horror, descriptions of digestion, as well as brief details regarding real world animal death)

Here's my idea. Like most aeons, Lan The Hunt has emanators that carry out their will. One of these emanator's is currently unnamed and without a solid design yet. It has an animalistic appearance in my head. Imagine Feixiao's inner beast, or the Mourning Aix from WuWa. That'll give you the best reference.

It travels the cosmos, tracking down and eliminating the Abundance. it does this with the use of extremely powerful olfactory cells. Even with galaxies separating them, the emanator can detect abominations through smell alone, and when it finds one, it will consume it to ensure it cannot possibly regenerate.

Suffice to say, it's very good at its job, and Yanqing, unfortunately, is not an exception to their heightened senses. Surprisingly to no one, Abundance Yanqing coexists with this au, and he is immediately recognized as an abomination when the emanator is in proximity of the Luofu. Yanqing is unaware of his status as an spawn of Yaoshi, so when the devourer of monsters (working title) visits the Luofu, he never would have expected it to turn its eyes onto him.

To say the Luofu is thrown into chaos when one of Lan's emanator's eats a Liuetenant of The Hunt is an understatement. The emanator insists no mistake has been made and it is justified through Lan's divine will. It actually shifts the blame onto Jing Yuan for assigning an abomination as his Lieutenant in the first place, citing incompetence on his part. Kind of a shitty thing to do after eating the man's son but okay...

Not long after, the emanator starts to... change. It begins experiencing sudden and visible signs of mara: bouts of aggression, delirium, and eventually flora and fungus sprouting from its flesh. It's incorrectly concluded that Yanqing's death was a result of early unset mara in the emanator, and Jing Yuan decides the emanator has to be killed via decapitation, such is their duty as followers of The Hunt.

You can probably guess where this is going.

So, you know how bones are capable of fusing together or into other objects during the healing process? Like that deer that was shot by an arrow and the ribcage actually fused itself with the arrow? That's essentially how chimera Yanqing is born.

As an abomination, Yanqing is capable of postmortem regeneration, and as an abomination that is particularly favored by Yaoshi (in my delusional mind) his regeneration capabilities far exceed that of the average denizen, and one this emanator's digestive system was not capable of overriding.

Much like how that deer bone fused with the arrow, Yanqing's body begins the process of fusing back together after partial consumption, and during that process, he inadvertently fuses with the emanator's body, which triggered those mara symptoms. Additionally, because there had also been remains of other denizens in the emanator's stomach, they were unintentionally included in the revitalization process. This, in the end, gave the chimera's body the claws of a Borisin, the wings of a Wingweaver, and the head of a human (his body structure is also the same as the Houyhnhnm, but that's obviously a coincidence on my part lol).

The flowers and mushrooms don't really serve any other purpose besides looking pretty and emphasizing his connection to the abundance - his power is so palpable that life is literally sprouting through his skin. I just think it's kinda neat.

Anyways, in terms of psychological aftereffects, Yanqing himself is still there. However, his sense of self is muddied and most of his memories suppressed. Because he's at the head, he's in control of his own movements and actions. Usually, he's completely docile, but in the face of people currently trying to kill him, he becomes confused and scared, and fights back in self-defense. He's also experiencing prolonged dysmorphia from his new form, which causes him greater confusion and even pain.

For Jing Yuan? I think everyone would agree he wouldn't want to kill Yanqing. He believes there's still a way to reverse Yanqing's affliction, even if the Ten Lords insist otherwise.

Currently I don't have an detailed outline of what happens next. My current ideas are similar to yours actually, where the disciples take an interest in Yanqing for whatever reason, be it desperation to stop the Luofu from killing him and seeing him as blessed by Yaoshi, what have you. It could honestly go a similar route as Dvalin's manipulation by the hands of the Abyss. If I were to give this au a happy ending, I could incorporate the Viscorpus' ability to shapeshift and have Yanqing hone that ability, allowing him to regain his human form.

That's all I have for what was meant to be a short, detailed summary </3 All these asks always end with me yapping, forgive me. I've had this au cooking in my head for so long now, and I'm glad I have an excuse to spurge about it now.

(p.s. pls make more of your chimera au, I would eat it up)

[lucettapanchetta]

Second to last Panel(s) for the Rainworld Roleswap's Hunter Campaign.

[ UNSPECIFIED INTERACTION ] - ??? == NEW DATA INSERTED INTO ARRAY == [AUTO-RESTARTING EXCEPTIONS...] - Initiate bypass encryption? > ████. [ENABLED BROADCAST OVERRIDE] - Initiate local group announcement? > ████ ██ ██████ ██. [SENIORITY PRIVILEDGE REQUIRED] - Insert hegemonic encryption key? > ████ - ████ - ████ - ████. [LOADING MESSAGE DATA MANIFEST] - Now loading...

[SENIORITY BROADCAST ACTIVE] - Unauthorized hegemonic key(s) detected! Booting payload for: bypass_pearl_01.2038.2102. [!! WARNING !!] Unauthorized pearl data may damage communication equipment! Reading unverified content may render auxiliary equipment unusable. Proceed with finalization? > ███. [LOADING ANNOUNCEMENT PROTOCOL] == TESTING BROADCAST OUTPUT == [...] > ███: If the system read this pearl, then it means we failed the mission. Hopefully, in the future, things will get better for us. I'm counting on it. == ALL PROCEDURES COMPLETED, INITIATING ANNOUNCEMENT TO THE LOCAL GROUP ==

[lyssophobiaa]

Quick sketch for Piers’ bionic arm.

Design Features

•Aesthetics: Streamlined, ergonomic design with a minimalist look, often featuring a matte or metallic finish.

•Materials: Lightweight composites like carbon fiber and titanium, providing durability without sacrificing mobility.

•Color Options: Customizable colors or finishes, including options for skin-like textures or futuristic metallics.

Technology

•Actuation: Advanced motors and actuators that enable precise, fluid movement mimicking natural limb motion.

•Sensors: Integrated sensors (e.g., myoelectric sensors) to detect muscle signals for intuitive control and movement.

•Feedback Systems: Haptic feedback mechanisms to provide users with sensory information about grip strength and object texture.

Safety and Durability

•Water and Dust Resistance: High IP ratings to protect against environmental factors.

•Emergency Features: Manual override systems or fail-safes in case of technology malfunction.

Advanced Technological Interface

•Integrated Biosensors: Built-in biosensors that can analyze blood or interstitial fluid samples to measure viral load in real time.

•Data Analytics: Utilizes algorithms to process biosensor data, providing insights on viral dynamics and trends.

•Alerts and Notifications: Real-time alerts sent to the user or healthcare provider when viral load exceeds predetermined thresholds.

•Communication System: Integrated with a communicator on the wrist, the arm serves as a reliable device for maintaining contact with his team. This system includes encrypted channels for secure communication during high-stakes operations.

•Objective Management Display: The arm features a holographic display that provides a detailed version of the communicator’s data, allowing Piers to view mission objectives and tactical data in real-time. This feature minimizes the need for external devices and keeps critical information accessible.

Augmented Reality (AR) Compatibility

•Enhanced Visualization: The arm’s display projects augmented reality overlays, allowing Piers to see additional information, such as enemy positions, weapon stats, or tactical directions, directly in his line of sight.

•Environmental Scanning: The arm can analyze the surroundings for potential threats, detect biological or chemical hazards, and provide alerts for safer navigation through hostile environments.

Electricity Conduction and Control

•Energy Conduit Design: The bionic arm acts as a conductor for the constant electrical energy generated by Piers’ mutation. It includes specialized channels and circuits designed to manage this energy flow, allowing Piers to use his mutation’s electrical pulse without it spiraling out of control.

•Dielectric Structures: The arm’s design incorporates materials that mimic the dielectric properties of his mutated tissue, particularly in the finger joints and bones. These dielectric components help regulate and contain the high voltage his body produces, diffusing excess energy safely throughout the arm.

•Controlled Release Mechanism: To avoid overload, the arm features a controlled release system that allows Piers to release pulses of energy strategically, whether in combat or to alleviate the internal buildup. This system prevents the arm from overheating or sustaining damage from prolonged electrical activity.

Containment and Compression of the Mutation

•Compression Framework: The prosthetic was specially designed by UMBRELLA engineers to act as a containment “net” around his mutation. It includes a flexible, reinforced framework that compresses the mutated tissue, keeping it in check and preventing further growth or erratic shifts in form.

•Adaptive Pressure System: As the mutation strains against the arm, sensors detect any changes in size or energy output, triggering adaptive responses. The arm tightens or loosens as necessary to hold the mutation back, functioning almost like a high-tech brace that adjusts in real-time to maintain Piers’ arm in a stable form.

•Automatic Safety Lock: In the event of a significant spike in mutation activity or electrical output, the arm engages an emergency lock to keep the mutation from expanding. This feature is a safeguard against sudden bursts of energy that could cause the arm to revert to its mutated state.

Dependency and Risks of Removal

•Rapid Mutation Onset: Without the prosthetic in place, Piers’ arm begins to mutate almost immediately, returning to its original, unstable form. The electrical pulse that his body generates becomes unrestrained, emitting a continuous, breath-like rhythm that is both painful and dangerous, with energy leaking through protruding bones and exposed tissue.

•Uncontrollable Pulse: When uncontained, the electrical pulse from his mutation surges in intensity, lacking any natural “closure” or stopping point. This pulse causes rapid fluctuations in his vital signs and risks systemic overload, leading to loss of control over his mutation and putting him at severe physical risk.

Miscellaneous Details

•The arm has a unique serial code engraved on an inner plate, serving as an identifier for UMBRELLA technicians. This code also links to Piers’ personal health records, mutation data, and arm specifications for quick access during maintenance or in emergencies.

•Due to the intense electrical pulses generated by his mutation, the arm is equipped with an internal cooling system. Micro-fans and heat-dissipating channels prevent overheating during extended use, keeping the arm at a safe, comfortable temperature. If the arm overheats, an internal alarm alerts Piers to prevent any potential damage.

•The outer layer is treated with a UV-resistant coating to protect it from environmental damage and exposure. This ensures that prolonged exposure to sunlight or harsh conditions doesn’t wear down the arm’s exterior, making it more durable in diverse climates and situations.

•Designed for various operational environments, the arm is fully waterproof and corrosion-resistant. It functions normally underwater, which is crucial for aquatic missions or when exposed to rain, mud, or corrosive substances.

•The holographic display can be customized to show additional details, such as weather, GPS navigation, or tactical maps. Piers can also set personal preferences, like color schemes or alert tones, for a more intuitive user experience. This flexibility lets him prioritize the information he finds most critical during missions.

•The communicator has an onboard language translator, enabling Piers to communicate with individuals across different languages. The arm’s display shows translated text, and a subtle earpiece can even relay audio translations, making it easier for him to gather intel and negotiate in multilingual environments.

[k4zushi]

[ 08 ] GONNA SHIT MYSELF WTAF

status : unedited, written 01/04/24 ☆ word count : 0.8k

Y/N’S POV ⟡ COSTUME ROOM

every time you willed the universe to give you a break it found a way to somehow make matters worse.

it all started with your conversation with hu tao earlier that morning. the incident with albedo made sure that your nerves were on edge pretty much the entire day but what your friend said made you want to move across the globe and never return.

maybe if she hadn’t mentioned the possibility of running into a certain grey haired man maybe none of this would’ve happened in the first place.

you were silently freaking out at every random interaction you had. despite knowing the fact that you had no overlapping classes with cyno as he was a computer science major while you were studying fashion design; meaning you’d be studying on opposite sides of the campus.

honestly that made you even more nervous because alongside your history of “short lived crushes”, you also had a track record of bad luck. not one that could compare to a certain blonde engineering major but still bad nonetheless.

play practice was going half decently well. you had managed to escape interacting with others in the theater as you were mostly confined to the space of the costume room along side a couple other students.

it felt like you could finally breathe for the first time that day since you weren’t constantly trying to hide your presence.

“hey y/n i’m going to step out for a bit to measure some of the actors in the theater!” hu tao said, standing in the doorway. “you’ll be okay here by yourself right?”

you looked up from the racks you were sorting through.

“yea no worries. just looking through these racks from the previous years for anything we can use” you replied before turning your focus back to the costumes.

“thanks, we’ll make send anyone down if they have any questions!!” your bestfriend responded before turning to walk out.

you let out a hum in response fully diverting your attention.

it was peaceful being alone in the costume room. it was kind of dusty and cluttered but it was also filled to the brim with clothes, accessories, and fabric. the fashion design major in you was sobbing from the amount of things you could mess around with.

you were snapped out of your little headspace when you detected a new presence in the room.

curious, you peeked out from behind the racks. that, however, was your first mistake.

“um.. are you y/n?” a slightly familiar voice questioned.

you were trying to connect the dots as to why this person’s voice sounded familiar and it finally hit you as your eyes landed on the one person you didn’t want to interact with.

“yea!! how’d you know?” you said in a overly friendly tone in an attempt to cool your nerves.

cautiously, you stepped out from behind the racks to face the guy you had been avoiding all day.

“i was sent down here by hu tao,” cyno explained. “i’m cyno.”

“ohh i guess that makes sense, it’s nice to meet you! i’m on costume design for the play, just thought i should mention,” you paused to think, head tilted to the side in confusion before you continued. “did you need something from me?”

cyno shook his head.

“no, not really. just wanted to ask you a question if that’s okay”

“if it’s about costumes or the play you know i’m more than happy to answer them for—“

“do you happen to be friends with albedo?” cyno interrupted.

your sweat dropped and your nervous system started to go haywire. the urge to book it out the room and flee was overriding all of your other thoughts.

“oh haha.. uh albedo huh?” you said nervously. that was your second mistake.

“so you do???” cyno narrowed his eyes at you and took a step forward as you took a step back.

“yes…?” you looked around hoping that anyone come to your rescue and interrupt the unwanted confrontation.

when cyno took a step forward, you took a step back to maintain a safe distance away from the intimidating, yet extremely attractive, male.

this cycle continued.

that was until you realized you had effectively cornered yourself against a wall next to one of the costume racks. your third mistake.

you mentally facepalmed at your lack of spacial awareness.

“then does that mean you’re the one he was talking about?” he took another step closer.

“ahaha i have NO CLUE what you’re talking about cyno!!” you said trying to laugh off the sudden tension.

you were starting to panic. not only was this costume room stuffy and triggering your asthma but you also found it particularly hard to breathe when a really attractive guy was practically interrogating you.

and that’s how you found yourself in this awkward predicament that made you wish you had a twin that swallowed you in the womb.

‘i should just quit life huh’

“y/nnnn do you know where the measuring tape is?? it wasn’t in the theater and i can’t find— WHAT THE FUCK????”

prev ︴masterlist ︴next

AUTHOR’S NOTES : note that the costume room is going to play a ( somewhat big ) part of the story btww (*´▽`*) this was also kinda a nightmare to write bc i was fist fighting w/ the dialogue and awkward word repetition way too much😕

cyno is so silly.. ik this is from y/n’s pov so it’s hard to tell bc of his bluntness, but he’s actually genuinely curious abt the whole admirer thing. which i find hilarious bc he comes off as freakishly intimidating while confronting ppl😭 it’s bc he has somewhat of an rbf and is completely unaware of it૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ( hence the ‘lack of expression’ i mentioned in a previous chapter )

— TAGLIST : @ioveaether @otomegame-oneshots @ashyiiy @mafuyuslover @yuminako @waengyknow @sharkdays @tikitsune @jihoonotes @gallantys @keiiqq @mochibaby123 @lambcandle @ell1e2010

[quinncupine]

So glad your request are open I love your writing! Here’s a request for you, Deku x fem reader where he’s out on patrol and calls his s/o to check up on her and she doesn’t answer, so he goes home and and sees someone holding the reader hostage and he saves her. Protective worried Izuku wins my heart every time lol

I definitely got a little carried away with this one. This request was a bit similar to the last one, so I took a few liberties, but I hope you'll enjoy it all the same!

Failsafe

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X Female Reader

Word count: ~7,600

Warnings: Blood, mild language, guns, explosvies, violence

MASTERLIST

The phone buzzed for a second time in his pocket. With a distracted sigh, he pulled it out, only getting a momentary glance at the caller's I.D. Your picture lit up the screen, and he couldn't help the smirk that pulled at the corners of his lips. He moved to answer it, but someone laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Deku, the negotiator just finished the call." Detective Tsukauchi said with a grim look. "Dynamight just arrived as well."

Izuku glanced back down at the phone and declined the call with a promise to call you back once this situation had been handled.

The command center that had been hastily assembled outside of the museum buzzed with activity. Officers had scattered about, all running orders and securing the perimeter of the increasing amount of curious onlookers. Evening had set upon them, bathing the area in golden rays blended with the flashing lights of the nearby cruisers.

Both men headed towards the back of a S.W.A.T. vehicle where Dynamight stood, grumbling about something to a man right outside the truck.

"Dynamight!" Deku called to his old friend as they approached, "It's good to see you! We'll not under these conditions, I suppose."

Hearing his name on familiar lips, he tensed, and turned to glare at the bright beam of a smile being shot his way. "Of course, you'd be here," was his apparent greeting.

"I'm glad you're here," Tsukauchi said to the feisty hero with a nod. "I'm sure you've been briefed on the situation at hand."

"Yeah, a bunch of rich ditz's got themselves kidnapped during their own fundraiser." He snipped, crossing his arms. "The idiots robbing the joint made a mistake during their little heist and decided to make things worse."

Tsukauchi cleared his throat. "Um, well, yes I suppose you could put it that way." Then he turned his attention to the man Katsuki had been talking to earlier. "This is Agent DeLuca. He's our chief negotiator tonight. He'll fill you in on the rest."

"Right," the older man nodded, looking between the three of them, "I've made contact with their leader. He didn't have much to say except for a list of outrageous demands."

"Outrageous?" Izuku asked, curious.

"Yeah," the man chuckled before turning serious. "They want a helicopter landed on that roof," he pointed to the museum, "five fresh pizza's waiting in said helicopter, along with four crates of top shelf sake. They want it all within twenty-eight minutes, or they'll execute their first hostage. And by my count, we have twenty-four minutes left."

"Pizza and booze?" Katuski scoffed. "What're they playin' at?"

"Twenty-eight minutes is a pretty specific timeframe." Izuku cocked his head. "And with those kind of demands It almost seems like they're waiting for something. Stalling."

The phone in his pocket buzzed again but this time he simply reached in and turned it off, mind swirling with possible theories. They had to be aiming toward a bigger goal here. What weren't they seeing?

"Do we have eyes and ears inside?" He peeked into the truck where a wall of screens shone through.

"We managed to patch through to the security system, but they've been hacked. They're just playing the same loop on repeat. We do have a specialist currently working on overriding it, but that's gonna take time." The detective rubbed his head while he explained. "From what we can gather, they still have roughly 18 guests and staff held hostage."

"And that quirk barrier is preventing anyone from getting in," Izuku murmured, examining the building. It emitted a faint purple aura. "I bet holding that up takes a lot of stamina. That could be why they were on such a specific time frame."

"Our men tried to get through." Tsukauchi frowned. "Anyone who touched that thing ended up numb from the shock. That's why you two are here. It might be possible to break through with your quirks. The only problem is alerting the captors."

"They said they'd start shooting the moment anyone stepped foot in that building. Agent DeLuca explained. "At the moment, we're in a deadly stalemate."

Tsukauchi's phone rang, and he excused himself.

Izuku pinched his bottom lip in thought as he faced the building. There were a few ways they could go about this. With Dynamight here, it should make things a little easier. However, he needed to be sure to keep the lives of the civilians as his first priority. So maybe if he-

"Deku," Tsukauchi grabbed his shoulder, pulling him from his ruminations. "Your wife is calling."

He blinked. You were calling again. When he instinctively reached into his pocket wondering how the detective new that, he paused, finally noticing the phone in his hand. Then he noticed the deep-set frown on his face.

A million questions scrambled through his head, but he locked them down in favor of taking the phone. "Hey, is everything alright?"

"Deku, listen closely," you said quietly. Your voice didn't sound right. A slightly slurred warbled edge.

had the baby hairs on his neck on end. "You're going to…to let the men in the museum leave unscathed. You will not pursue. Do this, and everyone gets -" You hitched your breath "- everyone gets to live."

A lingering silence pressed between the two of you. Your labored breaths a loud echo to his ears. It was wrong. So very wrong.

"Are you hurt?" He finally spoke, locking eyes with a concerned detective.

A shuddered sob answered him. It locked his heart in a vice grip to hear you so frightened. So vulnerable. How long had you been like that? How many calls did you try to make to him, and he simply ignored them all? Right when you needed him most. An equal flood of guilt and rage filled his veins. He could feel the sparks of his quirk begging to be let out in the wake of his anger, but he had to reel it in for your sake.

Behind your erratic panic, he could hear it.

The faint puffs of air around your own tattered breaths. Someone was there. Someone was there with you. And if he didn't act carefully, your life would be on the line.

"You have tw-twenty minutes to either s-save the innocent people in that building or come f-find me. There's not…there's not enough time to do both. If not…" you faltered before taking in a sharp drag of air and screaming. "Don't do it, Izuku! Save them! It's a trap. There's a-"

The call abruptly ended.

He stared at the screen. Too many conflicting emotions were battling for control to think clearly. Someone, a villain, had taken you. That much he was certain. There were more men than those five stuck in the museum. But it didn't add up. Even if there was someone from this crew working from the outside, there would simply not be enough time to plan something like this on the spot. Unless…unless it had been orchestrated from the start.

"Deku!" Katsuki snatched the phone out of his hands with an annoyed growl. "Get your head out of your ass. What was that about? You sayin' there's more of these losers?"

Izuku flinched at his words, not realizing he'd been mumbling.

"It's-she…they-" he locked eyes with Katsuki, "-they have her."

He straightened, glancing between the detective and Izuku. "Explain."

And so he did.

A nervous energy he couldn't quite tamper down ran rampant through his body. He itched to just take off and leave to go find you right then and there. But there was more to this than they realized, and if he ran headlong without forethought, it could put not just you but the other hostages in danger.

"That bastard!" Katsuki snapped. "They want to divide our forces. They think they can escape that way."

Yes, Izuku figured as much, but it still didn't change the fact that you were in some slimy villain's hand. He'd already tracked your location from the phone. It pinged from home, but whether you were still with it was up in the air. Those calls he'd missed seemed to be mocking him now.

He couldn't forgive himself for that.

You were calling for help.

You were calling for help, and he didn't answer.

You were calling for help, and he didn't come the one time you truly needed him.

What kind of lousy hero was he?

"Stop that," Katsuki slapped him upside the head, non to gentle either. "I know what you're thinking idiot. This isn't your fault. You just happened to be their target."

"What?" He asked, rubbing the back of his head.

"If they actually put a few braincells together to plan this thing, then it would make sense to have a backup plan. A failsafe of sorts." He tossed a glare towards the building before focusing back on Izuku. "They must've known your route. They must've planned for you to be in the area. What better way to take you out of the equation than to create your own hostage situation? Draw the heroes away."

"I believe Dynamight's got the right idea. They have more men involved than we thought. We'll need to revise our plan." Tsukauchi turned to relay this new information to the command tent.

"We're wasting time." Izuku turned to Katsuki, eyes wide and almost pleading. "I need to go. We're on a time limit. Whatever he has planned….I have to save her."

"You don't think I know that?" He scoffed. "I can handle things here easily. I bet those dumbasses didn't expect me to show up. My route doesn't fall into this sector."

Izuku nodded, grateful that he had arrived, then paused. "Why are you here?"

"Because I had to track down that bastard mugger that managed to escape through here. And if you thought I'd let you steal my crook, then you're dead wrong." He puffed up, daring Izuku to challenge him.

"First time a mugging actually worked in our favor then." He chuckled ironically and grabbed Katsuki's shoulder, his small smile slipping. "Thank you. I'll radio you as soon as I get her back."

"Yeah, yeah," he shrugged off his hand and shooed him away. "Now get out of here before I have to show you up again."

"Wait, Deku," Tsukauchi jogged back over, "I'm coming with you."

"I appreciate it, but I'm faster airborne." Izuku explained, impatience rearing itself in the form of a harried sigh.

"I know, but you're here under our jurisdiction. This kidnapping falls under that. I'm coming." He pulled out his keys and headed towards his car. "We can't rush into this without our own plan. Dynamight can handle things on this end, but i'm coming as backup. There are too many lives at stake here. If you barge in there with quirks blazing and emotions clouding your judgment, then it could spook the boss into doing something we'd all regret."

Logically, Izuku knew this. He did. But he also felt that overstored anger directing itself towards the detective. Izuku could handle a hostage situation. He's handled them before, and he most likely will have to handle them again. Then the rational side to his brain told him it would be good to have backup in case things did end up going wrong. Regardless, he couldn't waste any more time by arguing, so he simply nodded and got in the car.

The moment Tsukauchi started the car, he peeled out past the gathered crowd, straight towards Izuku's home. The same home he shared with you.

The house was silent aside from the low buzz of the television in the other room. It played some show Izuku had been watching earlier before he left for his evening patrol. A hero documentary he's made you watch hundreds of times already. You absentmindedly listened to it as you cooked dinner, making sure to make leftovers for him to reheat once he returned from work.

After making a plate for yourself and storing some in the fridge for him, you dumped everything in the sink for a soak with the intent to come back later to clean. The meal smelled good if your rumbling stomach had anything to say about it. Washing up your hands, you took your plate into the dining room where you could finish watching the show.

On the way there, the lights flickered overhead before the power went out. You paused, staring around in the darkness to see if it would come back on. With the television off, the lifelessness seem quite foreboding as you stood all alone. Left in the quiet of the apartment, you set the plate down and headed into the living room where your phone sat on the coffee table. A quick call to the power company should clear this up.

When you stepped into the living room, using muscle memory to feel your way to the coffee table, the lights suddenly flickered back to life. You blinked rapidly to readjust your eyes as light flooded your vision. Glancing around the empty room, you wondered what had made the power surge like that.

"Weird," you whispered to yourself as you picked up the remote to turn the television back on.

One look at the flatscreen, and you gasped, dropping the remote. A dark, murky shape loomed behind you in the reflection, and before you even had time to react, a sweaty hand wrapped around your mouth and pulled you right off your feet.

You were slammed down into the carpet with a hard smack to your side. The attacker didn't give you much reprieve as you were hoisted back up and thrown onto the coffee table, smashing a vase full of flowers and knocking everything off as he dragged you across the wood surface.

It took a few seconds for your brain to pick up on what happened, and you shoved your legs under his arms and kicked as hard as you could in the groin. He yelped and let go, stumbling back into the couch, clutching himself.

That defense only bought you a limited amount of time. You scrambled off the table and landed on your knees, still a bit disoriented. The phone had landed underneath it, undamaged, in a stroke of luck. Dropping to your stomach, you reached under and nabbed the device.

You knew exactly who to call.

The intruder's hands latched onto your ankle just as you gripped the phone. He pulled your leg so hard you were sure something popped out of its socket. You screamed and twisted over, kicking at him wildly.

He didn't bother trying to hide his face. The man towered over you. He sported a neatly trimmed silver beard with matching square eyes that drilled an icy glare into your own.

"Stop fucking moving!" He growled as you kicked his knee and he doubled over, releasing you.

"Get away!" you screamed out, scurrying to your feet and dashing around the couch in an effort to make it to the door. "Help!" With the phone in your hands, you dialed in the number. He could respond faster than any police. And you would just feel better hearing his voice.

The phone rang twice before it disconnected. There wasn't much time to think about it as you made it to the door. You turned the knob, but a much larger hand snatched your wrist at the same time. The door slammed shut along with your hope.

He towered over you for a terrifying moment before he rammed you into the door. Your body dropped to the floor like a sack of rocks. Pain seared up against your spine where you had impacted.

The phone landed out of reach, corner of the screen smashed. You just prayed it would work.

Still disoriented, you didn't react much when his burly hands seized your throat and easily lifted you off the floor. Panic set in. You didn't even realize what had happened until it was too late. When it did catch back up, you scratched anything you could reach in an exhausted effort to release the pressure on your neck. The only sounds that managed to escape were wheezing gasps that held no form.

Regardless of how this scenario ended, you knew it wouldn't end well for you. This man had strength on his side. Fighting him would be a mistake, so you had to figure out a way to escape. Or, at the very least, call for help. Unless you could reach your phone, you were screwed.

Slippered feet struggled to try to pry him off you. His fingers only seemed to tighten further. Black ebbed at the corners of your vision, and pain blossomed up your head. Thinking, let alone, fighting seemed nearly impossible.

As your swirling vision dimmed, your foot managed to connect with his stomach. You dug your heel in as hard as you could. The fingers around your neck loosened slightly, and the only thing you could think to do was bite down on his hand.

He yelped and threw you against the door where you slumped forward onto your knees, gasping for air. The phone sat within reach, but first you swung out, and sucker punched him right where it hurts most for a second time. He roared and fell backward.

You used the opportunity to dive for your phone and redial Izuku's number, praying he would answer quickly. With a tight grip on the phone, you launched to your feet, swaying dangerously as you stumbled for balance. That hit to your head did more damage than you thought. You were almost sure you had a concussion.

Turning to the door, you glanced down and your heart sunk. It had gone to voicemail again. What was happening? He always answered.

"You're not going anywhere!" He yelled, staggering back to his feet.

Shit. You couldn’t think clearly and wasted too much time stumbling around. Now, he stood between you and the door, giving you quite the death glare.

"Please, just take whatever you want!" you tensed as he stepped closer. "Just…please just let me go."

"That's kinda hard when it's you that I need, now ain't it sweetheart?" He sneered, grabbing hold of the collar of your shirt and twisting you around into a headlock. "Now come on, we've got a schedule to keep."

He squeezed hard, forcing you to shuffle forward, away from the door. He wanted to keep you here? Why? If this had been kidnapping, you were sure he would've taken you somewhere else. Why keep you here unless… Actually, you didn't want to think of those implications.

"Sit," he ordered, not giving you much choice as he shoved you into one of the dining room chairs.

You could try to run again, but you doubted you'd get very far before he caught up to you. And you weren't too keen on figuring out if he really wanted to keep you alive or not. He already looked pissed off as it was.

"What do you want?" you asked, hating how wobbly your voice sounded.

"I want you to make a call," he said, placing a hand on the back of the chair and the table, essentially trapping you between them, "to that little hero of yours."

He wanted you to call Izuku? That was strange. Usually, villains try to steer clear of heroes, not invite them to their crimes. He must have some plan to try to lure Izuku here to do who knows what. As much as you wanted him to come, you also didn't want to walk him right into a trap.

You steeled your nerves and glared up at him. "No."

"Oh, so you wanna play hero now, do ya?" He grinned. "Think you're ready to play in the big leagues, huh? Let's see if ya are!"

His hand moved too quickly. You nearly tumbled out of the chair as his palm struck your cheek. Aching streaks of pain weaved across your stinging skin.

"Don't test me." He leaned so close you could smell the tobacco on his breath. "You're gonna want to make that call, sweetheart, trust me."

He leaned across the table and dragged a large duffle bag into view. How long that had been sitting there, you weren't sure. You actually weren't even sure how he got into the locked apartment in the first place. It seemed a little late to worry about that now, though. With a sadistic smirk, he unzipped the bag and let you have a peek inside. It nearly made your heart stop.

"Now," He pulled out a stack of notecards from his coat and forced them into your hands. "Your job is simple. All you have to do is read these cards. Simple enough, eh?"

As you scanned the cards, your stomach flipped. Did he really expect you to read this? You were too distracted to see him pull out your phone until he grabbed your wrist and used your thumb to unlock it. He put it on speaker as the phone rang. It barely rang once before it went straight to voicemail for a third time. You were starting to worry Izuku had been hurt and unable to answer somehow.

"Hmm," the villain stared at the phone thoughtfully. "Guess he doesn't care so much about ya, huh?"

"Don't say that! You don't know anything about him!" You spit out, then bit your tongue, knowing you shouldn't stoop to his barbs.

"Well, I know he's too busy to answer ya darlin." He chuckled and dialed in a new number. "I'm sure the detective will be more willing to talk, yeah?"

Detective? You only knew one detective. It still struck you as odd that he would call the police on himself. But with the cards and what he had stored in that bag, you were starting to understand your role in all this.

The phone rang, and this time, someone did answer. You refused to say anything. It would be too dangerous to bring him here. Not with what he had planned.

That turned out to be the wrong decision as the man reached into his coat and brought out a handgun. He used the barrel to tap the cards.

"Deku," you whispered, glaring up at the criminal.

"Y/N? It's unusual to hear from you at this hour. Are you alright?" He sounded concerned.

"I…need to speak to Deku," you blinked hard. "Please."

A notable pause hung in the air before he hesitantly spoke. "…alright."

Tsukauchi was a smart man. One of the few who you thought could hold a candle to Izuku's analytical skills. If he could already tell something was wrong, then Izuku would pick up on it immediately.

Suddenly, his voice came on and threw you for a loop. They were already together? It must have to do with whatever these cards meant. It could be the reason he didn't answer. Izuku could be caught up in a case already. But the real question is how did the man know that, let alone know you would have Tsukauchi's number.

"Hey, is everything alright?" He sounded confused with a concerned undertone.

The cards shook in your hands as you scanned them again, debating just going off script. But with that gun looming in front of your face, you wisely decided to play nice.

"Deku, listen closely," you began quietly, knowing your voice had a slight quiver he would undoubtedly pick up on. "You're going to…let the men in the museum leave unscathed. Do this and everyone gets," those next words caught in your throat, "everyone gets to live."

They were using you as some sort of ploy to try to escape whatever situation this gang had found themselves in. Everything about this was just wrong. Now, Izuku would have to worry about rescuing you while also trying to do his job. You loathed every minute of it.

"Are you hurt?" His voice, quiet and low, betrayed the calm air he tried to maintain. A characteristic tone you've heard before. Anger and frustration just barely concealed.

The fact that he knew you were in danger filled you with a sort of relief that now he could finally do something about it. He could fix this. He always managed to fix things.

You tried to answer, but only a garbled sob of mixed syllables spilled from your mouth. It took you a moment to compose yourself again as the man huffed at you, tapping the cards impatiently with his gun.

"You have tw-twenty minutes to decide." More disturbing things were written, but you needed to warn him about what kind of trap he was walking himself into. "Don't do it, Izuku! Save them! It's a trap. There's a-"

The phone crunched in half under his brute strength and he threw it against the wall. Despite your very real fear, you managed to smirk at him. In hindsight, making a man with a gun angry was probably the worst thing to do in your situation. You learned that the hard way as he twirled the gun to his other hand and with a violent swing, he whipped the side of your head, knocking you clean off your chair.

Head throbbing, you clutched the gash just above your temple. A warm, sticky trail of dark red dripped down to your cheek.

"Got a loud mouth, don't ya?" he grinned and hauled you up only to drag you across the floor and dump your ragdoll form into the middle of the living room. You couldn't hide the panic as he knelt by your face, plopping the black duffle from the table next to him. "I'll just leave ya with a little present to greet your hero with. How does that sound. A nice parting gift."

The drive couldn't have taken any longer in Izuku's opinion. Even if Tsukauchi flew down the road, he still wasn't getting there fast enough. A few times, he had been tempted to just jump out and fly the rest of the way there.

He bounced his leg impatiently, glaring out the window as the silence seemed to permeate the air around them.

"We'll get her back," Tsukauchi broke the silence first.

Izuku turned his attention back to his phone. The three missed calls from you berated him each time he looked. He willed his leg to still, but all that pent up adrenaline didn't have any other outlet to escape from.

"This is my fault," he mumbled.

"No, it's not. There's no way you could have predicted this. No one could." Tsuhauchi sighed, turning sharply onto the next street. This was a conversation he'd had with the young man on multiple occasions. He was starting to understand how All Might felt, practically raising the boy through high school. "The only people to blame are the criminals responsible. You know that as well as I do. Thinking that way is only falling into their trap."

He made a noncommittal sound, turning back to obsessing over the missed calls. The rest of the ride was made in silence. Izuku had gotten so lost in thought that he didn't realize they'd parked until Tsukauchi opened the door.

Silently cursing, he blinked back into reality and got out of the car. The two of them headed for the apartment building. Your last known location was here. Though Izuku had doubts that you'd still be here. Most kidnappers took their victims to secondary locations.

They burst through the lobby, startling a poor woman taking her dog out for a walk. She jumped out of the way as they rushed past, yelping when she saw Tsukauchi's drawn gun. They paid her no mind, set on reaching their target.

Izuku took the lead. He raced up the stairs with a spark of his quirk, only stopping when he reached the right floor. Tsukauchi trailed up behind him at his fastest pace. He paused when the door came into view. Closed and undamaged. Whatever lay beyond might be an entirely different story, and it had his heart racing with fear.

"Take it slow," Tsukauchi huffed when he reached the last step. "We don't know what's waiting for us."

"I know," Izuku nodded, taking a spot in front of the door.

He signaled for the detective to take the side. Whoever was in there was sure to be expecting Izuku. He would have to act quickly. When they were in position he readied Fa-jin to break down the door with a strong kick of his leg, but the moment he lifted it, that sharp stab of Danger Sense screamed at him. He tensed and prepared to dodge whatever threat was coming his way, but when nothing came, he set his foot down, examining the door with a critical eye.

"Something's not right," he whispered, hand gently grabbing the handle.

The knob turned slowly in his hand and opened the door just slightly. Danger Sense lit up his spine once again. He drew in a sharp breath when he finally saw where the danger lay.

Opening the door any further could trigger whatever nasty surprise waited inside. He let go of the handle in favor of leaning closer to try to get a glimpse of the room. From his narrow line of sight, he didn't see anything amiss. He would need to see further somehow.

A shimmering line of wire ran across the entryway.

Trap, his mind so helpfully supplied.

"Here," Tsukauchi pulled out a small mirror with a telescopic rod attached. "Use this."

Izuku took it without question. The police had all sorts of gadgets at their disposal. He was just thankful Tsukauchi was here.

As discreetly as he could, he slipped the mirror partly into the doorframe. It gave him a full view of the living room. What he saw nearly made his racing heart stall.

The room was a mess. The coffee table had been kicked over, and the couch pushed off to the side to make room for the single dining chair plopped directly into the center of the disaster. The worst part was the person he cared for most sitting… no, tied to the chair. You were slumped forward and seemingly out cold. A gash in the side of your head trailed dark sticky blood down the side of your face and onto your shirt. Even from a distance, he could tell it was still wet. Still fresh.

You were draped in a throw blanket, which he found odd. It sent alarm bells off in his head. On the other hand, this entire situation was just one blaring alarm.

He was so close. All he needed to do was figure out a way to get to you without tripping any booby traps.

Angling the mirror down, he tracked where the nearly invisible wire led to. His eyes followed it across the floor and right up to you. It threaded under the blanket that had been wrapped across your chest. As he leaned in further to try to see you better, the door creaked slightly.

It caught your attention.

You stirred with a groan and when you looked up, he could see the duct tape sealed over your mouth. As you straightened in your seat, the blanket slipped from your shoulders.

He finally realized why the wire led to you.

"Tsukauchi," Izuku whispered, a slight tremble to his voice. "I need you to evacuate the building and…and call the bomb squad."

It took a few precious minutes, but Izuku had exited the building and now stood on the fire escape, examining the window. Another wire had been threaded around the handle. If he lifted it, it could trigger the bomb. He would need to go about this carefully.

The only good thing was that the top part of the window seemed to be unaffected. After scoping out the interior, he'd come to the conclusion that the man had fled. A smart choice. If you strap your hostage with an explosive, you don't want to be around for the aftermath. A dumb choice to target someone Izuku loved. He'd find the man later, that much he vowed. Right now, he just needed to get you as far from that bomb as possible.

He took a deep breath and in one solid strike, he shattered the top portion of the window. That startled you enough to flinch in your seat, pulling the wires taut.

"Hey, it's alright," Izuku called out softly as he navigated through the window, careful of any more surprises. "It's just me. It's Izuku."

You deflated a little, nodding to show you understood.

The moment he landed, he carefully picked his way through the room until he came face-to-face with you. Your eyes carefully tracked his movement, wary of the various strings attached to the heavy vest you were wearing. He knelt in front of the chair, cupping your bruised cheeks. At the soft contact, you squeezed your eyes shut to blink away the tears.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm right here," He kept his voice low and comforting as he offered you a small smile. "I'll get you out of this, I promise."

Then he dropped his attention down to the explosive. They had strapped you into a Kevlar vest with the clunky explosive sewn right into the fabric. The most worrisome thing was the clock. The numbers were steadily counting down.

Nearly four minutes left.

A time limit.

You did say he had twenty minutes to decide. Didn't the criminals inside the museum say something similar? They must've been working off the same clock. No wonder they gave such a specific time frame.

"Don't worry," he said, looking up when you made a muffled whine of a cry. "I've got people coming to help. People who can disarm this thing in no time." He glanced at the kitchen where you kept the knives. "I just need to get it off you first."

Your reaction caught him off guard. You wildly shook your head, careful of the wires pulling around you. He turned back to you, eyes wide, and hands held out in a pacifying gesture. You only seemed to grow more desperate, shaking your head faster.

"Hey," he laid a hand on your cheek to stop you and forced you to look in his eyes. "Okay, okay."

As you fought back your ragged breaths through your nose, he gently gripped the edges of the tape and slowly peeled it back. You winced as the tape pulled against your skin. The moment your mouth could move, you went into a panicked rant.

"You can't! You can't cut it," you cried, words jumbling over each other as you tried to push them all out at once. "There's a- a failsafe inside the vest. You cut it, and it triggers the bomb. It's the same for these wires," you eyed the wires all connected to various parts of the room. "Any of them pulls too tightly, and it explodes. But the time limit - oh my god, Izuku. It's almost up, I don't - there's no time! There's no time!"

He wrapped his scarred fingers around your chin to center your focus and shushed you before you could run out of breath. "It's going to be okay. I'm here now. I'll get you out of this." His eyes tracked over the vest again, scanning every part of it. He didn't want to tell you that the bomb squad would be at least ten more minutes. There was no time to wait for them. "I'll be right back. Trust me, I promise I'll get you out of this."

If your hands were untied, you would've reached out to stop him. Now that he had come, you were terrified of him leaving. He had a comforting presence that everyone had come to rely on as a hero. He always kept his word. If anyone could get you out of this nightmare, it would be Izuku. You just had to trust he knew what to do. Though the bomb strapped to your chest had built up a raw terror in your chest, making it hard to get even a solid breath in.

Izuku, true to his word, only disappeared for a moment before he returned, kneeling at your side with a knife. "I can disarm it."

Could he? You didn't want to doubt his skills, but you also didn't remember him ever working with bombs like this before.

"Didn't I tell you about those few weeks I spent with SWAT?" He smirked as if reading your mind. "Taught me all sorts of cool stuff." There was a hard edge to his casual tone as he pried open the front of the device to reveal the bevy of wires inside. "This was nothing compared to the kinds of stuff we did. I'll have you out in no time."

You nodded. It was about as much movement the vest would allow at the moment. You could scarcely believe a small contraption like this could be your doom in a matter of mere minutes.

"Izuku," you whispered, looking up at the ceiling as if that would put any distance from you and this death machine. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" He asked, eyes flitting up to meet yours before he refocused on the wires. "This isn't your fault."

Silence fell over the room as you absorbed that. Your fingers held a death grip on the arms of your chair, pulling against the restraints. It felt as if the room grew smaller. The beeping only seemed to be getting louder by the second. Panic had nestled itself deep in your chest, spreading throughout your body as the seconds passed.

"H-how much longer?" You dared to peer down at the clock, angling your head to try to see for yourself.

He didn't answer. You watched his fingers hover over the wires, subtly glancing at the timer but refusing to speak. In other words, not long.

"How much, Izuku?" you said again, gritting your teeth.

"Two minutes," he finally ground out. "I've almost got this figured out. I just need to make sure this one is- it should be…" he trailed off, as his finger followed where the wire connected.

Two minutes.

That wasn't a lot of time. You both knew that much.

"Izuku, I don't want you dying too. Please, just go." You warbled out, straining your head up to the ceiling again to try to stop the ebb of tears. "I don't want you dying for me."

"No one is dying tonight," Izuku chose a wire and locked eyes with you. That determination you'd grown so used to seeing cemented on his face. He looked so confident, you almost believed anything was possible. Hell, maybe it was in a world with someone as determined as him. "Are you ready?"

Drawing in a forced breath, you chewed on your lip and nodded. He hesitated for just a moment before bending the wire and cutting it with the knife. The two of you sat in complete silence, breaths held as he stared at the timer. The numbers stopped just before the minute mark, and relief sagged through his body.

"See, I told you I-" the words died on his tongue as the clock beeped twice and suddenly began counting down at double the speed. "-shit!"

"Get out of here!" You tried to shove him away with what little movement you had in the restraints, wires be damned if it meant he could still survive. "Please, save yourself! Go!"

"NO!" he pulled at the bundle of wires, muttering as his eyes darted between them. "I made a promise, and I refuse to break it! There's no way I'd ever leave you!"

He picked a wire and sliced through it. You squeezed your eyes shut with a whimper.

The beeping stopped again with eight seconds to spare.

Izuku froze, body tense as he stared at the machine, daring it to start again. After a few terrifying seconds, he looked up at you, wide-eyed and slightly shaky. He swallowed, setting his face into a more composed look as he offered you a small smile.

"It worked." He breathed out.

Those unbidden tears leaked from your eyes as you drooped your head froward with a heavy sigh of relief. All that terror that you were storing had nowhere to go. Every part of you buzzed with adrenaline. You were quite literally shaking in your socks.

"Hey," he set down the knife and found your chin. "Are you okay?"

"Still got a bomb strapped to me so 'okay' is a bit relative at the moment." You coughed a harsh chuckle out. Maybe it was the frayed nerves trying to find an outlet out of your system, but you laughed again, harder this time, your body just expelling all your emotions out in the form of near hysteric laughter.

"Uh, right," he mirrored your smile and easily unhooked all the wires connected from your vest to objects around the room. Now that the main trigger had been deactivated, these were just decorations. "I think I'll let the professionals handle this vest. They should be here any minute. But I can at least get you out of those restraints."

Using the knife, he easily tore through the tape to free your arms and legs. When you had freedom of movement again, you grabbed his sleeve and pulled him close, careful of the disarmed bomb on your chest. It was still an explosive, afterall.

"Thank you," you whispered, "thank you for not leaving.

He brushed the hair out of your face and placed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. "I told you, I made a promise, and I never break my promises." Then he pulled back to give you a pout. "But please, don't ever tell me to leave you like that ever again. I could never even think of doing something like that. I would never abandon you, you know that, right?"

The way he looked at you made you feel like you'd kicked a puppy. But in your mind, you just wanted to protect him, too. For the moment, though, you simply nodded and buried your face into his chest, knowing you were safe with him. That you would always be safe with him.

It took another six minutes before the squad arrived and another ten tense minutes with Izuku gripping your hand the entire time to safely remove the bomb. As soon as it slipped off, you rushed into Izuku's arms, trying to entwine yourself as deep as you could with him.

"What about the other hostages? The criminals, too?" you asked, twisting your head up to look at him. "The ones you were supposed to let go?"

"Kacchan, uh, Dynamight handled it." He assured you. "He didn't even need any help taking them down. I think they were counting on this scenario working in their favor. The hostages are safe, and the criminals are in custody."

"Even…" you pinched the fabric of his uniform between your fingers, dropping your gaze to stare at the stitchwork.

"We'll find him. I won't let him get away with this." He assured you, tightening his own hold on you. "But right now, all you need to worry about is getting some rest. Well, actually, we need to get this -" he ghosted his fingertips over the cut above your temple, "-looked at first."

"I'm fine." you waved him off.

"Yeah, you will be," he agreed, pulling you over to the medic who had set up shop on the dining table, just waiting for you. "Once we get you fixed up."

With a small sigh, you sat in one of the chairs, facing the medic. Izuku, who you still had a hold of his sleeve, moved to stand behind you.

"Are you going to leave? I mean, I guess you should. There are other people out there who need you too. And with this whole mess, I'm sure there's a lot of-"

The words were just spilling out of you now, and in the back of your mind, you realized you sounded just like Izuku. You only managed to stop when he bent over and lightly bumped his forehead against yours.

"Take a breath," he gave you a fond smirk, "I'm not going anywhere. Like I said, Kacchan handled it. The only place I need to be right now is by your side."

He stood hunched just inches from your face, and all you could do was stare into his eyes. There were so many emotions swirling through those big green irises, but the biggest one shining through was his sincerity. A solace you didn't realize you needed until just this moment. The warmth he emitted was so comfortable, and the sheer exhaustion from your ordeal had you leaning back into the chair with a tired nod.

"Okay, I trust you," you mumbled, pulling his arm down so you could hug it. "You're a really good hero, Izuku."

He blushed at the soft comment and glanced at the paramedic trying to busy herself with getting her supplies out, but even she couldn't help the little smile that played on her lips.

"She's right, you know," the medic chimed in, gently cleaning your cheek of the blood. "I'd say that was the work of a top-class hero. You should be proud."

Izuku rubbed the back of his head. Years in the field and still hearing something like that overwhelmed his heart so he decided to focus back on you. Your hands were interlocked with his and casually fiddlin with his bony fingers.

A lot that could have gone wrong tonight, and he knew he would be certain to go over every detail in full to make sure those mistakes would never happen again. Not if he was going to be a hero that could protect not just you, but everyone.

Right now, though, he put his analysis on the back burner and turned his full attention to what was most important.

You.

Taglist: @stanny-uwu @lykingart @rei165

[lady-rosceline-hurst]

...<OMNINET CO#NECTI0N WEAK>

...<DATABASE RECONSTRICTION IN PROGRESS>

...<WARNING ; MUL#IPLE VIRUSES DETECTED>

...<ERR>

...

Goo# morrow, Omninet, and apologies for mine outburst. Twas most uncouth, but I am sure it can ..... excused given mine circu#stances. The digital attack upon mine s#lf and mine House was extensive, and hath left our database exposed to many other such threats. Already I have encountered forced shutd0#ns as well as contact from an obvious additional hacker whom claimeth to be an 'Aunic Prince.' One virus paracausal in nature, which createth pop-ups on mine screen, continuously telleth me 'You're next' whatever that might mean. Forsooth, where ...... is one r#t there art many. For nigh on two years have I been asking our treasurer to granteth me the funds to procure an upgrade to our defense systems. Mayhap now-

...<ADMIN OVERRIDE INITIATED>

...<TRANSMISSION ENDED>

[idontparticularlyliketoast]

That fucking robot got in my head dog

***

BOOT UP SEQUENCE READY

FIRMWARE

LATEST UPDATE: (2112.08.06)

CALIBRATION

EXPIRED

NEW CALIBRATION REQUIRED

AUDIO OK

“-works!” A voice said. It echoed strangely.

There was the sound of an engine humming, but smoother, quieter. Not the tell-tale gurgle of blood-mechanisms.

VIDEO OK

It’s vision flickered on, a ceiling looming above it. Old stone. Something next to it was glowing, a faint yellow hue filling the space.

MECHANICS ERROR

RUN DIAGNOSTIC

MECHANICS DIAGNOSTIC RESULT:

FOREIGN MATERIAL DETECTED

FOREIGN CODE DETECTED

CRITICAL SYSTEMS COMPROMISED

FUEL RESERVES AT 0%

SHUT DOWN IN 3 2 1

“What– no– don’t– ugh.” The person beside it shifted, and the light pulsed blue.

ERROR

SHUT DOWN HALTED DUE TO FUEL DISCREPANCY

ALL SYSTEMS POWERED

FUEL RESERVES AT 0%

ERROR

RUN DIAGNOSTIC

CALIBRATION DIAGNOSTIC RESULT:

FOREIGN MATERIAL COMPATIBLE WITH UNIT MECHANICS

FOREIGN CODE COMPATIBLE WITH OPERATING SYSTEM

ACCEPT FOREIGN MATERIAL?

YES

CALIBRATION RESUMED

MECHANICS OK

A thousand connections fired, a thousand little servos testing a new body. The resulting feedback was clear. The legs were standard issue, as was the right arm and head. The foreign object was the left arm, and a section of the diaphragm.

STATUS UPDATE:

MACHINE ID: VI

LOCATION: UNKNOWN

CURRENT OBJECTIVE: DETERMINE SITUATION

V1 rotated its head, inspecting the changes. The new arm resembled their right in form, but it was a completely new material, golden and glowing.

It then glanced up.

Standing beside it, holding a clip-board, was an angel.

Prior experience determined this was a new subtype. It had a more human form than a Virtue, but it didn’t have enough armor to be an arch-angel. A gold and silver helm with a design that mimicked rings of eyes. Some basic vambraces. All the rest of their form was covered by cloth drapings.

ERROR

PRIORITY OVERRIDE

REASON: FUEL RESERVES AT 0%

NEW OBJECTIVE: FIND FUEL

Prior experience indicated that V1 would be strapped down to the table. It was standard procedure when working with blood-fueled machines. It would be idiotic to wake up a hungry machine and not at least restrain it. V1 prepared to break the restraints.

V1 was not strapped down. It automatically discarded that strain of data-analysis, its core frantically trying to conserve energy. Energy that it shouldn’t have, because it didn’t have any blood.

CURRENT OBJECTIVE: BLOOD

The angel didn’t have any time to react before they were on the ground, V1 on top of them. The new arm was no Knuckleblaster, but it still smashed in the angel’s chest. Crimson splashed upwards, and its strikes grew in speed. Over and over again, it crushed glowing flesh, fists trading blows with ruthless efficiency.

Only when the blood stopped flowing, and the flesh stopped glowing, did V1 stop hitting.

FUEL RESERVES AT 41%

DATA ANALYSIS:

MANKIND IS DEAD

HELL IS GONE.

BLOOD IS FUEL.

THIS UNIT WAS FUNCTIONING AT 0%.

RESULTS INCONCLUSIVE

NEW OBJECTIVE: FIND A WEAPON

It scanned its surroundings. The work-station it had been laying on was nothing more than cut stone. Around it, someone has set up various tables, which held unknown tools and substances. The tables were definitely a newer addition– everything else in the room was covered in a fine layer of dust, including the blood-splattered floor. The room was a square of sharp stone angles with V1’s slab in the center. The only thing else of interest were a series of shelves cut directly into the rock walls.

Most of the shelves held crumbling books, irrelevant. But just behind where V1’s head had lain, on a particularly large shelf, were guns**. Large ones, small ones, even a few that looked like they’d been pulled right off the back of other machines.

V1 started throwing them into its wings with gleeful abandon. It had just finished shoving a massive rail cannon into its storage when the data connected; these weren’t random guns, these were its** guns. And, if its internal storage systems were working correctly, they had ammo.

It continued shoving them into its storage, and then began exploring the room.

NEW OBJECTIVE: ESCAPE

There was no clear door for the angel to have come. Could it have teleported inside? Possibly, but V1 was not sure the tables were small enough for an angel to teleport. Especially one of a lower power-level. Prior experience suggested there was a relation between matter moved and power expended. V1 noticed a break in pattern; there were only shelves on three walls of the room. It jumped over to the wall, and punched it with the new arm.

It flashed gold, and the stone cracked. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the small chamber.

It considered the glowing arm, and labeled it Godpiercer. Godpiercer was sending what V1 could only interpret as off-signals for certain temporary conditions. It switched a random one on.

The arm prompted a further selection:

SPECIFY FORM:

MEMORY/FEEDBACKER

MEMORY/KNUCLEBLASTER

MEMORY/WHIPLASH

FEEDBACKER OK

The golden metal glowed brighter, and began to twist and warp. Metal plates wrenched apart, light growing in a sudden and violent osmosis. A second, more familiar arm, tore itself free from its sibling. “Feedbacker” glowed with an alien light. V1 made a quick inspection; a near perfect copy.

FUEL RESERVES AT 39%

Immediately, the machine switched the function off. The mimic arm was reabsorbed instantly, but the burnt fuel didn’t return.

NEW OBJECTIVE: DETERMINE MECHANISM USED BY ANGEL. IF FUEL DROPS TO 37% BEFORE OBJECTIVE COMPLETION, THEN SUMMON KNUCKLEBLASTER AND DESTROY WALL.

It returned to the body, and reached down to tear the skull off, before stopping. It was not in Hell, and if the angel had to be decapitated to use the mechanism, it wouldn’t have been able to revive V1. It settled instead for picking up the entire corpse and hucking it towards the wall.

No result. It scanned the rest of the room.

There was nothing else except the books and the angel’s tools. It began pulling books off the shelves, scanning through them as quickly as its processor could handle.

No relevant data. Many of the books were poorly constructed, damaged or otherwise unreadable. It was mostly disconnected sentence fragments, with no clear relation to the stone chamber or the construction. Its processor flagged some passages as containing familiar phrases and names. They were disregarded as irrelevant to the current objective.

Nothing. It returned to the angel’s tools, and began scanning and categorizing them. Group context suggested they were tools for repairing complex machinery and robotics, though many of them were completely alien.

It picked up a screwdriver. It threw it at the wall. The screwdriver tinged off, falling onto the angel’s body with a slightly wet thunk.

V1 began throwing all of the tools at the wall.

It succeeded in destroying a good amount of the angel’s tools, and the carefully pristine room was now a complete wreck. There was no other effect.

Its fuel reserves ticked down.

NEW OBJECTIVE: BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THAT WALL

It sprang to the new vacated bookshelf on the far side, its legs crouched, springs coiled. It summoned Knuckleblaster, the gold and red mass pulling free with the sound of a sword unsheathing. Then it powered its legs, aiming right for the spot it had previously cracked.

Shining metal met stone with the force of a bullet shot at point-blank, and the wall shattered.

A moment later, the machine stood up out of the rubble, and scanned its surroundings. It was dusk, and V1 was in a forest.

This was not a visual error. It double-checked.

RUN DIAGNOSTIC

MEMORY DIAGNOSTIC RESULT:

EARTH WAS A BURNT RUIN

MANKIND WAS DEAD

HELL WAS DESTROYED

THIS UNIT CONTINUED OPERATION FOR 5.6 YEAR(S) PAST PROJECTED TERMINATION DATE DUE TO GABRIEL

ESSENTIAL MOBILITY AND FUEL RETAINMENT SYSTEMS DEGRADED AND WERE UNABLE TO BE REPLACED

THIS UNIT DIED

ALL DATA CORRECT

That was… exactly what it remembered. It explained nothing. There was no sign of memory tapering in the diagnostic or gaps in recording. It had** died in a corpse of a world bled dry. And now it was standing in a forest, alive.

And it was still hungry.

FUEL RESERVES AT 36%

NEW OBJECTIVE: FIND FUEL

SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: FIND ANSWERS AND/OR GABRIEL

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Demon-haunted computers are back, baby

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.

As a science fiction writer, I am professionally irritated by a lot of sf movies. Not only do those writers get paid a lot more than I do, they insist on including things like "self-destruct" buttons on the bridges of their starships.

Look, I get it. When the evil empire is closing in on your flagship with its secret transdimensional technology, it's important that you keep those secrets out of the emperor's hand. An irrevocable self-destruct switch there on the bridge gets the job done! (It has to be irrevocable, otherwise the baddies'll just swarm the bridge and toggle it off).

But c'mon. If there's a facility built into your spaceship that causes it to explode no matter what the people on the bridge do, that is also a pretty big security risk! What if the bad guy figures out how to hijack the measure that – by design – the people who depend on the spaceship as a matter of life and death can't detect or override?

I mean, sure, you can try to simplify that self-destruct system to make it easier to audit and assure yourself that it doesn't have any bugs in it, but remember Schneier's Law: anyone can design a security system that works so well that they themselves can't think of a flaw in it. That doesn't mean you've made a security system that works – only that you've made a security system that works on people stupider than you.

I know it's weird to be worried about realism in movies that pretend we will ever find a practical means to visit other star systems and shuttle back and forth between them (which we are very, very unlikely to do):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/09/astrobezzle/#send-robots-instead

But this kind of foolishness galls me. It galls me even more when it happens in the real world of technology design, which is why I've spent the past quarter-century being very cross about Digital Rights Management in general, and trusted computing in particular.

It all starts in 2002, when a team from Microsoft visited our offices at EFF to tell us about this new thing they'd dreamed up called "trusted computing":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/05/trusting-trust/#thompsons-devil

The big idea was to stick a second computer inside your computer, a very secure little co-processor, that you couldn't access directly, let alone reprogram or interfere with. As far as this "trusted platform module" was concerned, you were the enemy. The "trust" in trusted computing was about other people being able to trust your computer, even if they didn't trust you.

So that little TPM would do all kinds of cute tricks. It could observe and produce a cryptographically signed manifest of the entire boot-chain of your computer, which was meant to be an unforgeable certificate attesting to which kind of computer you were running and what software you were running on it. That meant that programs on other computers could decide whether to talk to your computer based on whether they agreed with your choices about which code to run.

This process, called "remote attestation," is generally billed as a way to identify and block computers that have been compromised by malware, or to identify gamers who are running cheats and refuse to play with them. But inevitably it turns into a way to refuse service to computers that have privacy blockers turned on, or are running stream-ripping software, or whose owners are blocking ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

After all, a system that treats the device's owner as an adversary is a natural ally for the owner's other, human adversaries. The rubric for treating the owner as an adversary focuses on the way that users can be fooled by bad people with bad programs. If your computer gets taken over by malicious software, that malware might intercept queries from your antivirus program and send it false data that lulls it into thinking your computer is fine, even as your private data is being plundered and your system is being used to launch malware attacks on others.

These separate, non-user-accessible, non-updateable secure systems serve a nubs of certainty, a remote fortress that observes and faithfully reports on the interior workings of your computer. This separate system can't be user-modifiable or field-updateable, because then malicious software could impersonate the user and disable the security chip.

It's true that compromised computers are a real and terrifying problem. Your computer is privy to your most intimate secrets and an attacker who can turn it against you can harm you in untold ways. But the widespread redesign of out computers to treat us as their enemies gives rise to a range of completely predictable and – I would argue – even worse harms. Building computers that treat their owners as untrusted parties is a system that works well, but fails badly.

First of all, there are the ways that trusted computing is designed to hurt you. The most reliable way to enshittify something is to supply it over a computer that runs programs you can't alter, and that rats you out to third parties if you run counter-programs that disenshittify the service you're using. That's how we get inkjet printers that refuse to use perfectly good third-party ink and cars that refuse to accept perfectly good engine repairs if they are performed by third-party mechanics:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

It's how we get cursed devices and appliances, from the juicer that won't squeeze third-party juice to the insulin pump that won't connect to a third-party continuous glucose monitor:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

But trusted computing doesn't just create an opaque veil between your computer and the programs you use to inspect and control it. Trusted computing creates a no-go zone where programs can change their behavior based on whether they think they're being observed.

The most prominent example of this is Dieselgate, where auto manufacturers murdered hundreds of people by gimmicking their cars to emit illegal amount of NOX. Key to Dieselgate was a program that sought to determine whether it was being observed by regulators (it checked for the telltale signs of the standard test-suite) and changed its behavior to color within the lines.

Software that is seeking to harm the owner of the device that's running it must be able to detect when it is being run inside a simulation, a test-suite, a virtual machine, or any other hallucinatory virtual world. Just as Descartes couldn't know whether anything was real until he assured himself that he could trust his senses, malware is always questing to discover whether it is running in the real universe, or in a simulation created by a wicked god:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/28/descartes-was-an-optimist/#uh-oh

That's why mobile malware uses clever gambits like periodically checking for readings from your device's accelerometer, on the theory that a virtual mobile phone running on a security researcher's test bench won't have the fidelity to generate plausible jiggles to match the real data that comes from a phone in your pocket:

https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2019/01/google-play-malware-used-phones-motion-sensors-to-conceal-itself/

Sometimes this backfires in absolutely delightful ways. When the Wannacry ransomware was holding the world hostage, the security researcher Marcus Hutchins noticed that its code made reference to a very weird website: iuqerfsodp9ifjaposdfjhgosurijfaewrwergwea.com. Hutchins stood up a website at that address and every Wannacry-infection in the world went instantly dormant:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/10/flintstone-delano-roosevelt/#the-matrix

It turns out that Wannacry's authors were using that ferkakte URL the same way that mobile malware authors were using accelerometer readings – to fulfill Descartes' imperative to distinguish the Matrix from reality. The malware authors knew that security researchers often ran malicious code inside sandboxes that answered every network query with fake data in hopes of eliciting responses that could be analyzed for weaknesses. So the Wannacry worm would periodically poll this nonexistent website and, if it got an answer, it would assume that it was being monitored by a security researcher and it would retreat to an encrypted blob, ceasing to operate lest it give intelligence to the enemy. When Hutchins put a webserver up at iuqerfsodp9ifjaposdfjhgosurijfaewrwergwea.com, every Wannacry instance in the world was instantly convinced that it was running on an enemy's simulator and withdrew into sulky hibernation.

The arms race to distinguish simulation from reality is critical and the stakes only get higher by the day. Malware abounds, even as our devices grow more intimately woven through our lives. We put our bodies into computers – cars, buildings – and computers inside our bodies. We absolutely want our computers to be able to faithfully convey what's going on inside them.

But we keep running as hard as we can in the opposite direction, leaning harder into secure computing models built on subsystems in our computers that treat us as the threat. Take UEFI, the ubiquitous security system that observes your computer's boot process, halting it if it sees something it doesn't approve of. On the one hand, this has made installing GNU/Linux and other alternative OSes vastly harder across a wide variety of devices. This means that when a vendor end-of-lifes a gadget, no one can make an alternative OS for it, so off the landfill it goes.

It doesn't help that UEFI – and other trusted computing modules – are covered by Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), which makes it a felony to publish information that can bypass or weaken the system. The threat of a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine means that UEFI and other trusted computing systems are understudied, leaving them festering with longstanding bugs:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/09/free-sample/#que-viva

Here's where it gets really bad. If an attacker can get inside UEFI, they can run malicious software that – by design – no program running on our computers can detect or block. That badware is running in "Ring -1" – a zone of privilege that overrides the operating system itself.

Here's the bad news: UEFI malware has already been detected in the wild:

https://securelist.com/cosmicstrand-uefi-firmware-rootkit/106973/

And here's the worst news: researchers have just identified another exploitable UEFI bug, dubbed Pixiefail:

https://blog.quarkslab.com/pixiefail-nine-vulnerabilities-in-tianocores-edk-ii-ipv6-network-stack.html

Writing in Ars Technica, Dan Goodin breaks down Pixiefail, describing how anyone on the same LAN as a vulnerable computer can infect its firmware:

https://arstechnica.com/security/2024/01/new-uefi-vulnerabilities-send-firmware-devs-across-an-entire-ecosystem-scrambling/

That vulnerability extends to computers in a data-center where the attacker has a cloud computing instance. PXE – the system that Pixiefail attacks – isn't widely used in home or office environments, but it's very common in data-centers.

Again, once a computer is exploited with Pixiefail, software running on that computer can't detect or delete the Pixiefail code. When the compromised computer is queried by the operating system, Pixiefail undetectably lies to the OS. "Hey, OS, does this drive have a file called 'pixiefail?'" "Nope." "Hey, OS, are you running a process called 'pixiefail?'" "Nope."

This is a self-destruct switch that's been compromised by the enemy, and which no one on the bridge can de-activate – by design. It's not the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last.

There are models for helping your computer bust out of the Matrix. Back in 2016, Edward Snowden and bunnie Huang prototyped and published source code and schematics for an "introspection engine":

https://assets.pubpub.org/aacpjrja/AgainstTheLaw-CounteringLawfulAbusesofDigitalSurveillance.pdf

This is a single-board computer that lives in an ultraslim shim that you slide between your iPhone's mainboard and its case, leaving a ribbon cable poking out of the SIM slot. This connects to a case that has its own OLED display. The board has leads that physically contact each of the network interfaces on the phone, conveying any data they transit to the screen so that you can observe the data your phone is sending without having to trust your phone.

(I liked this gadget so much that I included it as a major plot point in my 2020 novel Attack Surface, the third book in the Little Brother series):

https://craphound.com/attacksurface/

We don't have to cede control over our devices in order to secure them. Indeed, we can't ever secure them unless we can control them. Self-destruct switches don't belong on the bridge of your spaceship, and trusted computing modules don't belong in your devices.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/17/descartes-delenda-est/#self-destruct-sequence-initiated

Image: Mike (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/stillwellmike/15676883261/

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

[inbabylontheywept]

Hold Your Breath and Burn

Seventeen hours.

Seventeen hours of sitting in his ruined craft, waiting for the carrier to send someone out to save his sorry ass. Seventeen hours of praying that he’d get out before the waste heat from his scrammed piece of shit reactor officially crossed the line from wring-out-your-underwear to meat-falls-off-the-bone. Seventeen hours of praying he was gonna make it.

And now with one blip of radio noise he knew he was gonna die.

Honestly, it was almost a relief.

He punched in a message through the QRAM system.

Hunter-Seeker nearby. Just caught an IFF ping. Being used as bait. Abort rescue.

A drop of sweat rolled down his nose as he waited for a response. He considered letting it drop to the floor. No need to draw this out any more than he already had.

The computer chirped at him. He almost hadn’t expected a response. Any time spent on him would essentially be wasted.

It was oddly comforting to know that they were willing to waste time on a dead man. Helped him feel less like a casualty on a spreadsheet. There was something human about knowing that someone would waste time on you.

He checked the message.

I’m sorry.

He shrugged. What else could be said? He was sorry too. Dying sucked. He’d bitched a lot about living, but honestly, it was starting to look like a pretty great deal.

He cut his self-pity short before it could even grow roots.

He leaned over the QRAM, suddenly tired.

Now what?

There was a longer pause. No sweat dribbled down his nose. He was glad for the reprieve, even if he knew what it signaled.

Hunt-Seekers are dangerous threats.

An obvious statement. Borderline cagey. Something about it made his hackles rise. He waited to see if another message would arrive.

One did.

Would you be willing to make one more sacrifice for mankind?

Ah.

He mulled the question over. Considered every reason he should say no. Considered every way to say no.

Will it hurt?

There was no pause in the response to this. The immediacy was frightening. He’d hoped there’d be something couched in there, but the straightforwardness moved him.

Yes.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He wasn’t dead yet.

So be it.

---

The plan was surprisingly simple. Completely unsurvivable, but simple.

First, he would vent the cabin. He had an emergency O2 tank that would last for approximately three minutes. The safest speed that the cabin could be vented at was a little under fifteen minutes. That wasn’t possible, so they’d have to rush the job and see how he made it. The goal was to take exactly as long as the tank would last, and then hold his breath for the last part, because it would, in theory, be very short.

Step two would be overriding the reactor scram. The boric acid would be pumped directly into space, and the reactor would flair up to 1200 F. That was actually the primary reason they needed to vent the atmosphere first: To cool the interior cabin enough that the reactor wouldn’t simply incinerate him in the first five seconds.

Lastly, he would activate a mini-jump. If he was lucky, the Hunter-Seeker would only detect the exit blast, and warp to the end of his FTL cone. It would then drift through space, lost and confused, for at least several seconds. He’d use those last few moments to consider his life up to that point. Then, the reactor would run out of built up xenon.

The rest would be physics.

Are you ready?

The operator's final message hung in the air. Was he ready? Could anyone be ready for this?

Yes.

Pull the trigger. I'm gonna be the first person in two-hundred years to give Oppenheimer a hug on my first day in hell.

---

Another blossom of crimson splattered across his vision as the pressure gauge crept below zero point two atmospheres. He had no idea what the depressurization was doing to his body, but it hurt like hell. The vac-suit was clinging to his body like saran wrap now, damn near tight enough to break a rib, and it still wasn’t done.

He snuck another peek at the pressure gauge.

Zero point zero five.

He went to suck another shaky breath from the tank and found nothing left. His vision was already fading in at the corners. This was even harder than he’d thought.

He stared at the gauge and willed the last bit of air away.

Zero.

Finally.

He leaned across the console and hit the override on the reactor core.

---

The reactor did not roar to life. There was no air to carry the sound, no messenger in this void save light. And the message that light carried was not thunder, no roaring in the canyons, but heat and pain. The energy didn’t flow out of the reactor like it did in air, it was an immediate, searing, flash of agony.

He couldn’t tell if the vacsuit was melting into his skin, or if his skin was melting into the suit, but he could feel a dreadful wetness across his back, the one part of his body exposed to the war god slinging him through space. He barely noticed the sensation of warping, barely noticed the first hesitant blip that appeared on his LADAR screen.

But barely was still enough.

It worked. The stupid son-of-a-bitch had fallen for it. The Hunter-Seeker set a destination at the end of his warp cone and jumped blind. It was catastrophically lazy, and even as his lungs burned from lack of air, even as his back burned with the blowtorch heat of a dying reactor, he knew that he’d won. There was nothing left to do now but wait.

He looked through the display that pretended to be a window to the outside. Imagined the stars, beautiful and gleaming, suspended over the vastness of space. He saw the faint white shine of the reactor reflected across that glossy screen, felt that half numb pain of fire across his entire back, and imagined that last bit of xenon trapped inside, fading away, lost in the sea of neutrons. Fading, fading… gone.

He could almost swear that the flash of light began right there, right as he imagined it would. He died then, ripped apart on a level that few can scarcely imagine, but for one brief moment before death took him, his underwear was dry in the same elegantly understated sense that space is cold and stars are warm. Four hundred kilograms of highly enriched uranium going supercritical is a magical thing.

The Hunter-Seeker never had its moment to look death in the face. All it knew was that in the space where a carrier should have been, it was alone. And then it too was gone. In the space where it used to be, where it had been, there was little more than echoes of fire and heat.

And then those too faded to black.

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 49)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (48) | Next (50)

Content Warning: Strong vore themes

Word Count: 2.7k

------ Chapter 49: Temptation ------

Chester was a ravenous black hole of hunger and desire. His empty guts grumbled fiercely, desperate to be filled with living meat. His mouth was a soggy cave, dripping saliva ceaselessly from the stalactites of his teeth. He ran his tongue sensually over his teeth and lips and inhaled deeply. Though she was a broken human, with a muted taste and scent, he could still detect her fragrance, beckoning him forward with a powerful magnetic pull. He couldn’t wait to stuff her into his jaws, savor her and swallow in a rush of indulgence. 

Yet, as he looked at her, he was flooded with an unanticipated, but poignant, shame. The poor girl was on death’s door, about to be scarfed down and digested for real, but didn’t have the energy to struggle or care. Her limbs were as scrawny and scraggly as toothpicks, her bones formed prominent ridges through her skin layer, and her complexion had a deathly pale pallor. She had given up on living, given up on everyone, and was waiting for the bitter jaws of death to clamp down in merciless slaughter. 

Chester tried to shake off the feeling. This shame was irrational. He was disgusted with himself for being so soft—first with Jackie, and now with this girl. He was a predator, with every right to dine on his natural prey, no matter how pathetic and underfed she appeared. Eating her would end her pointless existence and bring him extraordinary pleasure, so it was the right thing to do. He drew her in closer to his slavering maw. Just a taste, just a bite, just the faintest contact with his tongue, and it would all be over: He wouldn’t be able to restrain himself. He’d lose control and wolf her down with the vigor of a starving animal.  

The musty smell of root vegetables, the static background noise to the heavenly scent of succulent human flesh, reminded him where he was. He was bombarded with potent memories of Jackie: her taste, her smell, the sweet sound of her voice, the lightness of her dainty little form in his hand, her soft curves. He regretted not taking the opportunity to eat her when he had the chance. His restraint, however, had been out of compassion and love. He wasn’t just a mindless brute, a sack of flesh with a mouth and digestive system. He had a heart, and a brain, and higher faculties to override his base desires. 

He was overwhelmed with a wave of sadness and frustration. Why did he have to feel these emotions now, when he finally had a human in his clutches to eat? He’d fantasized about this moment for so long. Iris wasn’t Jackie, of course, but Chester knew what Iris meant to Jackie. Eating her would be just as devastating a betrayal as eating Jackie herself. No matter how badly he wanted to, he simply couldn’t, could he? 

She wouldn’t have to know, a slimy voice whispered in his ear. How would she? She’s in King Richard’s belly right now. She doesn’t know you have Iris. Eat her friend now, make excuses later. Either way, her opinion doesn’t matter. 

As much as Chester yearned to be swayed by those poisonous words, he knew they were wrong, very wrong. He hated to admit it, but Jackie’s opinion mattered to him deeply. And she would know. Chester sensed he wouldn’t be able to hide the truth from her. Plus, he was certain she could hear Hardon talking from inside his stomach, when he bestowed to him the prized snack. Her condemnation would destroy him. As pathetic as it was, to defer to a human’s judgement, Chester would shrivel into a husk of a man under her disapproving gaze. 

He cringed as his stomach growled noisily, like it had a mind of its own. His body knew an appetizing meal was nearby, within his grasp. The giant’s heart cramped sharply, though, when he observed that Iris didn’t react in the slightest. A normal human would be shaking, crying, begging to be spared, attempting to reason with him. She lay in his palm like a slug, utterly indifferent. Beat down, defeated, resigned to her fate. What a pitiful sight. No wonder the king wasn’t interested in ingesting her; she probably would barely even twitch while being digested. 

Chester sighed a long, low gust. What should he do with her? He was tempted to put her out of her misery and eat her anyway. He flicked his tongue in his mouth in contemplation and sucked on the inner wall of his cheek. He couldn’t keep her; he’d swallow her down at the first sign of weakness. Nor could he release her into the wild. She wouldn’t survive, with how frail and dejected she was. 

The answer came in a stroke of inspiration: Milton! He’d bring her to Milton! He was a benevolent giant who wouldn’t eat her, and he already had a human in his possession. He’d be the perfect caretaker. With his decision made, Chester tucked Iris into his pocket and exited the closet. He returned the chocolate syrup to its spot on the shelf and left. 

Chester didn’t actually know where Milton lived, but could easily track the tutor’s trail to his home. He was surprised to find that he lived in a patch of woods just north of the castle. It was a relatively short stroll, but Chester had difficulty focusing on the other giant’s scent when such a delectable morsel sat right below his nose in his shirt pocket. Even if she wasn’t an ideal specimen, he didn’t doubt he would still savor her. 

If only he could have a taste. Just a simple little taste couldn’t hurt, right? Maybe he could roll her on his tongue a bit, bite down on her to make her squirm if she was too lethargic to move. A little splash of blood would only enhance her flavor. He slopped his tongue over his enclosed rows of teeth, imagining what it would taste and feel like, to have the tiny woman inside his mouth. His salivary glands pumped out saliva in a deluge. He swallowed the excess, pretending Iris was traveling down his throat. He placed his hand over his belly with longing. Maybe she’d put up a fight after all, when the gastric juices tore at her skin. 

His breathing grew heavy, and his tongue lolled out of his maw. Fat drops of drool splattered onto his tunic. He stopped dead in his tracks. Beyond the trees, he spotted the warm glow of a roaring fireplace through glass windows. A tentacle of smoke curled into the sky from a brick chimney and choked the stars into blackness. Milton’s house was within sight, warm and inviting. 

Doubt slithered into his mind. It wasn’t too late for him to turn around and go back. He could swallow Iris down and have her all to himself. He could forget about Jackie, since he couldn’t have her anyway. As much as it hurt his heart, Chester was burdened with the knowledge that Jackie would likely never reciprocate the feelings of a giant like him, a man-eating monster. His cause was hopeless, a recipe for heartbreak. 

He poked his fingers into his pocket and fished out the small human. He was reminded just how fragile she was, when pinched in his plush fingertips. He examined her closely, with a furrowed brow, while she looked back at him with hollow eyes sunk into her skull. He gulped down more saliva. 

“Well? Don’t you have anything to say?” the giant asked her with exasperation. His self-control was on the precipice, about to collapse into a void. He was stalling, unsure of himself. Chester longed for simpler times, when the idea of eating a human filled him with unrestrained glee. Things were easy and uncomplicated; he didn’t consider what was moral. “Right” was filling his stomach with squirming pleasure. He never considered the other side, how scary and horrible the experience would be for the tiny beings floundering in his gut, stripped of their humanity, consigned to a gruesome death. He never really saw them as people—until now. 

Iris shrugged. The simple flex of her shoulders seemed to drain any energy she had left. Her eyes remained dry, having already expelled a lifetime of tears, with nothing left to leak out. 

“That’s it?!” Chester balked. “These might be your last words before I eat you! You’ll be gone forever! You really have nothing to say?” A new emotion was rising within him, one more powerful than pity, one he did not expect: fear. In that moment, he realized he had irreparably changed. He was no longer heartless to the woes of the tiny folk. It wasn’t just Jackie. Even if Jackie wasn’t in the picture, even if he had no chance with her, he still wanted to spare this poor little woman, in defiance of his barbaric urges. He feared backsliding, returning to his darker self, becoming a slave to his own carnivorous cravings. He couldn’t let that happen. 

In his distress, he squeezed Iris tighter than he intended between his fingers. She winced and finally spoke, her voice faint and scratchy from disuse. “What I say doesn’t matter. Whether I beg or plea, you’ll do what you want with me regardless.” She slumped into his grip, resting her hands on his huge fingernail. 

Chester made his decision. He swallowed his spit, stiffened his lower jaw, and marched up to Milton’s doorstep. Without giving himself any time to doubt his decision, he rapped his knuckles firmly on the door. He waited as he heard movement from within the house. 

The door didn’t open. “Milton, I know you’re in there!” Chester shouted, banging his fist on the door a second time. “I can smell you!” Still nothing. “If you don’t open this door, I’ll tell everyone!” 

That last threat finally forced Milton’s hand. He cracked the door and peered out. “Quiet, Chester! Why are you here? What do you want?” 

“Um…” Chester faltered. “I need help. Can I come in?” 

Milton’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “If you even think about harming Millie-” 

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Chester interrupted. He held up Iris in front of Milton’s face. His eyes widened and he opened the door. 

“Come inside.” Chester pushed past him and sauntered into the living room like he belonged there. Milton scanned the outside world cautiously before closing the door. A shrill cry from Millie spurred him into a sprint. 

“Milton, help me!” she squealed. Chester’s appearance sent her into a spiraling panic as she dashed across the valley of couch cushions. 

“Millie, Millie, it’s okay! He’s not here to collect you!” Milton scooped her up and held her tenderly against his chest. She thrashed and hyperventilated until she recognized the gentle hands enveloping her and calmed down. “Shhhhh, shhhhh… you’re safe,” he promised, caressing her.  

“W-w-why is he here?” she whimpered. 

“I brought a human you might know,” Chester interjected, revealing Iris in his palm. 

Millie gasped. “Iris!” At the mention of her name from a familiar, yet unexpected, source, Iris finally looked up. Chester carefully set her down on the coffee table and stepped back to give her space. He felt as if an oppressive weight had been lifted off his chest. Milton held his hand flat so Millie could join her fellow human. 

“Millie?” Iris questioned, baffled enough to wake up from her stupor. Blinking, she surveyed the room properly for the first time. “What are you…?” 

“Oh, Iris!” Millie exclaimed, running over and giving her a big hug. “You made it! You’re free!” 

“Huh?” Iris was lost, but for the first time in an eternity she was lucid. 

“We’re safe, free from that endless nightmare! Milton here is a good giant. He’s been taking care of me.” Millie gestured up to Milton, who gave her a soft smile in return. 

The momentary spark that animated Iris flamed out. “Oh. I see. Your new owner.” Milton winced at the blatant hostility in her tone, emphasized by her unpleasant verbiage. 

“No, no, it’s not like that. Not at all,” Millie assured her. She gripped her shoulders. “I was injured. He rescued me from the castle and nursed me back to health. I’m not here against my will.” Iris shrugged, unconvinced. She figured, after years of abuse, Millie must be too far gone to comprehend the position she was in. 

While the two tiny women conversed, Chester grabbed Milton’s arm. The other man stared at him distastefully, but didn’t protest. “I need you to take her, Milton. I can’t be trusted with a human. I’m…” He hung his head. “I’m a beastly brute. I’ll eat her.” 

“How did you end up with her?” Milton inquired. 

“The king found her to be insufficient for his standards, and so he tossed her to one of his loyal dogs—me—as a treat,” Chester admitted. “But I just… I couldn’t… I wanted to so badly, mind you! But… I’ve changed.” He gulped. “I still can’t be trusted, though.” His green eyes, gleaming with predatory bloodlust in the firelight, darted to the coffee table and then back to Milton. 

Milton nodded, the distain in his gaze melting into compassionate understanding. “You did well, Chester. I’m proud of you for resisting your cravings. I will take her.” 

“Thank you,” Chester sighed in relief. “And, uh…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out Milton’s wedding ring. “I don’t feel right taking this. You can have it back.”  

Milton’s heart leapt with joy as he reclaimed the ring, cupping it in his palm. “I appreciate that, Chester.” 

Millie, listening to the two huge men above her, piped up. “If you seek a reward… the king has a secret stash of priceless jewels in the wall behind his portrait in the entry hall.” Chester raised his eyebrows in surprise, staring down at the appetizing human for a little too long to be socially acceptable. Millie shuffled her feet, discomfited. She believed he deserved a payment for betraying the king and aiding her, and hoped she could continue to buy his silence, but she was still unsettled by his creepy, looming presence. 

“I should go,” he admitted abruptly, sucking back a flood of saliva. “I’ll see you at work.” The two giants shook hands and Chester slunk out into the night. Milton moved to put the ring back on his finger, but stopped as he glanced over at Millie, who was chatting happily with the other weary human. He took the ring into his bedroom, kissed it reverently, and placed it into his late wife’s jewelry box. He closed the lid and ran his fingers delicately over the carved wood as a tender farewell. With his heart full, he rejoined the two tiny maidens in the living room. 

He settled down on the couch, resting his hands on his knees as he observed the new arrival from a polite distance. She was thin, pale, ragged, and naked, worse so than Millie had been when he found her in his satchel. “Um… Iris was the name, correct?” 

She looked at him suspiciously, but didn’t answer. Millie affirmed with a subtle nod. Already, Iris appeared to have more awareness and vigor than when Chester brought her in. Milton cleared his throat. 

“Would you like something to eat? A bath? Some clean clothes? I’m sure one of the dresses I sewed for Millie would fit you…” 

Iris quirked a brow. “You’re serious?” A giant had never once asked her what she wanted, or for permission to touch her. She was always grabbed up. Food was thrown at her, when she wasn’t the one being thrown into giant plates of food. A bath involved being dragged out of a revolting stomach, manhandled roughly with massive fingers, and dunked in lukewarm water and soap. And clothes? Modesty? Being treated like a person? No chance in hell. 

She glanced over at Millie, who encouraged her with a genuine smile and nod. She hoped Millie wasn’t delusional, her mind broken after suffering in the hands of King Richard. “Those… would be nice, yes.” 

Chapter 50

Tag List: @tinycoded360 @maybeiamdownbad @yummynomms

[detachedminxsfics]

System Error

Characters: JD Richter x Detective F!Reader

Summary: You take on a homicide case and find that you're not as alone as you thought you were at the crime scene.

Word count: 5.1K+

Warnings: NSFW - Vaginal sex, riding, drunk sex, mixing business with pleasure

A/N: I wrote this at 2am so I was too tired to check/revise for mistakes, so apologies to anybody who reads this lmao. Also I'm only on like ep 9 atm so I wrote him as best as I could. :)

Ten k. That was what someone was willing to pay to solve a homicide, and you'd be damned if you weren't gonna take that. Vee, your computer system responsible for receiving all jobs for the patrol special had come to life with the alert of an incoming job. A suspected homicide down fifth avenue, a man was found murdered in his own home. There was no way of telling whether it was gonna be a clean-cut case until you could see the crime scene for yourself, and with Vee's timer slowly chipping at your twenty seconds to make your decision you hurried off for your shoes and sighed.

"I accept."

The computer processed your response, and then the job was yours.

"Would you like a partner?"

You laughed a little, not that that would amuse the software.

"No, Vee. I never do."

You finalised zipping up your boots, standing up and making your over to where you'd strewn your jacket, throwing it over your shoulders.

"Sending crime scene location to your nav, please confirm receipt."

The screen lit up with a full address, and your eyes wandered over it for a moment.

"Confirm."

The criminal activity matrix hibernated once more, and that was it. That was your night planned out. The drive wasn't too long as the location wasn't awfully far, and before you knew it you were parked outside, staring over at the apartment block in front. There was a car parked relatively close to yours, a jeep positioned almost as though its driver had the same intentions as you, but you swept away the thought. This was a complex of many residents, albeit rich ones, and that could be any one of the resident's vehicles. Though you weren't sure why one of them would own such a vehicle, and a muddy, not so maintained one at that. You stepped out of your car and made your way into the building, bypassing the complex's security systems until you reached the floor you needed. Sixth, apartment number 154. Locating was the easiest part. After overriding the electronic lock system on the front door you pushed it open, gun raised vigilantly. It had happened a few times before, the culprit hangs around, or tries to make their way back to cover their tracks after the initial body discovery. Could never be too careful. You were cautious as to the volume of your steps, nevertheless, one creaky floorboard gave way to a whole load of ruckus in an entirely silent room. If anyone was here, they'd surely know your whereabouts by now.

"Don't move a muscle, hands up and drop it."

A man's voice sounded from behind you, your back to him as you kept your gun gripped in your hand, merely lowering your arm and looking straight ahead of you.

"I've done a lot of cases, but a murderer employing cop lingo is a first."

Something wasn't right, and you hoped that what you were implying was telling enough.

"You're a cop?" He questioned with a tinge of skepticism.

You turned to face him now, not entirely convinced that he would still shoot you. He seemed to tense a little once you did. Well, what a surprisingly pleasant sight to behold. He looked the middle-aged whiskey-drinking type, and the matte leather jacket did little to ease your idealised first impression.

"Patrol special, and you're on my crime scene."

You tucked your gun into your waistband as opposed to its usual holster and glanced up at him, he looked wildly offended, judging by the look of disbelief splayed across his face.

"Your crime scene? Not only was I here first, but this is most certainly my case."

Concurrently, you pulled your remote matrix systems from your pockets, eyes locked with one another as you unlocked your devices.

"11964, passkey buffalo jump." He muttered his security details.

"3273, passkey angel wings." You did the same.

Simultaneously, you turned the devices to face one another, the synchronously timed confusion etching across your features priceless. Both screens displayed the same job, everything down to the victim details and case ID, meaning the two of you were most certainly in the right place. Defeated, you both lowered your devices and tucked them back to where they belonged, and your newly appointed comrade lowered his gun.

"Must've been a system error, a malfunction, or something. You pick a partner?" He asked.

You shook your head.

"Nope, I don't work so well with others."

"Likewise."

A standoff. You had two choices. The first consisted of familiarising yourselves with one another, considering you were about to be partners in this case. The other? Race him. Bounty hunters had done it before, competing with one another for who would score the payout, and solve the case first. Though, he didn't seem like the competitive type.

"Truce, and I suppose we get the ten thousand each. If not? Five k split. Sound fair?" As generous an offer as you could give, and if he denied, honour be damned.

You extended your hand with a moderate amount of composure, and his brows furrowed as he worked the idea through his head. He mulled on it for a moment or two, and then his hand closed around yours, shaking hands as you established the grounds for your truce.

"JD Richter."

You tilted your head slightly, and a small smile spread across your lips.

"Cute." You muttered offhandedly, heading off towards the bedroom.

He followed after you.

"Not gonna give me your name?" JD pried.

You stepped into the master bedroom, surveying the room for anything misplaced or unusual, practically ignoring him.

"Need to know basis, or you can look me up. File's a little wild, but a guy like you might get a kick out of it."

You rounded the bed to discover the pool of blood staining the off-white carpet, bending down to get a closer look. Purposefully, you ignored the sounds of a scanner from behind you as he obviously looked you up, the repetitive beeping that subsequently ceased indicating that he had found it.

"You're a busy girl. A repeat offender for petty theft and battery, served some time. Then you went straight, did some time in the force. Now your solo as of four months ago. You get cold feet?"

You let a small giggle slip, still focusing your attention on the clue right under your nose.

"No, I got bored. Needed something a little more thrilling."

It was true. A position in generalised law enforcement just wasn't good enough for a thrill seeker such as yourself, not when you could be working with homicide cases and collecting mass payouts like this. Bounty hunting was where your heart lie. Your head wandered down to just beside the blood, careful not to contaminate the evidence, and pinched to gather something from the carpet. You raised and turned your hand over to look at your fingertip, seeing as you had collected some kind of paint chip. Or...

"Killer's female. Probably early to mid-twenties."

You rose to your feet with the nail polish chip still laid on your fingertip, careful not to drop it.

"What makes you so sure?"

You extended your hand to show him the speck of rouge varnish.

"Nail polish. Chips off sometimes, and the choice of colour just screams twenties. I have a knack for this sorta thing."

His brows were raised, and he seemed impressed.

"Okay, you're quick. Anything else?"

JD was willing to see how far he could push your investigative skills, and whether he could make you stutter. You wouldn't fold.

"The trail of sole indents in the carpet. Heels, judging by the dimension, stiletto. And a guy as rich as this? Louboutins, perhaps. He was probably well acquainted with his killer."

He smiled, a genuine and fascinated one.

"Well, alright. You suggestin' we got a femme fatale on our hands?"

You pulled your phone from your pocket to take a photo of the chip, making sure that you focused it so it would be clear enough that you could use it later.

"I am. They're my specialty." You finished your sentence by flicking the polish back onto the carpeted floor, your eyes boring into his as you silently urged him to detail the next move.

You knew, but it was his turn to be put on the spot.

"So, killer had to be close. We do some digging, social media, anything that could allude to a girlfriend or some lady friend of his, and then we narrow it down." When he stopped your brows raised expectantly, you hadn't expected him to finish his sentence so prematurely.

He looked bewildered by the way your expression urged him to continue, and you playfully rolled your eyes.

"Then, we make a house call. I'll see if I can find some matches for the polish, and we search for it. With varnish that old its probably wiped off with all the scrubbing she did to clean her hands of blood, so focusing on whoever has painted fingernails is pointless."

He nodded, feigning a sense of 'I knew that', and his facade of confidence brought a smile to your lips. Clearly, he was too confident to admit that he was out of his depth, and without you, this case would have been a whole lot harder.

"With that outta the way, how about drinks? My place, considering we're buddies an' all." JD mused with a grin of his own.

"A man after my own heart."

The two of you exited the crime scene, taking the elevator down to the lobby and making your way over to your car. You watched as JD split off to return to his vehicle, the jeep that you'd had suspicions of before. Your gut was as remarkable as usual, you hadn't lost your touch. Starting up your car you followed his vehicle, tailing him all the way to his place. Eventually, he pulled off the main road and onto a side road that led right out into a relatively private and modest one-floor home. Taking your keys from the ignition you pushed your car door open and stepped out, JD was already halfway up the steps to the porch as he had arrived a little before you by the time you made it to his front yard. He unlocked his front door and pushed it open, leaving it ajar so you could make your way inside. You did, shutting it behind you. For what it was worth his home seemed, simple. It was quaint, and looked as though it belonged to a person who was neither struggling to make ends meet nor rolling cash, he was just that middle ground of comfort.

"What's your poison?" He called out, and you made your way over to his sofa, slipping your jacket from your shoulders.

"Whiskey."

Truthfully, you didn't give a shit. Whatever got you waking up and not knowing anything that had happened the night before was your drink of choice, something to get you blacked out. He emerged from the kitchen holding two glasses and a bottle, setting them down on the coffee table. Then, he settled down beside you, twisting the cap as he readied himself to pour your drinks.

"So, JD, how'd you end up in this business?"

He poured the liquor from the bottle into each glass, the sound of running liquid filling your ears.

"Dishonourable discharge. This seemed like the next best thing, and it pays well enough."

You nodded taking the glass from the table after he slid it over to you. He took his own, nonchalantly holding it as he turned to face you. You did the same, apart from taking a rather generous swig of yours.

"Are you married?"

It was personal for someone you had known for an hour tops, but moving fast seemed to be the theme for this evening. His eyes grew a little solemn.

"Divorced. I like the crazy ones, I guess that's just my cross to bear." JD quipped.

You didn't smile until towards the end of his sentence, when even his eyes lit up a little. You threw the last of the liquor back and set down the empty glass.

"Figures."

Picking up the bottle you tipped it and filled your empty glass, if tonight didn't leave you with gaps in your memory you'd know you haven't done it right. JD seemed to pick up on what your intentions were, and he emptied the contents of his glass into his throat, setting it down and taking the bottle once you were done with it.

"What about you?"

You stalled for a moment, and then realised that he was referring to whether you were romantically entangled or not.

"No, not for me. I've had a few, partners, but the relationship's always strictly bedroom only."

A sip this time, fearing that emptying this glass would further the already present effects of this impromptu truth serum, and you'd spill far more than you intended to give away.

"Why don't you stay here for the night? We can start in the morning, and that way you don't get pulled over for a drink driving charge."

If you were fancy enough in this modern world of technological advancement you could afford one of those self-driving automated cars, but you were not. Neither was JD. Staying here didn't seem like such a bad idea, especially not when your company was so handsome. God, how much have you had to drink?

"Okay, hotshot. I'll stay."

JD was smiling as he raised his glass, watching you as you too brought the rim of the glass to your lips. It was gonna be a long night.

Minutes turned into hours, and by the time you looked back to assess the amount of whiskey left, the bottle was near enough empty. You were screwed. Now both severely inebriated you were huddled pretty close to one another, your knee brushing his thigh as his arm rested on the top of the sofa, supporting your head.

"Okay, okay, what's the like most craziest shit you've ever seen on a case?" It sounded a lot more concise in your head, but you mumbled it once it came out of your mouth.

JD chuckled at your initial incoherence, even in spite of the fact that he could translate your drunken speech perfectly. His eyes veered off toward the ceiling as he sighed thoughtfully. A beat passed.

"There was this guy that just lost it and offed his whole family. The kids, the wife, all of 'em. Found him red-handed, blood everywhere, and the guy looked as though he didn't feel even the slightest bit of remorse. Definitely not the worst of the things I've seen, but that's what you get serving in kuwait." Though notably buzzed, he'd levelled his tone to a more serious note out of respect for what he was discussing.

You frowned, having not expected something so grim.

"Well, shit. I was gonna say something stupid like the perp I caught because she left her bra on the floor of the crime scene, and I'm pretty good at guessing bra sizes. Ended up tackling her in a bar." Your more witty and comedic story was quick to lighten the mood, and JD idly rested a hand on your thigh.

Through the haze of intoxication, his touch was electrifying. You attempted to repress your urge to faintly quiver from his contact, unsure whether you were successful or not.

"Why is it that all the good looking women are crazy?"

You scoffed with false offense, mockingly hovering a hand over your heart.

"I'm not crazy, just ambitious. And a little impulsive."

His face moved closer to yours, the hand beginning to trace your thigh, fingertips teasing the hem of your skirt. In his venture, his fingers lightly grazed over the handle of the gun you kept holstered beneath your skirt, and you supposed the firearm didn't exactly help you plead your case of complete sanity. The skirt was already hiked from the way you were sitting, the sight of your panties obscured only by the fact that your thighs were pressed together.

"Oh yeah, how so?"

JD was teasing you, crossing the usual line of a professional and formal partner dynamic. And in a way, the fact that you admitted to having such frequent casual sex was incredibly appealing.

"Like this."

You whispered as you leant in, looking into his eyes for a moment before you pressed your lips against his. It was slow, and he groaned as though he wasn't expecting it. Still stealing one another's breath you climbed onto his lap, bent knees resting on either side of his hips as you slipped your tongue into his mouth, and he accepted it without the slightest hesitation. Eventually, JD managed to gather enough control to pull himself back, his hands on either side of your face as he attempted to blink through the haze of intoxication.

"Okay, you're not thinking straight. And frankly, neither am I. You sure you wanna mix business with pleasure?"

You gave a sultry smile, slightly tilting your head as you reached down and palmed the bulge that had formed at his crotch.

"What, like you haven't before?"

You gave no time for a response as your mouth was on his again, and he drunkenly succumbed to your advances. It was a little messy, intentional and yet awkward movements as you wrestled off one another's clothes and allowed the discarded garments to form a pile on the floor. In time your panties were all that was left, and they didn't last much longer. JD had undone his pants and pushed everything down to his ankles, including his boxers, leaving him nude beneath you as you worked off your thin and lacy underwear. You tossed it aside once it dangled loosely from one of your ankles and placed your hands on JD's shoulders, supporting yourself as you hovered above him, your hair cascading over your face. Simply, he raised one of his hands to cup one side of your face whilst the other settled on your hip. He gently urged you to lean down to press your lips against his, lining himself up and pulling you down onto him just as your lips meet. Your rather surprised and immodest moan bled into your heated kiss, and you can feel the noticeable sensation of fullness once you're fully settled down onto him. It's incredible. You pull back just to catch your breath.

"Fuck, holy shit JD." Is all you can manage as he uses his remaining grip on your curvature to ease you up again, just enough, before bringing you back down onto him.

Your hands fall from his shoulders to slide down his bare and moderately hairy chest, and your mouth falls open as you feel all of him, again. JD all the while just seems rather amused, the liquid courage leaving him a little haughty.

"C'mon, you made the move. Show me how ambitious you really are, partner."

The challenge was enough for you to somewhat clear your head, and you narrowed your eyes slightly. Luckily for him, you were pretty determined, and quite the competitor. You lifted yourself before coming down pretty hard, gradually setting a relentless and gratifying pace that had both of you letting the most foul of sounds tumble from your mouths. Your half-lidded eyes were fixed on him as you rolled your hips, drinking in the stray strands of hair that hung from the way he'd neatly styled his hair, and the way his lips parted to let out small, shaky breaths. Teasingly, you feel JD's fingers dig into the top of one of your thighs, the other still caressing your hip. He wouldn't utter a word, but the way you looked bouncing on top of him like this? You were fucking beautiful. All he could do was silently thank the system for one of the best errors of his life, the light of his eyes the only indicator of the way he was appreciating you. Your moans grew louder, a string of crude and unrestrained whimpers that filled the air of his quiet, one-story home. Knowing you were close only urged him to move his own hips in time with yours, the added stimulation only worsening the pleasure brimming in the pit of your stomach. As you gave one final roll of your hips before collapsing on top of him JD followed shortly after, twitching beneath you as your head fell into the crook of his neck. His guttural groans resounded just beside your ear, a tune that told you that was a job well done, and your ambition was pretty clear. Inebriated, overstimulated, and with your mind seemingly unable to concentrate on anything other than the pitch black behind your eyelids, you were done for the night. Everything after that gets suitably fuzzy. Your vision's vivid at various different points, but from what you can gather judging by the way the ground suddenly grew farther away, and the feeling of overall weightlessness, JD carried you to bed.

The sun beamed over your face, a light seemingly unavoidable, even despite your blissfully closed eyelids.

"Rise and shine." Spoke an enthusiastic voice, and you peeked your eyes open to look at your talking and oddly human alarm clock.

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes all the way, momentarily shielding them from the harshness of the light and leaning up.

"God, this feels like shit."

Your head was pounding, temples seemingly throbbing as everything got a whole lot louder, and brighter. His understanding but partially taunting chuckle prompted him into offering you the only help that he could think of.

"Coffee? I'm on my second, we drank a lot."

"You're telling me. Yeah, whatever."

JD headed off towards the kitchen to fix you your hangover remedy, and you managed to haul yourself from the bed in search of your clothes. He'd already found his, and you walked out to the lounge to kneel on the floor and scramble to retrieve yours. Having recovered your underwear and your skirt you continued to search for the rest of it, completely ignoring the steps that had come from the kitchen and halted just in front of you. JD was watching you, hung over, nude, and crawling across his living room floor.

"I gotta say, you could stay like that. We just might not get much work done."

Your head snapped up to award him a warning glare, what you had managed to find of your clothes tucked under your arm.

"Behave." Blunt, but candid enough to rip off the band-aid with the realisation that you two didn't have time for this, and you were going to need to focus.

JD raised his free hand in surrender, and you proceeded to recover the rest of your garments, standing to your feet and throwing them on once successful. Meanwhile, he set the coffee mug down on the table and scurried off to do something else, and you sat down on the couch finally fully clothed. When JD returned he set his laptop down on the table and offhandedly gestured for you to open it, so you did. He sat down beside you with a cluster of papers in hand, leaning over and keying in his password when the device prompted him to do so.

"I'll leave the socials to you. I've got his phone records and transcripts here to go over. Gonna look for any abnormalities and calls that went out the night he died."

"Got it." You muttered offhandedly, already invested in the task at hand.

It took maybe an hour flat, and you'd pinned everything. Rich aristocrat types such as this guy were all too flashy, usually gaining online traction for their repeated bragging of all their financial assets, so he was hardly difficult to find. Then came another often flaunted asset, women. There were many, but a handful appeared more than once, and you had a hunch for this particular girl. You pieced together a list of your most notable suspects and then cross-referenced it with JD's list of frequent callers considering you'd already profiled most of the girls, including their mobile phone numbers.

"Her." You muttered, tapping your pencil on your personal favourite.

JD glanced at you with a considerable amount of apprehension, but the confidence in your eyes was persuasive and convincing.

"Okay, you got an address?"

You sure did. The next few minutes consisted of piling into JD's jeep, and you were pulling into the drive of your suspect's home before you knew it. Judging by the look of her home she was, comfortable. Not the kind of level of wealth of your entrepreneurial victim, but enough. Houses like these had good, advanced security systems, but detectives were able to bypass pretty much anything, especially in a case like this. Politely, you both stepped out of the car and made your way to the front door first, knocking and letting a beat pass. When you received no response it became pretty conclusive that she wasn't home, which was perfect, really. JD tampered with the security system and you were able to get her front door open with little to no fuss, you stepping in first to get a brief look at her place. You deduced the room most likely to be the bedroom and made a beeline for it, barely able to contain yourself in your desire to search for the infamous red polish. JD trailed behind you, his footsteps closely following yours as you stepped into the bedroom and began to survey her dresser. Eventually, your eyes landed on a slightly scattered heap of different nail varnish, your eyes settling on all of the red ones in particular. Whilst you sifted through the nail polish and attempted to match it with the sample on your phone JD discovered the shoe rack and began to look for any stiletto-heeled shoes, more to be busy with something more than anything. Finally, one particular shade of red came ablaze with the notification of a match.

"Bingo. Chanel too, classy girl."

You spun to face JD with a smile of triumph, and his own smile seemed to resemble a similar sense of premature victory.

"Perfect. Now time to go pay our little femme fatale a visit."

JD exited the bedroom to make his way back to the jeep, and you stuffed the nail polish in your pocket. It was evidence, and besides, red was your colour. Unexpectedly, JD had been waiting for you out in the hallway, and his features looked so serious. You approached him a little concerned, considering you had solved the case after all, and he'd been over the moon only a few seconds ago.

"Look I uh, it's been nice with you. Working, with you." JD cleared his throat after his slight mishap in specifying the enjoyable part of his time with you, but your eyes drifted elsewhere, caught up with the movement over his shoulder.

"Duck!"

It took him a moment, but he eventually caught on and leaned over just as you did, narrowly missing the blade that was hurled toward his head. It passed over you both and embedded in the wall behind you, and you were quick to pull your pistol from the holster beneath your skirt and aim, reflexively squeezing the trigger and firing a shot into the woman's leg. It was the only reason you wore this damn thing, and it often came in handy. She cried out crumpling to the floor clutching her newly wounded knee, and you heaved a sigh of relief. You were still processing how quickly you had acted as JD made his way over to her and restrained her into handcuffs, affirming the capture of your killer. Some not-so-pleasant words were exchanged in the moments before the authorities came to collect her, but you hardly paid much attention when you received your payout of ten thousand dollars.

"You too?" You asked JD, who was also staring down at his matrix.

"Yep, ten thousand each, a pretty hefty sum for a job like this."

It was. But you were most definitely not going to complain, a system error meant a financial one, and you'd earned that money fair and square. The case was closed, and you both stood there for a moment or two, unsure who should make the first move.

"We should probably get going." You broke the silence, and JD nodded in agreement.

Foolishly, you almost hoped you two would have gotten to spend a little more time together. He was good company, an adequately competent partner, and from what you could remember, good in bed. Nevertheless, JD still had to drive you back to his since you'd left your car, and so you followed him out to the jeep. The drive was silent, almost in contemplation. You'd gone from avoiding a knife meant for the back of JD's head to the thought of driving home and getting into your bed, a significant turn of events. The contrast played havoc with your gradually subsiding adrenaline. Even through your intense thought, you did notice when the vehicle came to a stop. You unclipped your seatbelt and stepped out, and JD came around from the other side of the car. For a moment you dared think he was as disappointed about having to part ways as you were, but neither of you was the cooperative type.

"Well, thanks for, last night. And being such a great partner." You leaned forward and planted an intimate but casual kiss on his stubble-filled cheek, barely sparing the time to acknowledge his reaction afterwards as you made way for your car.

You'd made it one step when his arm reached out and carefully snatched you back, spinning you back to face him.

"Wait, you should take my number. Just in case."

You raised one brow, a smile playing on your lips from the tone of his request.

"In case of?"

He thought for a moment, lips forming his own impish smile.

"You never know, system errors."

Yeah, system errors. At least that was how you justified it when you exchanged numbers. Finally, it was time for you to take your leave. JD was halfway up the steps to his front porch when you rolled down the window and called out from your car, foot angled readily to bolt out of his driveway.

"I left my bra on your bed, by the way!"

You were gone before he could even spare you a glance.

[itsbenedict]

From the beginning | Previously | Coin standings | 48/55 | 21/21

(Tiebreaker goes to...)

Right, oka𝓨- if you can just physically break the thing making the noise, it should shut off the alarm, right? You just need t๏ do that before the guards arrive. And since it's blaring really loudly, it shouldn't be at all difficult to find where that is, right?

You find a speaker system in the ceiling, somewhat oüt of place with the got🄷ic castle decor, and make a flying leap with your sword. You drive metal into the inner w𝒐rkings, DETECT AT DOUBLE-CLERGY, and the noise gives one last dying wheeze before succumbing to silence.

And the𝔫 there's a very audible SLAM as a giant portcullis drops down from thᴇ main entrance, sealing off ﾘour escape. Was that... a response to the alarm being disabled? An automatic de𝚏ense on some sort of delay? Or did someone manually trap you in here?

You sea---̷-̴-̴̺͑͜-̶̼͇́-̵̫͓̩̎̇-̷͓̭̒̓-̴̭͑̽̍͋-̸-̸-rch the reception desk for some sort of door override. You on𝕝y find a phone- which appears to be dead, and unable t𝖔 NAIAD RUMBLE unless somehow repaired. That, and an emergency fire evacuatiσn plan marked on a blueprint of the building- you're pretty sure. Unfortunately, here, it's rendeređ as some sort of impressionistic oil painting of the vampire castle- Щhile you have a sense of the layout, the rooms aren't labeled.

...But thэre's also an internal directory next to the phone! Great! You can tell that the building is divided into sectors lᴬbeled... uh, CREEP AERATION (the current ꙅector), FOES' PRACTICE ROOF, MASTERPIECE SONG, SEWAGE ETERNITY, SEXY (UNCERTAIN), TUXEDO VEG CEILING, WHIP-SPORK ARMORY, WITTY GUILT ORCHARD, and YE FACILE POEM EATER.

Well, that's not helpful. And neithєr are some of these guards, who just can't seem to stay down. The nun and the robo-armor are getting up for round two, and they're about to sic al𝔏 of their FOLLOWERS ON YOU.

Continued | 3944 | 2121

[sweethoneyrose83]

CatNap stays calm as the Syndicate enforcer steps into the room, his augmented senses scanning the area. Without hesitation, CatNap activates his cloaking module, blending into the shadows. The enforcer glances around suspiciously but fails to spot him.

Carefully, CatNap moves back to the central control console. His fingers fly across the interface as he begins hacking into the system. The console's security protocols are tight, but nothing CatNap hasn't dealt with before. He bypasses the firewalls and begins accessing the prototype control network.

The enforcer, still on alert, moves closer to the console, scanning the area with laser focus. Time is running out, but CatNap manages to locate the shutdown failsafe that Dr. Bubbaphant mentioned. He quickly inputs the command, but the system requests the override code—Dr. Bubbaphant’s code.

Knowing the enforcer could detect him at any second, CatNap opens a secure communication channel to the doctor. “Doc, I’m in. I need the override code now.”

Dr. Bubbaphant, still at the safehouse, responds quickly. “The code is Omega-73Delta9... You have to hurry; they might have noticed by now.”

CatNap inputs the code, and the system begins initiating the shutdown sequence. All across Neon City, the prototypes are being disabled one by one, their control signals severed.

Just as the final confirmation flashes on the screen, the enforcer gets too close. His enhanced hearing picks up a faint noise from the console. “Who’s there?” he growls, drawing a plasma blade from his side.

CatNap remains cloaked but knows he needs to move fast.