#Unlock the Full Potential of Your Tech

[needtricks-blog]

Unlock the Full Potential of Your Tech with These Game-Changing Tricks

In the fastpaced digital world, staying ahead of the curve is crucial. At NeedTricks, we’ve curated a list of the most powerful, yet often overlooked, tech tricks that can supercharge your productivity, security, and overall tech experience. Whether you’re a tech newbie or a seasoned pro, these tips will help you make the most out of your devices and online presence. Continue reading Unlock the…

[taleeater]

Fragile Part 6

😈😈😈

(This chapter got too long- I had to cut it short,,,, :]]] Enjoy!)

Generation: Bayverse TMNT

Tmnt x Reader Fanfic

Pronouns: Gender Neutral (except ‘dudette’, 'miss', and ‘princess’)

Warnings: injury, blood, electrocution, graphic depictions of torture, not proof read

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Today you were spending time with Donnie while he worked in front of his monitors. You liked it there much better than in his lab. He had a map of the city up with little marks indicating spots where the Foot had been spotted. But that wasn’t what he was working on right now.

No, you and Donnie were doing much more important things at the moment.

Like playing the new update in Stardew Valley.

“Fishing mods are cheating.” 

You gawked at him in mock offense. “But you can’t pause in a multiplayer farm, there’s no time to play the fishing mini game!!”

“That’s why it’s more of a challenge!” He stuck his tongue out while he clicked his mouse rapidly to fight off a slime in the mines.

You pouted, adjusting the laptop in your lap. “I don’t need my cozy farming sim to be challenging…” 

Donnie did not miss the cute grin that graced your face after, his heart fluttering in his chest. 

These past few days you found yourself smiling more and more easily. Whether it was Mikey getting covered in flour while you baked cookies together, or Raph teaching you how to purl stitch, or Leo showing you how to wield a sword. You were enjoying spending more personal time with the turtles as you got to know them better.

Your toes curled where you were perched in the chair beside Donnie, glancing up at the map again. Your eyes always drawn to the blinking red dot marking the location of the lab you escaped only weeks before. The police had raided it and found it empty, which only increased your unease as to where Dr Stockman might be hiding. It already felt like a lifetime ago, that night when the turtles first found you. 

You owed them your life.

“Hey (y/n), you almost ready for afternoon training?” Leo came over, snapping you out of your thoughts. Leo leaned against the back on Donnie’s chair, earning a dismissive swat from his younger brother.

“We’ll stop after we finish up this day, Leo.” Donnie said not even taking his eyes off the screen. You giggled and got back to fishing on the beach.

You were two hours into your training session with Leo. 

“Okay, good. Now when you kick, focus on your balance. Stay firmly planted and your leg should have more power.” Leo coached you. 

Master Splinter was supervising while sipping his tea. It had barely been 5 days since your mutant abilities had manifested. But you were already making astounding progress in unlocking its potential. Leonardo had played a big part in the process, being the one who had helped you work through your fears of using your mutant reflexes, so the abilities came more easily to you when training. He trained with you every day, while Master Splinter provided guidance. Everyone was doing their best to support you through all the changes.

Casey suddenly jogged in through the entrance of the lair. 

“Guys! Just got word, the Foot are planning to rob a warehouse full of high tech weapons tonight. We gotta go intercept it.” He said waving around his cellphone.

“What? Where? Their communication frequency has been quiet since they moved those chemicals to the old Sacks building!” Donnie spun around in his chair to face Casey, you and Leo walking into the living room with Raph and Mikey close behind.

“Queens. Our contact in the Foot Clan leaked the info to us just half an hour ago.”

“Huh, that’s strange. That’s all the way on the other side of town. Aside from Sacks Tower, they’ve only really been active around the East Village and ChinaTown this past week. Maybe they changed their frequency again to throw us off track.” Donnie was quickly typing up info on his keyboard. 

“Well, regardless, we better go check it out.” Leo sighed. He wanted to keep training with you, but it would have to wait.

“Heck yeah! I’m bringin’ the steak-out snacks. Who wants Doritos?” Mikey grabbed his ratty old Jansport backpack and started shoving cans of Orange Crush into it. 

“(Y/n), you stay here and keep an eye on Donnie’s computer. The Foot might try to communicate about their raid tonight. Donnie’s program will intercept it. April will be here in about an hour, so just tell her if anything suspicious comes up.” Leo asked you.

“Right!” You said standing to attention and giving a military salute with a silly little grin on your face. 

It made Leo’s heart melt in his chest and his expression turned soft. 

“Just, stay safe, okay?” He patted you on the head then headed for the exit. 

As the rest of the boys filed out of the lair, they each stopped by you. Mikey getting a high five, you quickly cleaned Donnie’s glasses for him, and Raph, always last, ducked down for a quick hug when his brothers weren’t looking. Casey rushed ahead of them.

Master Splinter waved goodbye to his sons next to you. Once the boys had left, he informed you he was going to go meditate, and to come find him if you needed anything.

About 45 minutes later, you were casually watching YouTube videos on Donnie’s computer when a flashing red light appeared on the screen. It was indicating that Donnie’s program was intercepting a message from the Foot’s closed communication server. A message popped up on the screen, and you gasped.

“We have captured the turtles. Continue with the plan.” 

Then a video feed loaded up on the main screen. 

Your blood ran cold.

It looked like the feed from a security camera, depicting Leo, Mikey, and Donnie all locked in glass cages, restrained with thin tubes of red connected to their arms. They looked weak, they looked bad.

“What….? No… No, not this… please no…!”

Where was Raphael? He was nowhere to be seen. How did they get captured so fast…? They had barely been gone an hour!

Your mind was racing. You recognized those machines. Dr Stockman used them to take blood samples from Bebop and Rocksteady. If that was the case, there was no time to lose.

You made up your mind.

You snuck past the dojo and muttered a quick apology to Master Splinter. You knew Master Splinter wouldn’t let you go, so you kept quiet. Then you grabbed the handheld GPS device Donnie left on his work table. You entered the location on the map where the message was sent from. 

The old Sacks Tower. 

Time to move.

April arrived at the lair much later than expected. She and Casey had just finished speaking to the commissioner about police activities being leaked to the Foot. When they entered the living room, they were confused to only see Master Splinter waiting for them. The old rat was pacing and anxiously stroking his beard. 

“Splinter? Where’s (y/n)?” April asked, confused.

Splinter shook his head. 

“You don’t know where they are?” April became concerned, walking further into the lair. 

“It appears, that our greatest fears have been realized.” His expression deeply troubled. Before April could ask, she noticed what Splinter was looking at. 

Playing in a loop on Donatello’s monitor was old CCTV footage from when the turtles had been captured 10 years ago by Shredder and Mr Sacks. April breathed a sigh of relief, immediately recognizing the scene.

“Splinter, the turtles are safe. I spoke to Leo on the phone only 10 minutes ago. They’re staking out a warehouse in Queens. This is old footage.” 

Splinter’s eyes widened and looked back to the screen. His expression turned contemplative. 

“If that is so, then perhaps Miss (y/n) has made the same mistake.” He spoke gravely.

April had a look of shock. She quickly pulled out her phone and speed dialed Leo’s number.

Leo thankfully answered quickly. “Hey April, anything new?”

“Leo, is (y/n) with you?”

Leo paused a long moment and sent a look over to his brothers, getting their attention. “No…. Aren’t they at the lair?” All of his brother's eyes were suddenly on him. Leo turned the phone on speaker.

“No!! They’re gone. And there’s a video playing on Donnie’s computer. It’s a recording of you Mikey and Donnie locked up at Sacks’ estate from over 10 years ago… I think this is what (y/n) saw before they left.”

“They left?” Leo felt his heart drop into his stomach. “To go where, Sacks’ estate?” His brothers immediately started packing up their stakeout equipment to leave. 

“No I don’t think so, the sender’s location was tracked, it’s still on the screen. It says it was sent from Sack Tower in Times Square.”

Donnie came over and joined in the call, typing furiously at the keyboard on his wrist. “Sacks Tower. That’s where they were spotted smuggling those stolen chemicals into the other day…! From my notifications, it appears that the message was sent through an older Foot Clan communication frequency approximately 43 minutes ago.”

“Donnie, how long will it take (y/n) to get to Sacks Tower.”

“From my calculations, if (y/n) left the lair heading to the Sacks building about 40 minutes ago, going by subway, they should arrive in about uhhh, approximately 8 minutes.”

“And how long will it take us to get there.” Raph asked.

“From where we are now, if we manage to hitch a ride on the next nonstop train to Times Square…… about 1 and a half hours.”

“Shit!” 

Raph cursed loudly and turned away frustrated, and Mikey put his hands on his head. Donnie was typing away at the keypad on his arm, trying to find any kind of faster route and muttering about how stupid he was for not making you a shellcell.

“We don’t have a minute to waste. Let’s move out.”

That’s all they needed to hear. Everyone sprung into action and booked it for the closest subway station manhole cover.

“April, we are headed to Sacks Tower as fast as we can. And get ahold of the police commissioner again. Whoever gave us the information to come to this warehouse tonight was intentionally planted with misinformation. There was no sign of the Foot at the warehouse. …..It was most likely a diversion.”

“Right. I’ll get back to you soon.”

Leo hung up the phone and jumped off the apartment building and dove down towards the street’s manhole cover.

Leo grit his teeth.

“Hold on (y/n).”

The halls of the building were eerily empty. This place made your skin crawl. The laboratory felt all too similar to the one you had been trapped in before. But this one had clearly been abandoned for a long time. Broken glass, graffiti, turned over chairs, scattered paper. But strangely the power was still on. You didn’t dare try to use the elevator in fear of giving away your position. But you were confused as to why you had yet to see any guards. This is where the message was sent from, the turtles had to be here, right?

You climbed the steps to another floor, but paused as you creaked open the door exiting the stairwell. This floor felt like a world apart from the previous ones. It was clean.

And the lights were on.

You kept low, and hyper vigilant. Steadying your breathing like Leo had taught you, you crept into the sterile white hallway. There were glass windows along the hall looking into different labs. One held chemistry equipment, another held big bulky medical equipment that clicked and beeped. Finally, the last room at the end of the hall, a room with no windows. You had a sinking feeling in your gut, but still you crept towards the door. Slowly and quietly you pulled open the heavy door, and revealed a large lit room with a high ceiling, and there you saw it.

“Guys….!”

There along the back wall were 4 glass boxes with 3 of the turtles strung up and being drained of blood. You had found them! Seeing no one else in the room, you rushed in. 

“I’m going to get you out of here, just you wait!” You went to the first machine in front of Donnie and reached out to touch the screen-

Your hand passed right through.

“What…?” You tried to touch it again but there was nothing there.

The hologram distorted, and then the turtles disappeared. You gasped.

It was a trap.

You turned around to book it towards the exit, but the door was opening again. Bebop and Rocksteady squeezed through the small door one at a time, and blocked your exit. Then over an intercom you heard the familiar laugh that sent a shiver down your spine.

Stockman chuckled darkly. “Just how I planned it! Like catching a fly with honey. So predictable!”

You backed up slowly as Bebop and Rocksteady approached you. 

“Did you miss us, little kitty?” Rocksteady sneered.

The intercom buzzed as Stockman spoke again. “Bebop, Rocksteady, keep them occupied until I arrive. I will be there momentarily. And let’s not have a repeat of last time, please!” There was a clicking sound and the intercom went quiet.

Bebop chuckled. “Hell yeah! It’s been so long since we last played! Let’s make the most of it.” 

“That’s right! And we gotta pay you back for all the trouble you caused us! We missed you so much after you left. You wanna go first Beebs?”

“My man!” Bebop smiled at Rocksteady and clasped his hand, they both laughed. 

You tried your best to steady your breathing like Leo taught you. Your hands were trembling. But you needed a way out. Bebop and Rocksteady were not fast, if you timed it right, maybe you can get past them to the door.

Bebop approached you. You stayed still and waited. Then when he got close enough, you ran right towards him, surprising Bebop. He reached out to grab you but you slid right between his legs, then jumped up behind him and tried to run past Rocksteady before he could react. He was still too close to you and managed to grab you from behind, but you were ready for him. Just like in training, you reached up and grabbed him around his neck, and taking a deep breath, you threw all your strength forward and down and managed to flip Rocksteady onto his back- stunning him. You quickly jumped over him and ran for the door, slamming into it fast and wretched the handle to pull it open. 

Locked. (Warning for graphic depictions of torture ahead.)

“No…!” You felt a bruising grip close around your arm, and you were torn away from the door. “NO!!” You cried out as you were thrown hard onto the floor between the two oversized mutants. 

“See? Now that’s your problem. You gotta go makin’ our job harder than it needs to be!” Bebop complained. 

Rocksteady was picking himself back up, rubbing the back of his head tenderly. “Don’t let them get to ya Beebs, we’ll sort them out quick before Stockman gets here.” Bebop then reached into his pocket and pulled out an all too familiar black taser. 

Rocksteady took the taser and chuckled. “Little kitty needs a check-up!” 

You tried to get up and run, but Rocksteady stomped down hard on your left arm. There was a sickening snap and you screamed, writhing in pain. You were pinned. 

“Tsk, tsk. You know what happens when kitty gets naughty!” The taser was flicked on, all you could do was close your eyes before a strong surge of electricity was shot into your ribcage and throughout your body. You convulsed as the shocks seized you, your shoulder getting dislocated from the spasms, then collapsed back on the floor. 

“Just like good ol’ times!” Rocksteady passed the taser to Bebop.

Rocksteady laughed and removed his foot from your arm, then Bebop tased you in the ribs again. You yelped and rolled onto your stomach, tucking your very broken arm underneath you and tried to crawl away. 

“Hey, where ya goin? We’re just getting STARTED!” Rocksteady punctuated his sentence by kicking you in the stomach hard enough to throw you across the room. You hit the ground and your body rolled another few feet until you stopped on your side and curled in on yourself, the air knocked out of your lungs.

Bebop took his time strolling over to you, and grabbed you by the hair to lift you up. You coughed and gasped for air, grabbing at his hand and tried to pry his fingers off of his grip. 

“Think you can just up and leave whenever you want, do ya?” He growled in your ear, then dropped you down haphazardly to the floor. You were on your knees, buckled forward and holding your left shoulder, when suddenly Bebop’s foot stomped down on your right ankle and you heard a loud crunch. 

You shrieked. 

Exhausted and riddled with unbearable pain, you crippled to the floor. It took everything you had just to pull breath. 

“Alright, I’m back! How is our lovely patient doing?” Came the cheerful sing-song voice of Dr Stockman entering the room through the locked door, Karai tailing behind him. 

“Hey boss! Uhhh, we were just warming them up for ya! See? They can’t run away no more.” Bebop nudged your side with his foot, knocking you onto your side so Stockman could see the pain riddled on your face. You were barely conscious by this point. 

“Excellent! Bring them to me.” Stockman ordered.

Bebop picked you up by your good arm and carried you over to where Dr Stockman was walking to in the back of the room. Karai stepped in Bebop’s way for a moment, taking in your beaten appearance, and back-handed your face hard for good measure, leaving a shiny bruise and angry red gash across your cheek. That woke you up a bit. 

Just enough to retaliate.

You took a deep breath and tore your arm out of Bebop’s grasp and punched Karai in the stomach, hard enough to throw her into a large display screen next to where Stockman was standing. Stockman squawked in surprise. She rolled onto the floor, and pushed herself up onto her side. Spitting a bit of blood onto the ground and wiping away at her lip. 

You tried to stand on your good leg but you were too weak and collapsed back to the floor. Bebop and Rocksteady grabbed you by each of your arms and brought you in front of Stockman.

He was looking at you in awe, and reached out tentatively to swipe at the blood on your cheek. He rushed over to his desk, jumping a bit in excitement. He put a drop of your blood onto a slide, and observed it under his microscope.

“Ha…! HA HA…! YES!!” Stockman shouted in excitement and did a little dance. Bebop and Rocksteady exchanged a confused look and Karai stood up and walked over to Stockman, eyeing you angrily and rolling her shoulder.

“What does this mean?” She questioned him. 

“It means that the mutation was a SUCCESS!!! Those stupid turtles must have triggered it somehow. And now we can finally proceed with the plan!!!” He grabbed something off his desk and skipped over to the stairs leading up to the circular titanium base in the middle of the room. “Bring them here!!” He called over, waving his hand to Bebop and Rocksteady.

They dragged you over to Stockman, and were deposited on the round podium that sat under a large glass tube. Stockman started to pull down long rubber tubes from above, and attached large thick needles to the ends. You tried once again to crawl away with your good arm, as Bebop and Rocksteady retreated. 

But Stockman approached you from behind. In a quick jab, he stabbed the two needled tubes deep into your back. You grunted and groaned in pain, but could do nothing, collapsing on the podium. Beaten, bruised, and bleeding.

When Dr Stockman was finished, he descended the stairs and rushed over to his computer, giggling excitedly he typed in a command and the glass tube descended over you until it clicked into place at the sturdy titanium base. Locking you inside.

“They’ll be placed in suspended animation. Once the tank is completely filled with the preservation fluid, they’ll become nothing more than a convenient blood bag, supplying an endless supply of mutagen for our mutant army.” Stockman rubbed his hands together evilly.

“And what about the turtles?” Karai asked. 

“It is already too late for them to stop us. Even if they manage to get through your guards, they will be unable to free them from this tank. Once I start the filtration process, I will delete the programmed command to empty or release the containment cylinder. They won’t be able to free them without my help!” Stockman typed away quickly at his computer. 

One of the tubes connected to your back began to pull blood from your body, leading up through a small opening in the top of the cylinder then down into a canister at the base. Then from the second tube, a white milky substance full of liquid nutrients began to filter through and down into your body. It did nothing to numb the pain you felt as you laid there in a state of half consciousness. 

Suddenly, the loud banging of gunshots could be heard somewhere outside the door. 

“We’re not ready yet! Hold them back!” Stockman ordered Bebop and Rocksteady, who positioned themselves between Stockman and the door. 

The door suddenly blew wide open, and the four turtles rushed into the room, angry and weapons at the ready.

“Where’s (y/n).”

Part 7

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If anyone else wants to be tagged for the next update, let me know in the comments! :]

[tafferling]

In a world where tech runs off the concept of one's soul and where dragons steady cosmic scales, heroes are shaped in the shadow of an ancient grudge.

Aphelion has a new cover! This gorgeous piece is by the ever-talented and hard-working @drawinglinestoconstellations. Thank you so much for bringing it to life, and I cannot wait to see it on book one's printed release.

But what even is this? Well!

Aphelion is a science-fantasy webserial, with soul-harnessing magic and tech, a cyberpunk flair, and a slow burn simmering away in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.

All chapters are free to read both on Archive of Our Own and Campfire Explore. But if you feel like it, you can tip the author (that's me, I'm the author) on Campfire, where the full package unlocks worldbuilding information and may come with the sudden sensation of an ethereal cat slinking around your ankles in appreciation.

Horizon's Crown was an Earther triumph; a stage at the frontier of the settled systems, a city of hope and dreams and infinite potential. Then one man bit another. Now, under the watchful eye of its orbital island, it straddles the line between dead and dying; a city of nightmares and endless sorrow. Varrett Vild Vickers belongs into a pilot's chair. He's meant to dodge asteroids, to race dragons, not chase credits so he can pay rent while HC's major demographic clicks its teeth at him and tries to eat his face off. But it's fine. Really. He copes. Or that's what he tells himself, all the way until a woman falls from the sky and turns his already upside-down life very sharply sideways. Armed with nothing but her worst-kept secret and a ledger of lies, Sophya Soulwright tricks her way into Horizon's Crown, looking for not only her sister, but for redemption and a meaning to a life she’s never held dear.  What she finds instead is a city trying its hardest to live, and a man who courts death every step of the way. He's infuriating, tireless, and after a glitch binds their souls together, he is now stuck with her.

[therapeutic007]

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[frozenjokes]

someone should really do something about the anvils strung up on the ceiling.. someone might get crushed under one of those and subsequently be trapped in a space prison time loop

ao3 link - this fic is violent. read the tags.

LOOP 0

The hull of the enemy ship exploded into a bloom of fiery brilliance, the colors flashing across Scar’s bright green eyes, its beauty sending a stark thrill directly through his veins. A purrrrfect shot as always, Mumbo Jumbo reaching his full potential under Scar’s expert guidance, as always. Scar called out his praise, but Mumbo almost certainly didn’t hear him through the airlock, though Scar could hear Mumbo clearly just as if he was right there, blithering into his ear.

“Are you sure about this, Scar? This looks an awful lot like one of those ships we aren’t supposed to touch..”

“Nonsense!” Scar declared, outloud to noone, “All ships on the starfield belong under our claws, and we will make sure they regret ever coming under notice of the grrrreat ScarFire Mercenaries!” Scar threw his paws up, slammed all four of his hands on the walls of the tight airlock and cringed in pain, even through the light protection of his space suit. Well. It was a good thing the only other member of the ScarFire Mercenaries wasn’t here to see that.. Wait, was there a camera in here? Nevermind that, Mumbo surely wasn’t watching. Scar shook out his fur, whiskers twitching. No more time to waste!

Scar worked fast, readying himself for his journey to the enemy ship. Mumbo would line the ships up for easy access, then pick him up once the place was clear, Scar returning with the bodies that would feed their clan for days! Well. Maybe not days. This was quite a small ship, but that suited Scar, especially since he would be boarding alone. As fun as tackling larger ships could be, he did not work particularly well with other people.

Scar watched impatiently as the claw reached out from his own ship to the damaged one, drawing them together. Oddly enough, this ship didn’t seem to have an airlock, so Mumbo would have to create a temporary seal until Scar was past the damaged rooms. Once Scar had secured the bodies, it mattered less; Scar could float around in space with the corpses and wait to be picked up, though hopefully it didn’t come to that.

Luckily, Mumbo was very good at his job, and the hole in the enemy ship was dwarfed by their own ship’s airlock, meaning they could level out the life support with their own in the case that something was wrong with the enemy ship’s. Scar grinned, unlocking his airlock and stepping out into the enemy ship.

It was a matter of waiting until the atmosphere stabilized, but in the meantime, Scar entertained himself by looking around at all the stuff this peoples’ species kept; at least the stuff that didn’t get sucked out of the hole in the side, which was most of it. That was fine. He’d rather look at the architecture than sit twiddling his thumbs. Though, it was odd actually, the whole ship was odd. There was so much.. detail..? Writing carved into the wall, numbers, human characters Scar was pretty sure; honestly, he really should know this, but he was never very good in school. Every space traveling people had so many languages, so many different letters and numbers- How was he meant to learn them all? There was no point, not when the tech existed to read and speak to other peoples automatically, and why would you do that if your mission was solely to hunt them?

Well! Scar could answer!

His spacesuit letting him know that the atmosphere was safe for him to breathe, Scar grinned, removing his helmet and adjusting the microphone that allowed him to communicate with different peoples. He had to beg to be allowed to have one of these, there was truly no practical reason he would need one, but who didn’t love playing with their food from time to time? There was truly nothing better than speaking to dead men, taunting them, watching them struggle, hearing them beg for their lives (with the assistance of a chip in his good ear). Scar had been called many names; cruel, distasteful, inefficient, and sure, these things may be true, and taking his time had certainly left him with a few scars, but Scar wasn’t fussed. Mercenary work was a noble, dangerous, job, and as far as Scar was concerned, it didn’t matter how he got it done so long as he was bringing home resources for his clan, and nothing was more valuable than food.

Once he was certain everything was in working order, he put his helmet back into place; even if he could technically breathe here, it wasn’t very comfortable, and if something went wrong he would not be a victim of dying to something so stupid as leaving his helmet off. Ideally he wouldn’t have to wear a suit at all, but he respected the engineering that went into making them comfortable and mobile, as well as the protection it gave.

Luckily, Scar had no trouble getting through the doors in the room once the atmosphere was stable. That was odd; usually the inhabitants tried to lock him out, but there were quite a few oddities about this particular ship. It hadn’t even tried to escape him upon his approach, nor did it fight back! Perhaps these poor souls were simply lost in space, starving, waiting to die. Scar hoped not. That was no fun.

“Hello?” he called, his voice echoing down the lonely hall. No one answered. Not a massive surprise. Still, this ship wasn’t very big, he would find its inhabitants eventually. “Helloooo?” he repeated himself, if for no other reason than lacking anything else to do. He was a little distracted by the walls; once again they were so detailed, and so was the decor now that he was seeing it for the first time. There were carpets decorated with erratic patterns, letters scattered across picture frames and desk drawers and murals like the words they’d formed prior had been caught in a category six hurricane. It made no sense, and Scar was equally fascinated; maybe his victims would be so kind as to tell him what the deal was with their weird ass ship before they perished tragically at his hand. His tail twitched in his fascination, flicking back and forth in its own mild curiosity.

When his ankle drew on a tripwire, he heard the whoosh of air before he felt the wire, ear swiveling back as he leapt out of the way, yelping as an arrow whistled past, finding sharp purchase in the chest of a body of armor at the other end of the hall. Scar gaped.

“What, are you guys stuck five thousand years in the past? Who the hell uses arrows anymore? That wouldn’t have even killed me! I’m gonna- Oohhh, when I get my claws on you! Worst trap I’ve ever seen! Do humans have the worst reflexes of all time? For goodness’ sake!” Scar growled, raking his gaze across the hall. He should keep heading towards the front of the ship; if that’s where control rooms were, that’s where the humans would most likely be. Straight ahead. On behalf of all traps, he was deeply offended!

Though Scar did step lighter, catching a pressure plate and a hanging anvil of all things- what in the world was going on here? Did these humans seriously string up a fucking anvil from the time they saw Scar was riding their tail to now? What the hell? Seriously! What the hell!?

Scar slammed through the door, lunging forward just in case a pile of bricks or a piano or something was perched to fall as he entered, but nothing of the sort happened. It seemed he’d found the pilot’s room or control room or whatever this was supposed to be on this fuck ass ship. He was so caught up in his righteous confusion that he failed to notice the two humans in the cockpit, both of them already staring his way from their seats, looking.. mild..? Scar couldn’t help gaping at them, his lashing tail stilling to a hard twitch, ears poking up from where they had flattened against his head.

One of the humans was shorter with similarly short dark hair, had a rounder face, and wore glasses, though Scar didn’t very much understand why. That was pretty old tech, even for humans. Most problems like poor eyesight could be fixed before you were even born, though, maybe the glasses did something else. That was probably the case.

The other human.. well, the longer Scar looked the less sure he was that she was human. Humans.. he didn’t think humans could be green. This one was green. In general, she was far more striking than the other, curly red hair and green skin and not quite scars- she looked almost stitched together, was she hurt? Scar found himself drawn to her until the unremarkable human pointed at him, catching his attention.

“Is that a boob window? On your space suit?”

Whatever silent trance had fallen over the three of them was immediately broken, the red haired human cackling, and the other snickering in turn. Scar blinked several times, gaping slightly, then looked down at his extremely fashionable boob window- why were they laughing! That’s- he was here to kill them and they were laughing! Tail tucked firmly at his legs, Scar straightened up flexing all four of his hands then turning them to fists. But before he could inform them of their incoming demise, the red haired human spoke.

“Look! Look at his hands! They put little paw pads on the gloves, that’s adorable!”

“Oh my god.”

“You think he’s got them on his boots too? I bet they squish down when he walks, awh, that’s great. Why don’t we get that?”

“I’ll file a complaint. Or we can tell Joe and he can do it for us. It’s a reasonable ask, I think. Though, maybe they won’t be able to get us paw pad boots because of the nature of the loop. Do you think we can make an argument on the basis of excessive cruelty? We were deprived of an essential item, legally you must cut a couple years off our sentence.”

“Hmmm,” the red headed human considered her companion thoughtfully, or maybe it was part of the joke, Scar couldn’t quite tell, but he was getting the inkling he was being made fun of, a preposterous notion!

Scar growled, but when neither of them looked at him and the redhead started to speak, Scar just talked over her, “You two should know that you and whoever else is on this ship’s lives are at an end. Say your goodbyes, cry, fight, run, whatever you see fit, because I will be taking your bodies home for the noble purpose of feeding my clan.”

The two humans stopped, glancing at the myriad of impressive and greatly intimidatingly awesome guns set snugly on Scar’s belt.

“Well. This wasn’t going anywhere anyway." The unremarkable human turned back around, apparently unconcerned, but the red haired human was still looking at Scar, like she was searching for something, and while Scar was disappointed it didn’t seem that there would be any screaming and running and begging for their lives, sometimes these things were dull. If these people couldn’t comprehend what it meant to be dead, then Scar supposed the next best thing was to be ogled before taking their bodies home.

“Are you like. A warrior cat? A space warrior cat?”

Scar blinked. Well, that was an odd way of saying it, but he supposed it could just be an odd translation. “You could say that.”

The unremarkable human poked his head back around the chair, like this information had sparked his interest. The redhead snickered, eying her companion playfully.

“Cub. We’ve been caught by space warrior cats. He’s got a clan, which one do you think he’s from? He’s orange, this might be a descendant of Firestar!”

“Firestar..” ‘Cub’ mumbled, like this was a topic of great importance, “Yeah, this guy definitely seems like he’d be from Thunderclan. He’s got the air to him.” Cub turned to Scar, “Do you know Firestar?” He seemed serious. Maybe this was some kind of human god; Scar was vaguely aware humans had a history with cats, or cat-esc people.. Long ago histories had people from his own planet traveling to far reaches, imprinting themselves in the mythologies of other worlds. But again, Scar did not do well in school, he knew little of other planets’ gods.

“I am not aware, but.. well, my people have a history of travel. Much longer than your people’s history.”

Cub snorted, his companion snickering in turn before she spoke, “Firestar is an alien. He came to Earth and told his story to Erin Hunter, who diligently wrote every word. Well. After they started making money Firestar was long gone.. The series after the first six books is likely a false narrative.”

“You think so?”

“Well I didn’t read them but I heard they weren’t as good. And Firestar dies at the end or something- he wouldn’t be able to tell his story if he was dead!”

Cub nodded, solemn. “True, true.” He turned back to Scar, expression unchanging, “Just so you know, we are making fun of you.”

“You-” Scar straightened, offended- but wait! This human was smug and unremarkable, surely he was not very trustworthy. Scar looked instead to the other, who he liked more.

“Oh,” they said, belated, “Yeah. We are making fun of you.” Without missing a beat they turned to their companion, “What do you think his warrior cat name is? Actually, scratch that, what’s my warrior cat name? You’re- hm.. You could be Bear-something. Bearstomp. Beartooth. Bearnose.”

“Bearnose?”

“What? It’s cute. Have you ever seen a bear’s nose, Cub? You look just like one.”

“I- Okay. Give me a minute to think of a mildly offensive warrior cat name for you. I’m thinking. I’m thinking.”

“And I’m waiting..” The redhead grinned, Cub snorting in turn, and neither of them were paying any attention to Scar and still making fun of him so he shot the both of them dead right there. It was a rare thing for Scar to kill his quarry instantly, but clearly something was deeply wrong with these two, and Scar didn’t want to risk getting sick or anything, so better to end things fast. The spray of eviscerated human pieces across the control panels made Scar feel the tiniest bit better. Perhaps he should have used a less destructive gun for jobs like this, but then again, where was the fun in that?

Scar scooped the both of them up under his four arms, having had enough of these weird people on this weird ship. If there was anyone else here they could consider themselves lucky, Scar wanted nothing to do with them.

All in all, he wouldn’t consider this to be a crazily successful trip, but he and Mumbo had three more bodies in the freezer, and these two were on the larger side, they’d feed quite a few cats. However, what really put a damper on this mission was the fact that Scar had forgotten about the anvil.

LOOP 1

Scar woke up.. on his feet. He was not on his feet for very long, typical for someone who had just come out of a deep sleep- that’s what he must have been doing, sleeping. He had a lot of time to ponder the question while lying flat on his face; despite two pairs of arms, he had failed to catch himself. Scar had fallen plenty of times from deep sleep to wakefulness; he’d fallen from ceilings, he’d fallen off bunk beds, normal beds, hit his head on side tables and dressers, injured himself in an innumerable amount of ways. He didn’t remember going to sleep, but maybe he was dreaming, he often had quite adventurous dreams.

He was wearing his space suit. That. That was not normal.

Scar propped himself up on his forearms. He did not know where he was. Had he been drugged? Was he in space? Surely not. He pushed himself up further on his midhands, fiddling with the latch on his helmet, removing it, then shoving it directly back over his head you fucking idiot! Why did he do that? Why had he done that? But he hadn’t died.. Maybe he wasn’t in space. He pushed himself up so he was sitting, then removed his helmet more confidently this time. Hm. Definitely not dead. Or maybe he was dead and that’s why he wasn’t dying in space. Wait. He could check this, couldn’t he?

He dug around for his communicator, fishing around in his pocket with gloved fingers that were always too bulky no matter what catfolk engineers did with them. But when Scar finally produced his communicator, he found the screen blank. He tapped it, shook it, pressed all the buttons, fiddled with it in all the ways you can fiddle with technology when it breaks, but nothing turned the device back on. Scar frowned. Well, at least he felt a little less stupid taking his helmet off.

Hm. But this didn’t feel like normal breathing. Something was off. He couldn’t tell exactly what, but he was not home. Somewhat reluctantly, Scar reaffixed his helmet. The fur at his neck got in the way, bristling in his unease.

“Mumbo?” He felt stupid the moment the name had left his mouth. Cowardice. He was better than this. He was a ScarFire mercenary!

Scar got to his feet, determined. He must have been kidnapped or something of the like- maybe he had been drugged. Scar patted his belt; his guns were still there. Aha-! Yes, he had probably been drugged and put somewhere for training. Scar wouldn’t put anything past Grian, though if this was some kind of assessment, he’d probably already failed by taking his helmet off in fake-space.. No matter! He would knock Grian’s socks off with the rest of his performance!

Scar crept forward, tail twitching. The room he’d woken up in was long and intricately decorated, which made little sense for fighting, so perhaps he was being tested on something else.. stealth? He could be stealthy. There were two doors, two possible options of progression, but there was no indication of the correct choice, not even when he strained his ears in an effort to hear what was outside each door separately. He would just have to choose.

He did not fight the instinct that drew him through the right door, but walking through it, was slammed by a feeling of dejavu so powerful it nearly knocked him off his toes. Scar had to stop to catch his breath. He’d never been here before. He knew he’d never been here before, he would have recognized a place as odd as this, but it- fuck. Something was not right.

Fur prickling uncomfortably against his suit, he crept forward. The hallway was trapped, just like the set of a training exercise would be. This was a stealth mission, this was practice, and Scar was going to get through it just fine- he couldn’t even remember a mock-assignment he hadn’t passed with flying colors! But it was weird. It was still weird. Grian didn’t set traps like this. The trip wires were the wrong height, the pressure plates too sturdy; at home, if you so much as breathed wrong on a trapped tile the whole room would erupt into flame. (He was home. He was home. Grian had just finally softened his edges a bit, stopped being so ruthlessly aggressive with Scar specifically; it wasn’t Scar’s fault he was good at everything, if Grian had such a problem with him he could take it up with the clan leader!)

Still, Scar was filled with a great trepidation by the time he reached the other side of the hall. He couldn’t remember a time where he had been so scared, heart pounding out of his chest despite his willing it not to. He held his gun tight in his bottom right hand before pushing the heavy steel door open.

Despite the weight of the door, his entrance had made no noise at all, and he was left gaping at the two humans in the cockpit, one of them looking at a magazine while the other was staring unimpressed at a bookshelf, arms crossed. He knew them. Scar knew these humans. He’d killed them.

“I hate the ones with libraries, do they really expect us to look through every book? Put them back exactly where we found them? Can we just kill ourselves and try for something marginally less tedious.”

The unremarkable human- Cub was his name, didn’t look up from his magazine, “I don’t think one bookshelf constitutes a library, Cleo.” He was a bit snide the way he spoke, and Cleo whipped around on him with just as short a fuse.

“There’s always more than one, and you don’t like these either, so if you could stand to shelf the attitude for one-”

Scar fired his gun. He missed the first two shots, and despite talking of killing herself like it was a normal afternoon activity, the red haired human lunged out of the way, only to be taken down by a bullet to the knee, then the neck, then the head.

Cub had not moved, though he looked marginally surprised. “Dude.”

Scar shot him as well. Dead people did not speak. Dead people were not supposed to come back to life. Scar stared him down, just begging this corpse to test its luck, but Scar felt a little better when he remembered people without heads can’t talk. Good.. Good.

He sat down at the control panel, looking through the keyboards and buttons and screens. They all had.. human characters. Human words. He couldn’t read any of it, and if he was being honest with himself, he probably wouldn’t have been able to decipher much even if it was his own language up on the screens. Mumbo was part of his crew for a reason. Mumbo. He wished Mumbo was here. Mumbo was smart, not clever, but smart, he’d know what someone ought to do in a situation like this. Scar pulled his knees to his chest, staring helplessly at the screens.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Mumbo. Mumbo. He- Scar- was on a ship. He must be on the same ship because these humans were still here, which meant Mumbo was still here- he had to still be here, he just- Scar cuffed his own ears (well, the one and the space where the other used to be), struggling to remember. He must have boarded this place somehow. He’d probably done it violently- did this place have an airlock? No.. he didn’t think so. There must be a hole. He’d find Mumbo if he found the hole.

Scar got to his feet, racing to the hallway door and failing to notice the pressure plate before his full weight fell upon it. He was too disoriented to react, struck from behind by an arrow that pierced his abdomen and threw him to his knees.

No- No! He couldn’t help himself from mewling like a child. This just- This wasn’t fair!

Adrenaline blanketed most of the pain, but kept him unsteady on his feet. Why was this happening? Who- Who planted traps in their control room? Scar was hit with a wave of dizziness that made him wonder if the arrow was laced with poison. Anything seemed likely. But he.. he would be okay. He just had to find Mumbo.

Ignoring the weight of pain in his abdomen, Scar ran. He burst through the only other exit, and the next thing he knew, he was falling. He did not fully understand what had happened when he hit the ground, but he knew it sounded- bad.. It sounded wet. He knew he was not lying flat. He knew he was sinking, slowly. He could see blood welling from a hole in his chest, he could taste it on his tongue, but his vision was too blurry to see past the.. thing.. protruding from him. It was red. He couldn’t feel his legs.

Long minutes passed before the end had the grace to take him.

LOOP 2

When Scar woke up he was crying. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he’d fallen face first into the stark steel floor. He got up. Where was he? He’d never been here befo- wait. No, he recognized the shape of the room. He was still on their ship, the human ship.

But he thought.. Nevermind.

He pushed through the right door and was immediately set on fire. Scar screamed, his suit somewhat flame retardant but certainly not panic retardant, and he stumbled blindly backwards, flame licking the corners of his vision as the fibers of his suit began to melt into his skin. Something gave under his clawing hands, and the wall opposite him crunched against his back, Scar falling limp as his assailant innocently churned back into the wall, undetectable if not for the smattering of blood where it had split him open. He probably looked as if he’d been flattened by nothing, like a piano had fallen gracelessly out of the sky, crushed him, then flown away.

Perhaps that’s what the humans thought when they found his body. Scar wouldn’t know.

LOOP 3

Scar almost didn’t fall this time, but he did, and apparently his arms woke up later than the rest of his body, because he did not almost catch himself before hitting the ground, he was not even close. Given the blood he tasted a couple seconds later, he got the sense he broke his nose this time. Great.

He sat up, removing his helmet and throwing it across the room for its grand misdeed of being in his way. Stupid. If he suffocated or passed out or died in some other terrible, painful way, then so be it.

Scar looked up from where he sat, legs crossed and tail lashing. He didn’t know where he was, but he had a pretty good idea. Same ship. Different room. It must be different, it was decorated too differently, though the doors were in the same positions. Maybe they were like this in every room. He just had to find the room with the hole in the side, then he’d find Mumbo. Mumbo would get him out of this.

Left door this time. Come on.

Scar was a little more cautious when he approached the door this time, waiting a moment lest he be immediately set on fire (Perhaps an odd thing to be concerned about, but it felt relevant). Trepidatiously, he tested the first step while doing his best to keep the rest of himself behind the steel door, but once the ground didn’t cave underneath him, he slid the rest of himself inside. He hoped to keep the door open behind him, but it seemed determined to close on him, and Scar had nothing to prop it open with. He sighed, resigning himself to turn around. The humans were on the other side of the hallway, staring.

“Hey, he’s getting it!” Cub seemed quite pleased, though Scar doubted he felt that way with a bullet through his brain, his companion catching him with some strain before he hit the ground.

“Are you fucking stupid? Will you stop-” she did not get to finish before Scar shot her several times, perhaps overkill, but clearly these people were having trouble staying dead. They must be pretending or something- they could regenerate their injuries, they needed a little extra help to stop doing that-

Scar didn’t get much more time to spiral before the two bodies hit the ground in a wet crunch, the sound so distracting, so viscerally, uncomfortably familiar that Scar did not notice the column opening up at the end of the room, and he knew very little of the bullet holes in his stomach before he was nothing at all.

LOOP 4

Scar fell on his face, but this time something was wrong, he’d fallen on his face enough to know something was wrong. Then his world was a deafeningly loud noise, and despite its eventually fading, in its place was a horrible pressure, beyond which he didn’t feel anything at all. He couldn’t move. He also couldn’t say why.

…

“Ah, classic.”

Scar didn’t know how much time had passed. He didn’t know who was speaking. He had very little sense of being alive or dead.

Someone else spoke. “Well, this makes more sense than him taking the long way around. Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone under the anvil. You’d think he’d see it before.. well..”

“Maybe cats don’t look up..” the speaker paused, and when he spoke again, the voice seemed further at the periferie of Scar’s mind, “Or maybe he tripped or something. It’s kinda weird it hit him right in the middle, right?”

“Who knows. Guess we might as well start over if he’s dead then.”

“Eh, maybe it would be a better idea if we continued on instead. He’s kinda getting in the way, isn’t he?”

The other snorted, “You’re not trying to tell me you actually don’t want to know what the deal with this guy is. If you are telling me that, I don’t believe you. I’m so sick of you I’d rather take the company of the guy who keeps shooting me in the face- beyond that, I am fucking tired of puzzles.”

“I’m not. Not a good puzzle.”

“Uh huh. Keep being contrary, see where it gets you.”

“You used to like puzzles. You’ve changed.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The other didn’t seem to be deterred, continuing on to a different subject so seamlessly that Scar had trouble recognizing the topic had changed, “You don’t think this guy’s still alive, do you? He doesn’t look very alive, but y’know. Things happen. Don’t want him to suffer or anything.”

“Yeah, it would be kind to make sure, wouldn’t it.” Scar heard a gunshot, but it must not have hit him, because he didn’t feel any less half-alive than he did now. After the loud sound of someone else hitting the ground, Scar.. well Scar didn’t get the chance to think about what that meant before he was nothing once more.

LOOP 5

Scar woke up. He fell. He got back up.

He.. He really didn’t know what to do.

He was scared, scared to leave, scared to stay, scared to do anything, but if he did nothing, he was scared of the people that would not die. They would not take well to him. Even if they weren’t concerned about the prospect of death (they must have known the first time, that must be why they were so nonchalant), Scar had still ‘killed’ them several times by now, and if he could do so permanently, he would in a heartbeat! He meant to take them home, he still meant to do it, and they must know that, surely. Could he trick them? He didn’t remember either of them carrying any sort of weapons, but maybe they hadn’t had the chance to use them. The only reason Scar was still alive was because he attacked first.

But he couldn’t stay here. He had to go home.

Scar crept toward the left door, cautious to his very extreme in this horrible cursed place, and pressed his ear to the steel. He heard nothing. Okay. Okay.

He heaved the door open, only to see the humans at their door, slivers of their faces poking out through the crack. Scar withdrew, slow, until he matched their position behind his own door. This seemed good. This seemed safe.

“Great.” Cleo said, though Scar struggled to parse if this was sarcasm. “Are you ready to talk yet, or still too trigger happy?”

Scar frowned, ear flattening. “I’m plenty trigger happy. You’d be best staying right where you are.” Scar drew his gun to prove it, shoving an arm through the crack in the door, but faltered slightly when Cub pointed.

“Careful. Up.”

Scar followed his gaze above himself, where a bright red laser was slowly descending from the ceiling, though gaining momentum as it went. Scar drew his arm back when he noticed the scorch marks on the opposite wall, then watched in silence as the laser gained speed, cutting all the way to the floor before it was gone. A red hot wire receded back toward the ceiling.

All three of them stared in silence before Cub looked up, breaking the silence. “Bad reaction speed.”

Scar’s gun was drawn in the blink of an eye, fired just as fast, and hand withdrawn as the bullet ricocheted off every wall, smashing pots and knocking picture frames until it clinked across the floor, activating a pressure plate that shot crooked spikes from the opposite walls. Scar’s stomach churned, but in a way, he was also quite pleased. The laser whizzed past long before the humans reopened their door.

“You don’t have to bluff your shots, stranger, we know your dick is small,” Cleo said drily, Cub snorting beneath her.

“He wasn’t bluffing. Just can’t aim.”

Scar shot again, and he did not miss. He couldn’t tell who he hit, both humans yelled before their door slammed closed, soundproofed apparently, but Scar cackled all the same, nearly losing his arm to the laser in his distracted state. It was a while before the humans’ door opened again, but Scar spent that time deeply amused.

Only Cleo was present when the door reopened. “Happy with yourself, are you?”

“Very! I think you’ll come to find I don’t mess around.”

Cleo frowned, head inclining to the side. “Yes, I would say so. Unfortunately, that was quite cool. I’d chalk it up to luck, but I think you’ve proven yourself to be more than a good shot. Do you have a name, stranger?” Scar blinked, tail tip crooking before the meaning behind the words could catch up with the rest of him. It was true, very true, he was a good shot, one of his numerous admirable traits.

“Why thank you,” he said, holding himself a little straighter, not that Cleo could see more than a sliver of him behind the door. “You can call me Scar, or actually- You should refer to me by my full title, Scar-”

“I’m just going to call you Scar.”

Scar narrowed his eyes at them, whiskers twitching, but maybe time and fear had worn away at his resolve. “If you must.”

“Well, Scar, I am Cleo, and my-” she cut herself off, lip curling ever so slightly, “friend, is called Cub. You haven’t seen much of us, but I think you can guess that we are here by virtue of being very unpleasant people. I hope we can get along, since you might be here for a while-” Scar growled, but Cleo interrupted him, “I’m not threatening you, but you have to know by now that none of us are here by choice.”

Scar was quiet, eyes remaining as slits, but he understood. “You are undead. You are not natural, your people had to send you away to keep you from coming back.”

Cleo looked a bit astonished, looking from Scar back to themself, at their stitches, their gray-green skin. “I- Well, yes- You’re talking about me, right?”

“Both of you.”

Cleo blinked, then relaxed, “Oh, Cub isn’t dead.” She looked behind herself. “Well he won’t be soon enough. You really don’t know where you are?”

“You’re both dead, I’ve blown both your heads off like three times now.”

“If we’re dead, then so are you,” Cleo frowned, “This is a time loop, Scar. The loop is triggered when all three of us kick it. You broke into a very expensive human prison cell.”

“I- I am not dead!”

“Whoa there, cool it with the firearms kitty cat.” Cleo must have known Scar would shoot, because the door shut before his bullet could thread the needle into her face. Perhaps they weren’t still expecting him to be pointing his gun, waiting for the door to reopen, because they certainly weren’t fast enough the second time.

Not a second later, the laser flew through his arm. Scar screamed, tearing backward in a blind panic- since when had it moved so fast-!?

His blood was warm, all of him was too warm, he couldn’t breathe, he had to stop the bleeding somehow but he couldn’t look, something in his brain wouldn’t let him look, head wrenching to the left where what remained of his top right arm couldn’t hurt him. He needed a tourniquet. He needed something.

Agony burned so completely down his right side that he became convinced he had been cut in half, he couldn’t see, he could hardly walk straight, he had no first aid, not for something like this- He could patch holes in his suit and gunshot wounds, but he couldn’t save his arm! He needed to stop the bleeding, he was going to die, he wished so badly he’d paid more attention in class, maybe he’d know what to do, but how could he act when all that was left of his sane mind was bright, blinding panic.

He pushed himself to the floor, his whole right side, who knew where the blood stopped and his body began, he just needed this to stop. With uncoordinated hands, he clawed the carpet into himself, he felt so stupid, he just knew he needed pressure, put pressure on the bleeding, that would stop it, for fuck’s sake, why did he have to be so stupid!

Still, he pushed into the carpet with dwindling strength. He tried, he tried so hard to do it, to save himself. But he was too stupid. Too weak.

He called for Mumbo.

He died alone.

LOOP 6

He died. Scar.. died. He was dead. It was over.

Scar did not get up when he fell, he hardly even tried to catch himself, to stumble, because it didn’t really matter, did it. He was gone. There was nothing else. He must have been dead for a while. The first time maybe, that’s when it had happened. Scar hadn’t made it out of the ship with the lives he’d stolen. He hadn’t made it back to Mumbo. He really didn’t remember how it had ended.. had it been instant? Scar never imagined a painless death for himself. He was supposed to go down fighting, a hero. He’d be taken back home, celebrated for being something despite all the odds, and consumed, as was customary. He’d never make it home now.

Where was he now? Some sort of odd purgatory? This couldn’t be hell, or the many alternative bad places. Well.. maybe it was? All he’d done since he’d died was.. had he really been dying all this time? How many times had this happened? He wasn’t sure he could name a single way he’d gone, but he remembered waking up, he remembered falling on his face. Well.. he did remember bleeding out. He didn’t think he’d forget that in a hurry.

He was dead. Fuck.

From the ground, his ear twitched at the quiet shuffling of the left door being pushed open. He didn’t look up. He found he didn’t care enough to do so. What was there left to live for when you were already dead?

“Hey.” it was Cleo, her voice hard, “Are you alive?”

Scar’s tail twitched in dejected acknowledgement, but he did not move. “No.”

“Glad someone’s learned how to be a smartass. Eat shit and choke you stupid, insolent motherfucker.”

Scar didn’t so much as lift his head before he was shot several times, and though he lost count after six, he was pretty sure they reloaded just to pummel him with another round. After that, he heard little more than the click of Cleo’s shoes as she marched the way she’d come.

[winxanity-ii]

MEMORY CARD [2/?]

ship: artist!andy x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 7.6k a/n: im in love with this fic lolo (part 3 will be up soon) parts: 1

★·.·´🇦‌🇱‌🇮‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

The night had stretched on, the saloon slowly emptying as patrons trickled out into the cool darkness, heading back to their rooms or wherever else the night might take them. You had to eventually drag Kiro back to the inn, but sleep had been elusive.

Every time you closed your eyes, his face flashed before you—those dark, unreadable eyes.

You tossed and turned, the thin mattress creaking beneath you as you tried in vain to find a comfortable position.

You knew who he was, of course. How could you not? He was one of the many hosts set up at the park, his face one that had been meticulously designed and crafted to be both compelling and approachable, his narrative tailored to fit seamlessly into the world of Westworld.

But for some reason, seeing him last night had stirred something in you, something that kept you awake as the hours slipped by and the night deepened around you.

When the first rays of morning light began to creep through the curtains, painting the room in soft shades of gold and pink, you gave up on sleep entirely.

The faint sound of roosters crowing in the distance mingled with the murmur of early risers beginning their day.

You lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and restlessness. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft, even breathing of Kiro still asleep in the bed next to yours.

You sighed, pushing yourself up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The wooden floor was cool beneath your feet as you stood, the boards creaking softly under your weight.

You padded over to the window, pushing the curtains aside and squinting against the bright light of the rising sun.

The town below was beginning to wake up, the early morning air filled with the distant clatter of hooves and the low murmur of voices.

It should have been peaceful, calming even, but your mind was still racing, replaying the events of the night before.

The way he had looked, so out of place yet so perfectly at home in the saloon, the lines of his suit sharp and crisp against the rough backdrop of the old western town.

The way his eyes had stayed fixed on the stage, as if he were searching for something in the performance, something that eluded him.

The way his presence had felt like a pull, a magnet that you couldn't resist even from across the room.

You knew you shouldn't be this affected. After all, he was just a host, a product of the park's intricate storytelling and advanced technology. But it was hard to ignore the way your heart had jumped at the sight of him, the way your thoughts kept circling back to him no matter how much you tried to push them away.

And maybe it was because of who you were—because of your connection to this place, to the very technology that had made it possible.

You were the daughter of one of the richest men in the world, a man who had built his empire on innovation and vision. Lionel Hawthorne, a name that had become synonymous with brilliance and ambition.

He had risen to the top of the tech world with a groundbreaking line of AI and robotics that had revolutionized the industry, his brilliance encapsulated in a single, brilliant line of code.

That code had been his masterpiece, the key that unlocked the full potential of artificial intelligence. It was the foundation upon which his company, Hawthorne Industries, had been built.

A code so advanced, so ahead of its time, that it had caught the attention of Delos. They had bought the rights to it, integrating it into their own technology to create hosts that were more lifelike, more autonomous, more… human.

You had grown up surrounded by that brilliance, by the power and promise of technology that could change the world. But even then you knew, despite all the marvels and promises it held, there were lines that shouldn't be crossed, boundaries that shouldn't be blurred.

Your entire life, your father had spoken with a certain reverence about one of his so-called greatest partnerships, his eyes lighting up with a rare kind of enthusiasm whenever the topic came up.

Westworld.

He would talk for hours about the marvels of the park, the genius of its design, the limitless potential of its narratives.

To him, it was the pinnacle of human achievement, the ultimate playground where technology and imagination intertwined to create a world where anything was possible.

He would tell you about how the hosts—so lifelike they were indistinguishable from humans—could adapt and evolve within their stories, how guests could step into another life, another world, and experience things they'd only ever dreamed of.

The freedom, the possibility, the sheer brilliance of it all. He spoke of Westworld as if it were a living, breathing entity, something more than just a collection of code and machinery.

It was his legacy, a testament to the power of his creations.

But for you, it was never that simple.

Even as a child, the idea of it had made you uncomfortable. The thought of people coming here, stepping into this world, and doing whatever they pleased to the hosts—creatures who looked, spoke, and acted like real people—had never sat right with you.

It felt wrong, twisted somehow, this notion that someone could pay for the right to play God, to bend another being to their will, no matter how artificial that being might be.

You'd pushed back for years, your arguments falling on deaf ears as your father brushed aside your concerns with a wave of his hand and that charismatic smile of his. "You don't understand," he would say, his tone always patient, as if speaking to a child who didn't quite grasp the complexities of the world. "Westworld is more than just a place for people to indulge their basest desires. It's a place of discovery, of transformation. It's where people can find out who they truly are."

But you weren't convinced. The stories you'd heard, the rumors about what people did in the park, the violence, the debauchery—it was enough to make you want to stay as far away from it as possible.

That is, until your fifteenth birthday.

He had been relentless that year, insisting that it was time for you to see the park for yourself, to experience the wonder of it firsthand. He'd spoken of the other side of Westworld, the side that wasn't about violence or control.

There were family-friendly activities, he said, places to explore, things to learn.

He'd painted such a vivid picture of it, so different from the dark tales you'd heard, that you'd finally given in.

You'd gone, more out of a desire to please him than any real curiosity about the park.

You still remembered the excitement in his eyes as you'd boarded the train together, his hand on your shoulder as he'd told you about all the things he wanted to show you, all the places he thought you'd love.

Your mother had been there too, her smile warm but distant as always, more interested in the idea of being part of something so exclusive, so elite, than in the park itself.

But when you arrived, your parents had quickly been swept away, caught up in the allure of their own narratives, their own desires.

You'd found yourself left to your own devices, wandering aimlessly through the dusty streets of Sweetwater, feeling out of place and overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all.

You'd spent most of those first few days near the inn, avoiding the chaos and the crowds, watching from a distance as people laughed and shouted, their faces flushed with excitement.

It had felt surreal, like you were watching a play unfold around you, each person an actor in a story that you couldn't quite grasp.

Then, one day, you'd drifted further than usual, your feet carrying you down the winding streets until you found yourself standing outside the post office. It had been quiet there, a small, unassuming building at the edge of town, away from the main hustle and bustle.

You'd hesitated, unsure why you'd come this way, what you were looking for.

And that's when you saw him.

He'd had a telegram clutched in his hand, his gaze downcast as he stared at the ground, his shoulders slumped in a way that made him seem smaller, more vulnerable than the other hosts you'd seen.

When you'd walked by, he'd looked up, his eyes widening slightly as if he hadn't expected to see anyone there. "Excuse me," he'd said, his voice soft, a hint of a British accent coloring his words. "I—I hate to impose, but might I ask for your assistance?" He'd hesitated, his fingers twisting the telegram nervously. "You see, I've found myself in a bit of a predicament. I was meant to take a train to the construction site of the continental railroad, but I seem to have boarded the wrong one."

His story, as it turned out, was one of misplaced directions and missed connections. After contacting his employers via telegram and explaining the situation, he'd been told to catch the correct train at a different station, but he was still unsure of how to get there.

So there he had sat, looking lost and out of place, his elegant attire—a dark waistcoat and crisp white shirt beneath a tailored coat, all of it dusted lightly with the grime of travel—setting him apart from the dusty, rugged townsfolk who milled around the post office.

You'd watched as he struggled to compose himself, his fingers trembling slightly as he'd folded and unfolded the telegram in his hands.

When you'd agreed to help, his relief had been palpable, his shoulders sagging as he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for ages. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere and grateful. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

The two of you had made your way to the Mariposa Saloon, Andy walking beside you with an air of cautious optimism. He'd explained as you walked that the guide he'd found in town wouldn't take him unless he had someone else with him—a strange, arbitrary rule that seemed designed more to frustrate him than anything else. He'd chuckled softly at that, shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe his own misfortune.

"It's just my luck, really," he'd said with a rueful smile. "I was hired to document the progress of the railroad, and here I am, stuck in this town, unable to even find the right station. I suppose it makes for a rather amusing story, doesn't it?"

You'd found yourself smiling despite your best efforts, charmed by the gentle self-deprecation in his tone, the way he seemed so genuinely perplexed by the absurdity of his situation.

He was so unlike the other hosts, so unassuming and earnest, and you couldn't help but be drawn to him.

When you'd finally reached the saloon, you'd found the guide inside, a grizzled old man who'd squinted at Andy with a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect. "About time ya' found someone," he'd muttered, his voice rough as gravel. "Come on, then. We've got a train to catch."

You'd watched as Andy's face lit up, his eyes bright with relief as he’d turned to you. "Thank you," he'd said again, his gratitude clear in every word. "Truly. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

And then, the three of you were off.

Since then, you'd been back and forth to the park so many times over the years that you'd practically memorized the storylines of most of the hosts that had been part of the park's core narrative for as long as you could remember—like Teddy Flood's tragic tale of love and loss, his unwavering devotion to Dolores Abernathy that always ended in heartbreak.

Each story was a carefully crafted puzzle, a web of interactions and possibilities designed to draw people in, to make them feel like they were part of something bigger, something real.

But by far, Andy's storyline was your favorite.

His narrative was simple, almost quaint compared to the others, but there was something about it that had always resonated with you.

He was a British artist who had been commissioned to come to the frontier and document the construction of the continental railroad through a series of sketches and paintings.

The idea of a refined gentleman artist finding himself thrust into the rough-and-tumble world of the Wild West was endearing in a way—a fish-out-of-water story that felt almost whimsical against the backdrop of the park's more violent, chaotic tales.

After you'd agreed to help him find the station that first time, it had become something you looked forward to, something that felt almost like a secret between the two of you.

The route itself was split into two paths, each leading to a vastly different experience.

The family-friendly one, the one you always took, wound its way through a serene landscape, leading you to a hidden waterfall nestled in a secluded glen. There, the air was cool and fresh, the gentle roar of the water mingling with the soft rustle of leaves and the sweet scent of wildflowers. Berry bushes dotted the edges of the clearing, their fruit ripe and glistening under the sunlight.

It was like stepping into a fairytale, a place untouched by the harshness of the world outside.

You'd always found a strange peace there, standing by the water's edge, your hands stained red and purple from picking the berries. Andy would sit nearby, his sketchbook balanced on his knee, his brow furrowed in concentration as he captured the scene with deft, practiced strokes.

It was a simple routine, one you cherished more than you cared to admit.

The other path, the one you avoided, led to something much darker. You'd heard the stories, whispers of what awaited those who chose that route. A ghost town, long abandoned, where the ruins of a saloon stood as a grim reminder of the violence that had taken place there. Inside, there was a reenactment—a twisted, macabre show where guests could play out their darkest fantasies, indulging in acts that blurred the line between entertainment and depravity.

There were no boundaries here, no limits to what could be done.

It was the kind of thing Westworld was known for, the reason so many people flocked to the park in search of thrills they couldn't find anywhere else.

But that wasn't what drew you back to the park year after year.

No, it was the quiet moments, the ones that felt real in a way you couldn't quite explain, that kept you coming back.

It was the feeling of Andy's hand on yours as he helped you over the rocks by the river, his fingers warm and firm against your skin, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

It was the way he would look at you, his eyes soft and thoughtful, his words gentle as he called you a rare beauty, his voice carrying an admiration that made your heart flutter in a way that left you breathless and confused.

You'd tried to dismiss it, to tell yourself it was all part of the narrative, that his affection, his kindness, were just another layer of the story he'd been programmed to tell. But the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you—it felt different.

It felt real.

And that was what scared you the most.

Each time you reached the station, having taken the gentler path, Andy would reach into his suitcase, his expression proud and almost shy as he handed you a drawing.

It was always a flower, a delicate rose or a wild bloom sketched with such care and precision that you could almost feel the softness of the petals under your fingertips.

You'd collected them all, carefully storing them in a leather-bound book you kept hidden away, a secret reminder of the time you'd spent together.

But then...reality became crashing down.

You were nineteen, on the cusp of adulthood, and the world outside Westworld had begun to press in on you, demanding your attention in ways you couldn't ignore.

You'd tried to put it all behind you, to focus on your life, your studies, your family. But the memories lingered, the feelings you'd tried so hard to bury still whispering in the back of your mind, refusing to be silenced.

You'd found yourself at war with your emotions, torn between the rational part of your mind that told you he was just a host, just a collection of code and circuits, and the part of you that ached whenever you thought of him, that remembered the way your heart had skipped a beat when he smiled at you, the way your breath had caught in your throat when he'd call your name.

It had become too much—the confusion, the longing, the impossibility of it all.

So you'd stopped coming, stopped visiting the park, stopped putting yourself through the torment of seeing him and knowing that it could never be real.

And now, four years later, at twenty-three, you were back.

With a sigh, you turned away from the window, running a hand through your hair as you tried to shake off your muddled emotions.

You'd told yourself you had come here to enjoy yourself, to escape from the pressures of your life for a while, to lose yourself in the fantasy and the adventure of Westworld.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

You'd come back for him, for the chance to see him again, to find out if those feelings, those sparks that had once threatened to consume you, were still there.

And as you stood in the saloon last night, your eyes drawn to his solitary figure in the corner, you'd felt it again—that familiar rush of emotions you'd thought you'd left behind.

The sight of him, looking so lost and alone, had brought it all flooding back—the memories, the feelings, the ache in your chest that had never really gone away.

You knew it was dangerous; you knew you were treading a fine line between fantasy and reality, between what was possible and what could never be. But as you stood there, your heart racing, your mind spinning with a thousand thoughts, one thing was clear.

You weren't done with him.

Not yet.

And this time, you were determined to find out what it all meant, no matter where it led.

The sun had already settled high in the sky by the time you finally left the inn, the warmth of the day pressing gently against your skin as you stepped outside.

You'd chosen to stick with your green aesthetic, just like on the train, but this time you'd added a touch of softness with a dress adorned with delicate flower patterns on the sleeves, the fabric falling gently around your knees in a way that felt both comfortable and flattering.

You were a little embarrassed to admit how long it had taken you to get ready that morning, standing in front of the mirror, making sure every detail was perfect.

Kiro had been exasperated with you, of course.

She'd watched you fuss over your hair and straighten your dress with a mix of impatience and amusement. "You know, you're taking longer than I do to get ready, and that's saying something," she'd teased, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. "I'm heading out. Meet me at the saloon tonight, okay? Don't get too lost in your head today." And with that, she'd left, eager to explore the park on her own terms.

Now, as you descended the stairs of the inn, your hand trailing along the polished wooden railing, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach.

You smoothed the front of your dress once more, the soft fabric cool under your fingertips, the vibrant green contrasting with the sun-washed browns and reds of the town outside.

As your feet touched the last step, you heard a low whistle, the sound drawing your attention to a small group of rough-looking cowboys lounging against the porch railing nearby.

They were the kind of men who looked like they belonged in this world, their faces tanned and weathered, their hats pulled low over their eyes as they eyed you with a lazy, predatory interest.

"Well, well, well. Now, ain't you a sight for sore eyes," one of them drawled, his eyes raking over you with a slow, deliberate gaze. "Look sweeter than a peach just waitin' to be plucked." His grin was wide, showing a row of yellowed teeth, his words met with a chorus of chuckles from the men around him.

Another leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked you up and down. "Mmm, I'd sure like to sink my teeth into somethin' else," he added, his tone dripping with innuendo as the rest of them cackled, their laughter harsh and grating in the stillness of the afternoon.

You glanced at them, a single, disinterested look that you hoped conveyed exactly how little you cared for their words.

They were either guests—in which case a host would step in if they tried anything due to the Good Samaritan Reflex code, or hosts themselves—which means their behavior is designed to be provocative but ultimately harmless.

Either way, you knew there was no real danger, not here, not like this.

So you straightened your shoulders, your gaze fixed firmly on the path ahead of you, and walked past them without a word, your chin held high as you ignored their lewd stares and crude comments.

They called after you, their voices fading into the background as you continued down the street, each step carrying you further away from their lingering gazes.

It wasn't long before you found yourself near the post office, the familiar sight of it bringing a rush of nostalgia that tightened in your chest.

You slowed your steps, your eyes scanning the area almost unconsciously.

And then you saw him.

Just like all those years ago, he sat on the bench outside the telegram office, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed over a piece of paper in his hands. The same air of frustration and sadness clung to him, a palpable sense of weariness in the way he held himself.

Your heart flipped in your chest, the familiar, almost painful ache spreading through you as you took him in. The sunlight casted a warm glow over his skin, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the line of his brow as he stared down at the paper in his hands.

He looked just as he did the first time you'd encountered him—disheartened and frustrated.

You stood there for a moment, your breath caught in your throat, your feet rooted to the ground as you watched him.

It was as if you'd been transported back to that first day, the day you'd found him sitting here, lost and alone, a small, seemingly inconsequential part of this vast, complex world.

But to you, he'd been more than that.

He'd been the one thing that had made this place feel real, the one person who had made you feel like you belonged.

But you knew better.

You'd told yourself so many times that he was just a host, just a collection of code and circuitry, that whatever connection you felt, whatever emotions he stirred in you, weren't real.

And yet, standing here, watching him, you couldn't help but feel that familiar pull, that spark of something that had never really gone away.

You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as you forced yourself to move, your steps slow and measured as you approached the bench where he sat.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the anticipation and fear swirling inside you like a storm, but you kept walking, kept moving toward him, drawn by a force you couldn't explain.

And as you drew closer, his head lifted, his eyes meeting yours with that same startled, almost shy expression you remembered so well.

But before you could say anything, before you could even think of what to say, he spoke, his voice soft and uncertain, the words catching in his throat as he looked up at you with that familiar, heartbreaking mix of hope and hesitation.

"E-Excuse me," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Could you… could you help me, please?"

You were taken aback by the slight change in his introduction.

Normally, he would launch into the full explanation right away, his voice carrying a rehearsed cadence that was both familiar and comforting. But now, he just stared up at you, his eyes wide and earnest, the plea in them so tangible it made your chest ache.

It was almost unsettling how real he seemed, how much more depth there was to his expression, to the subtle shift of emotions that played across his features.

Four years was a long time, long enough for all sorts of updates and changes to be made to the hosts. Who knew what modifications had been added to his programming in that time?

But even so, it was hard not to feel the weight of his gaze, the way he looked at you as if he were truly lost, as if the question he'd asked wasn't just part of a scripted narrative but something he genuinely needed answered.

Clearing your throat, you tried to steady yourself, your mind racing to catch up with the moment. "Ah, y-yes, I can help," you managed, your voice a little shaky as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, to hold that intense, almost pleading gaze. "Um, what exactly can I do?"

He exhaled softly, the breath escaping him in a way that felt almost too human, his shoulders sagging just a fraction as if the prospect of your help had lifted some great weight off his shoulders.

"You see," he began, his voice still low, the words coming slowly, as if he were choosing each one with care, "I've found myself in a bit of a predicament." He paused, his brow furrowing slightly, his gaze dropping to the paper in his hands as if he were gathering his thoughts. "I was meant to take a train to the construction site of the continental railroad, but…" He looked up at you again, his eyes filled with a kind of quiet desperation that took your breath away. "It seems I've boarded the wrong one."

His hand tightened slightly around the telegram, his fingers smoothing over the creased edges, the gesture almost absentminded. "I contacted my employers, and they told me I should catch the correct train at a different station. But, I'm afraid I'm still not entirely sure how to get there." He glanced around, his gaze sweeping the street, his eyes lingering on the distant shapes of the trains at the edge of town before coming back to you, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. "And I fear my sense of direction is not quite up to the task."

You watched him, your heart thudding in your chest as you took in the subtle nuances of his expression, the way his eyes never quite left yours, searching your face for a response, for some sign of reassurance.

There was something so disarmingly sincere in his mannerisms, the slight hitch in his voice, the way his shoulders hunched ever so slightly as if he were bracing himself for disappointment.

It was impossible not to be struck by how much he had changed since your last visit.

The Andy you remembered had been charming, yes, but there had always been a certain distance to his interactions, a formality that marked him as a creation of the park.

But this version of him felt different, more grounded, more real.

It was as if the boundaries between what he was and what he was supposed to be had blurred in your absence, as if he had somehow become more than just a collection of code and wires.

You were so caught up in your thoughts, your gaze lingering on the way the sunlight played off his features, that you almost didn't notice when he leaned in slightly, waving a hand lightly in front of your face. "Ma'am?"

"Uh—uh, yes! I'll help!" you blurted out, feeling your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you snapped back to reality.

You nodded a bit too enthusiastically, trying to regain your composure. But then a sudden thought hit you like a splash of cold water.

You weren't alone on this trip. Kiro was here too, off doing who-knows-what, and you couldn't just disappear without her or at least letting her know.

You turned back to Andy, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. "Oh, I forgot, I'm with a friend," you explained, your voice a little hesitant. "And I'm not sure if she'd want to tag along, and I just can't leave her..."

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw his expression shift, the light in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. His shoulders drooped just a fraction, a fleeting look of disappointment passing over his face.

You were already scrambling to make up an excuse, your mind racing for a solution. "...But then again, she's kinda unpredictable, you know?" you added quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Who knows? She might be up for a wild adventure."

He blinked, his gaze flickering back to yours, the hope in his eyes reigniting like a small flame. "Are you... are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," you said, smiling as you nodded. "Lead the way."

Andy seemed to relax at that, his posture straightening as he offered you a grateful smile.

But then he hesitated, glancing down at the ground for a moment before looking back up at you, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck in a gesture that was almost bashful. "I should warn you, though," he murmured, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. "The place I'll be taking you next… it might be a little unorthodox for a lady such as yourself."

He paused, shifting on his feet, his eyes darting away and then back to you. "I apologize in advance," he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper, "if it's not quite what you were agreeing to. I assure you, if there were another way to reach the station, I would take it."

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity piqued by the mix of hesitance and sincerity in his tone. "What do you mean?" you asked, your heart beating a little faster as you tried to piece together what he was getting at.

Andy glanced around, almost as if checking to see if anyone was listening, before leaning in slightly. "We need to go through the Mariposa Saloon," he explained, his voice still soft, his gaze searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction. "It's… well, it's not exactly the most respectable establishment, and I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable."

A soft laugh escaped you, the sound surprising you as much as it seemed to surprise him.

You couldn't help it—there was something endearing about the way he seemed so concerned for your comfort, the way he was trying so hard to be considerate, even in the midst of this fictional world. "It's fine, really," you assured him, your smile widening as you met his eyes. "I think I can handle it."

He looked relieved at that, his shoulders relaxing as he nodded. "Very well, then," he said, offering you his arm in a gesture that was both old-fashioned and utterly charming. "Shall we?"

You took his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his jacket, the solidness of his presence beside you.

As the two of you made your way down the street, the Mariposa Saloon looming ahead, you couldn't help but marvel at how much this narrative had changed, how much more intricate and layered it felt.

The Andy you remembered would have already told you everything, laid out his entire predicament in a neat, tidy package, but this version… He was different.

The information was spread out, doled out in small, tantalizing pieces that made you want to know more, made you want to dig deeper into the story.

It felt more real, more alive, and you found yourself drawn in, caught up in the flow of it, in the way he glanced at you with that almost shy smile, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you.

There was a depth to his mannerisms, a subtlety to his expressions that made it feel less like a performance and more like a genuine interaction.

It was like he'd evolved, become something more complex and human in the years you'd been away.

When you both entered the saloon, a familiar scene unfolded before your eyes. The low murmur of voices, the lively music from the piano in the corner, and the clinking of glasses created a chaotic symphony that filled the air.

The room was packed, just as it had been the night before, the atmosphere alive with the energy of a dozen different stories playing out around you.

Andy navigated through the throng of people with ease, his hand hovering close to yours as he led the way to the bar.

You took a moment to glance around, your eyes sweeping over the familiar sights. The same rough-and-tumble cowboys leaning against the bar, the saloon girls laughing softly as they coaxed coins from eager hands, the showgirl on stage captivating the audience with her sultry voice.

It was all so familiar, yet there was an added layer to it today, a sense of anticipation humming in the air that you couldn’t quite place.

The bartender from last night caught sight of you as you approached, his smirk widening as he tossed the towel over his shoulder, picking up a glass to polish as if he had all the time in the world. "What can I get for a fine filly such as yourself?" he drawled, his eyes sweeping over you appreciatively.

There was no hint of recognition in his gaze, just the easy charm of a man who was used to making small talk and selling drinks. His purpose here was simple, his role in the story limited to serving alcohol and providing bits of information for those who needed it.

Before you could answer, Andy cleared his throat, stepping a little closer to you as if to shield you from the bartender's gaze. "I'm afraid we're not here for drinks," he said, his voice polite but firm. "We're looking for Mr. Granger."

The bartender's smirk faded slightly, replaced by a look of mild annoyance as he jerked his head toward the back of the room. "Granger's over there, playin' cards," he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he glanced between you and Andy. "Good luck gettin' him to listen, though. That man's more interested in his women and his winnings than anything else."

Andy nodded, his grip tightening gently around your wrist as he turned to lead you toward the corner where the bartender had indicated. "Thank you."

You felt your heart skip a beat at the touch, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

It wasn't the first time he'd guided you like this, but something about the way he held your wrist now felt different, more intimate somehow, as if he were reluctant to let go.

You followed him through the crowd, the noise and chaos swirling around you like a living, breathing thing, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his hand, the way his shoulder brushed against yours as he maneuvered you both through the room.

The back of the saloon was dimly lit, the air thick with the acrid scent of cigar smoke and the sour tang of spilled beer.

A large group of men were gathered around a table, their voices rising and falling in a raucous chorus as they shouted and cursed at one another, their hands slapping down cards and coins with equal fervor.

It was a raucous, chaotic scene, the players’ faces flushed with drink and excitement as they leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the game with a near-maniacal intensity.

In the middle of the chaos sat Granger, the man you'd been looking for.

He was a rough sight, a grizzled figure with a scruffy red beard that looked like it hadn't seen a razor in weeks and piercing dark green eyes that were sharp and watchful even amidst the drunken revelry around him. His clothes were worn and dusty, the kind of attire that had seen long days under the sun and cold nights by a campfire.

There was an air of danger about him, the kind of man who'd been through more than his fair share of trouble and come out the other side hardened and cynical.

But what stopped you in your tracks wasn't his appearance—it was the sight of Kiro perched on his lap, her legs crossed casually, looking for all the world like she belonged there.

She was wearing his wide-brimmed cowboy hat, the brim tilted jauntily to one side as she held a fan of cards in one hand, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "C'mon, mommy needs a new pair of snake boots," she muttered, the words drawing a burst of laughter from the men gathered around the table.

You watched, dumbstruck, as she threw down her cards with a flourish, the movement quick and precise.

The crowd around the table leaned in, their breath held in anticipation, and then the room erupted in a chorus of shouts and cheers as Kiro's hand cleared the table, sweeping up the pile of coins and bills in the center.

"Well, I'll be damned!" one of the men shouted, slapping his thigh as he laughed, his voice booming over the din. "She done cleaned us out!"

Granger chuckled, a low, rough sound that sent a shiver down your spine as he looked up at Kiro. "You're somethin' else, darlin'," he drawled, his voice a lazy rumble as he reached up to tip his hat back slightly, revealing more of his weathered face. "Didn't think a city girl like you had it in her."

Kiro just grinned, flashing him a cheeky smile as she scooped up the winnings and shoved them into her pockets. "Guess you underestimated me, cowboy," she teased, her voice carrying a playful lilt as she lifted one of the shot glasses from the table and downed it in one go, the liquor burning a path down her throat.

You exchanged a glance with Andy, your eyes wide with disbelief as you took in the scene.

This was Kiro—your Kiro—sitting on the lap of a man who looked like he could chew her up and spit her out without a second thought, and she was acting like she’d just won a round of poker at a fancy hotel rather than in the back of a lawless saloon.

Without thinking, you pulled Andy a little closer, your fingers brushing against his as you moved to stand directly in front of Kiro, your heart pounding in your chest. "Kiro, what the hell?"

She paused mid-swig, the glass hovering just in front of her lips as her eyes widened in surprise.

Slowly, she turned to look at you, blinking as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. "Uh�� hey?" she said, the word dragging out in a way that made it sound more like a question than a greeting.

You stared at her, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the words to express what you were feeling, but all you could manage was a strangled, "What are you doing?"

Kiro glanced around the table, as if suddenly remembering where she was, and then back at you, her lips curling into a sheepish smile. "Just, uh, making friends?" she offered, her voice lilting up at the end, as if she were trying to gauge your reaction.

"Making friends?" you echoed, gesturing to the pile of winnings in front of her. "It looks more like you're robbing them blind!"

Kiro shrugged, the motion exaggerated as she tossed back the rest of her drink, the liquid disappearing in one quick gulp. "It's not my fault they suck at cards," she said, her grin widening as she leaned back, her elbow resting casually on Granger's shoulder. "Besides, what's the point of coming here if you're not gonna have a little fun?"

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something, anything, but then Andy's hand tightened slightly around yours, his fingers warm and reassuring against your skin.

You glanced up at him, his eyes meeting yours with a look of quiet support, and the knot of annoyance in your chest loosening just a fraction.

Taking a deep breath, you gave Kiro a pointed look, mouthing the word "Later," before turning your attention back to Granger. He was sipping on a cup of whiskey, his eyes sharp and calculating as he watched the two of you.

You cleared your throat, trying to summon as much authority as you could muster in the presence of this grizzled, intimidating man. "Mr. Granger, I need your assistance with getting Mr. Andy to the correct station," you began, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

Granger tilted his head slightly, his gaze shifting to Andy, and for a moment, you weren't sure if he was going to take you seriously. But then his eyes lit up in recognition, and a slow, crooked smile spread across his face. "Ah, pretty boy," he said, his voice a rough rumble of amusement as he leaned back in his chair. "I see you did what I told ya, yeah?"

Andy stepped forward, his posture straight and respectful as he nodded. "Yes, sir," he said earnestly, his eyes fixed on Granger’s face. "I desperately need—"

"Yeah, yeah, don't care to hear all that," Granger interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand, his eyes still gleaming with amusement. "Usually, I'd turn down a job like this, 'specially for someone like you." He paused, his gaze flicking over Andy with a kind of wary disdain. "You sound like one of those English uppity types, always comin' through here actin' like they're better than everyone else."

Andy's face tightened slightly at the words, but he held his ground, his jaw clenched as he nodded. "I understand, sir. But—"

"But," Granger cut in, his voice rising slightly as he leaned forward, his eyes locking on yours. "Since you got these two sweet little plums so willin' to get you there, I reckon I can make an exception." He winked at Kiro, who had slid off his lap to stand beside you, her cheeks still flushed from the whiskey.

She straightened her clothes, her hands smoothing down the fabric with quick, nervous movements as she muttered a quiet, "Sorry."

You gave her a small smile before glancing back at Andy. His shoulders seemed to relax just a fraction, his eyes softening as he turned to look at you, gratitude written plainly across his features.

Granger leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered the two of you. "But I ain't doin' it for free," he continued, his tone turning serious as he met Andy's gaze head-on. "I'll get you to the station, but it's gonna cost ya. I need enough to cover my room and board for three nights when I get back, you hear?"

Andy nodded without hesitation, his voice firm and resolute. "Of course, sir. I'll see to it."

Granger grunted, his eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for any sign of deceit. But apparently satisfied, he pushed his chair back with a scrape of wood against wood, the legs catching on the uneven floorboards as he stood. He reached down, scooping up the pile of winnings from the table with one hand, the coins clinking softly as they fell into his palm.

He glanced at Kiro, his smile widening as he split the pile, holding out half of the coins to her. "Here you go, darlin'. You earned it."

Kiro looked at the pile of coins in his hand, her eyes widening slightly before she shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she reached up to pat his chest. "Keep it, big boy," she said with a grin, her tone light and teasing. "You need it more than me."

Granger raised an eyebrow at that, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he tucked the coins back into his pocket. "Suit yourself," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. He nodded toward the door, his expression turning serious once more as he looked back at Andy. "Alright, let's get this show on the road."

You felt Andy's hand brush against yours again, the brief contact sending a rush of warmth through you as he offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You nodded, your heart still pounding as you turned to follow Granger, Kiro close at your side.

Whatever lay ahead, whatever challenges you were about to face, you knew you were ready.

A/N: i wanted to give it in 2 parts but my sis bullied me and said nobody wanna read that long ahh fic 😭💔 she right tho haha sry bout that lolol

[saline-coelacanth]

I'm in the mood to ramble about my ocs so get ready for the infodump. And don't worry, I won't be going into any spoilers for s2p2, this is mainly just gonna be random thoughts and ideas that I want to throw out into the void. Also I might end up repeating some things that's I've mentioned in the past so I apologize if that happens.

Leo has a lot of self worth issues when he first joins the team, mainly because he thinks his powers are useless in the grand scheme of things. Before he unlocks his True Potential, Leo can only control paint instead of being able to manipulate the color out of objects like he can do later on. This also causes some of the ninja to theorize that maybe he's the elemental master of paint, but they later realize his powers include more than just paint.

Because Leo only knows how to control paint at first, he always carries tubes of paint with him in his little pouch that he has. However getting the paint back in the tubes afterwards is hard so the inside of the pouch is kind of a mess with paint stains all over.

Leo is actually pretty messy in general. When he was younger he always got paint stains all over his clothes and that hasn't really changed much over time.

Leo's name is actually a nickname. His full name is Leonard, but he hates it and prefers to be called Leo. He also very rarely tells people his full name.

Leo isn't very strong physically, but he can be surprisingly sneaky and clever. He can adapt to situations pretty quickly which is definitely a good quality to have when your powers lack brute strength.

Leo is also the master at downplaying his own achievements. He could single-handedly save the world and still say that he didn't actually do that much. Luckily the ninja are slowly trying to help him build up his confidence.

Leo also didn't have many close friends before joining the ninja since he preferred being alone when he was younger. He's always been a bit socially awkward so socializing is something he doesn't like doing that much.

Ok enough about Leo, time to ramble a bit about Vivey

Vivey himself doesn't know where his elemental powers came from. Like most of the kids who got their elemental powers in DR, Vivey's powers manifested after the merge.

Vivey may not know where his powers came from, but the idea that I have is simply that Bolobo decided that it was time for a new elemental master of nature. He didn't have anyone to pass his powers to but also trusted that his powers would simply fall into the right hands, so he just kinda... gave up his powers and eventually they ended up finding Vivey and he became the new master of nature. Hopefully that makes sense.

Vivey is a bit of a loner, but not because he doesn't like people. It's mainly just that he's never found anyone who can keep up with him when he's out exploring nature. I like to think that a few of his friends tried to go exploring with him but Vivey accidentally left them behind.

Vivey has always been an explorer. When he was little, he often wandered off a lot and would worry his mom a lot because of this.

Vivey also doesn't like staying in one place for too long. He doesn't really have a home, he just kinda moves around from place to place, usually sleeping out in the wilderness. Pretty much as soon as he was old enough to leave home on his own, Vivey started living like that.

Being the master of nature, it makes sense that Vivey has a lot of knowledge on nature. He's really good at identifying plants and creatures and is also great at navigating. He would definitely do that thing where he tastes dirt to try and track something down.

I also feel like Vivey would just occasionally eat dirt just because. Dirt tastes good sometimes.

I may have briefly mentioned this before, but Vivey and technology don't mix very well. Vivey is not tech literate at all, he barely knows how to use a phone. This often leads to him and Sora butting heads, but they're still good friends. It almost never turns into an actual serious argument between them.

Honestly I should ramble more about Vivey's dynamics with the DR kids, but I feel like that could be a post on it's own.

Ok I think that's enough oc rambling for now. I just love these guys a lot and I will find any excuse I can to talk about them (and also I wouldn't mind answering any asks people have about my little guys because then I could ramble about them more)

But yeah, I mainly need to work on Vivey's background some more since he's newer and doesn't have as much detail as Leo does. Might make another post about him that doesn't include Leo ramblings.

[coworkingspaceinpune]

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[elfony]

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[sreenidhiuniversityblogs]

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[mahamid110]

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[sabrinahawthorne]

CLASH! Devlog, April 6, 2024 - Character Progression

It's been a while. I've had a busy couple of weeks, and I had to take a small break. But I'm back at it, so let's cover a bit of what I've been working on. Oh, and support the game here.

Character Progression

This has been one of those endlessly interesting problems when it comes to designing games. There are a lot of existing paradigms for it, but how you handle it changes a lot about how your game plays. What exactly progresses? How is that progression measured? These are especially important questions to answer in any game that emulates specific genres of fiction.

I knew that for CLASH!, character progression meant two things: empowerment and customization. Shonen heroes unlock incredible new powers and master new and impressive techniques. And while certain tropes and character types emerge across stories, one of the central pillars of "Shonen Battle" as a genre is its creativity. No two powersets are alike, and stories are built to let their authors invent any kind of colorful character or superpower they might want.

These goals meant that I could never use a level-up system for CLASH!. Class levels are handy for rpg design; they lend a framework to designers and players. No matter what other features a player chooses, the table can always count on some set of abilities and a general path of progression. This simply won't work in our case. I need to give players the ability to customize their Fighters how they like; to use the lens of Techs and Pools to give their character their own colorful superpowers. The solution I came up with is twofold.

Firstly - the Mastery system. Once per Arc, a Fighter can choose a single Tech of their choice, from the masterlist of Techs that will be found in the final book.* That Tech has a specific Mastery value, based on its tier. Normal Techs have a value of 2; Specials of 4; and Supers of 6. Whenever they like, the Fighter can use this Tech - at a price. For one, it costs one additional Potential. In addition, doing so imposes a Condition on them. However, in return for this increased cost, they can invest a single Mastery into that Tech. Once they've invested the Tech's full Mastery value into it, the Tech is theirs, and they can use it as normal.

Secondly - a Playbook-based progression system. In addition to Mastery, each Playbook will have a bespoke avenue for learning new Techs that reflects their general playstyle. These are in early stages, but I can give one example that I'm particularly proud of. This is the Cowboy's On Your Toes:

The Cowboy Playbook is about always having another trick up your sleeve, never letting the other guy know what tools you have at your disposal. But it's not about having a huge arsenal at your fingertips - rather, it's about always having an interesting and unique set of tools to help you solve the problem at hand. So the Cowboy doesn't gain Techs - they swap them out. They have a different toolbox for every fight, and approach every challenge differently.

The goal is to give each Playbook something of this caliber, that will lend to their specific trope-space while still allowing for that ever-important customization. Just wait till you see what I have planned for the Specialist.

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[echoedcrosshairs]

Those Who Fight Together - part 7.5 (Angst + Plot)

Summary: Undescribed Jedi female nicknamed Reaper in 3rd person as Duchess as you play as Dooku’s right hand trying to keep him from unlocking the most dangerous knowledge in the universe while the Batch struggles to find you. This chapter bounces back and forth.

Warning: Spice usage, Drinking, Cannon typical violence, smut implied, Tech’s bad mental health, momentarily soft Crosshair, force violence.

Word Count: 7.5k

Masterlist

The service droid escorted you to a grand bedroom, he escorted you around the room showing the finery of the bath and closet already tailored for you. Your eyes trailed to the bacta tank in the corner of your room, you scowled but thankful it was a private one.

"Training with Count Dooku tends to cause injury, you have a personal healing chamber and doctor droid on standby incase of injury," the droid said noticing you looking at it.

"Injury?"

"Yes but it will benefit you in the end."

You remained silent as the droid continued to show you about the castle and the quick discreet passage ways to get around with out being noticed, I wonder why he's showing me this, although it would be beneficial knowledge to incase of an attack. The droid took you back to your Master he was still sitting at the table but this time reading. He motioned for you to eat because you'll need your strength, you obliged him. You answered questions in between bites about your personal life but nothing conflicting, what is your favourite and least favourite planet terrains, favourite foods, simple things. It was an odd sensation but it was nice especially after the night you'd had.

"Your mind is distracted," Count Dooku said during trying watching you barely deflect his attack.

"I'm sorry, Master. I had a rough night before getting here."

"Tell me about it," he coaxed, "Use the feelings to your advantage."

Your swings got more determined letting the rage course through you, you gritted out the feelings of being betrayed and used and the rage they that couldn't be honest with you. Why, what did I do? Was it my loyalty? My strength? Was it my love for protecting those I care about? Why did Cross and Tech back stab me like that? I know I told him not to follow but why didn't they try? We're they all discarding me? Is this what they wanted to happen. You didn't realize it but you said all of it out loud, practically screaming as you swung and deflected. Soon your chest was heaving and you were bent over on your knees.

Count Dooku switch off his sabers and studying you, your conviction, your prowess with your blades, your heart, "Come, my apprentice, mediate with me."

You studied him and followed suit, it was peaceful. The rage boiled down to icy clarity, you could practically feel your blood moving through for your body, every pulse of your heart, the force surrounding you.

"Let your rage become part of you, do not hold it at arms length or you will never reach your full potential. They hurt you, don't place a temporary patch on a hearts wound or it will only take longer to heal."

"Thank you, Master," you opened your eyes and studied him, you did not like him but you were starting to see parts of who he was under all of that darkness.

"How about we up the stakes of the deal? You stay here until they get you, and I prepare you for what is to come."

A chance to better protect them? "I accept."

You pulled yourself tank out of the tank, panting at the nightmare that floated in your consciousness. Watching them fly further from you. The medical droid quickly empty the tank and opened the door and you hopped out, your service droid handing you a robe. You felt your shoulder where his saber had pierced through you all of it completed healed.

"It has been two weeks since your training has started, you are improving," the droid stated.

"Not fast enough," your tone was bitter and your head was pulsating, you felt the injector and the pain subside, "Where is Master Dooku?" you asked rubbing the spot.

"In a conference, I'll alert him that you have awoken. Get dressed," the droid said leaving you.

You stared out your bedroom window changing looking for any sign of them, nothing looked disturbed, you checked the channel and nothing. You let out a breath, sinking to the feeling of loneliness.

"You need to rest, Tech," Hunter said watching Tech still sitting at his computer after three rotations, the desk covered in empty cups of Caf and half eaten bars.

"I can't," he gritted out looking over every piece of clone intelligence about Dooku's last known location trying to correlate the next possible location and if there was any pattern to his movements.

"It's been two weeks-"

"We don't know if she is alive or not, nor do we have any leads about her location nor any conclusive evidence that suggest she even left Serrano," Tech counter with a little bit of annoyance spilling out.

"You still need sleep, I know you're worried. All of us are but she's strong, she know has to know we're coming."

"Does she, Hunter? If you remember last communication we had with her it didn't conclude well " Tech snapped getting up, "I'm going out for the evening."

Echo laid on the floor staring at the ceiling then to her bed and back up to the ceiling, "Where are you," he whispered. He looked to see Crosshair walk in and sit against the wall facing her bed, the palms of his hands digging into his eye sockets. He returned his gaze to the ceiling attempting to give him privacy to work out whatever it bugging him.  "Just be alive," he heard Crosshair mumble before hearing him leave the room. Echo's heart sank further the thought never crossed his mind, No, I would know, he said putting his hand over his heart, I would know.

"Uh- do you want me to follow him?" Wrecker said watching Tech walk off in the direction of the Cantina.

"All of us are going to blow off steam, get grumpy and homicidal," Hunter said attempting to make a joke but realizing it was more factual then a joke. Hunter's drummed against the wall of the ship watching his brother get further away, Don't do anything stupid until we get there.

"I think you are ready to complete a task," Dooku said before putting a spoonful of soup into his mouth, "Nothing that would be much of a hassle for you. There is a clone that needs to be rescued before he is executed."

"A clone?" you said raising an eyebrow taking a bite of bread.

"By the name of Slick, he is... an asset to us and I think having him around would be beneficial to you. You share many of the same ideals and morals, I think it would help you come to an understanding that I am not as bad as the republic makes me out to be."

"I do not doubt you Master, the Jedi use the clones as livestock throwing them at problems without care to their well being nor see them as people. At least what you are doing by using droids is... humane," the rage slipped out, the anger at the cannon fodder the clones were used for and the lack of care they showed them when they died, "I will be more than happy to go retrieve him without haste," you said setting the food down and standing up.

Count Dooku set down his spoon amused that the real you was beginning to show, seeing slices of himself when he was younger in you. He knew you didn't care of either side but respected you would lay down everything for a clone, "I'll send you with a small personal escort, it should be an easily slip in and out task. I'll send you coordinates while you get ready to depart."

You nodded heading towards your room, retiring your luncheon wear for your battle regalia, a body tight red suit that was heavily revealing yet still tactical with your double wrapped chain belt for your sabers. You looked at yourself in the mirror, I'm the Collector good nor evil, the sentence flashed in your mind but you wondered if that was true anymore, This is not who I am, just a role in a mission. That's all... Right? You took the discreet route to the ship finding three MagnaGuards waiting for you. You climbed into the ship sealing it, looking at the coordinates for republic space. Why would he be out there? That's near a desolate little planet. Maybe something Dooku set up.

"Slick?" asked standing on the other side of the shield with a trooper laying on the floor

"Yes?" He asked looking at you noting the sickly sweet voice with a daggers edge, reminding him of an associate of Dooku's but realizing you weren't her.

You motioned for the door to punch open the panel and the ray shield dropped, "Let's go, if you want to to live that is."

"Who might you be?" he asked following noticing the droids following you and the sabers on your belt.

"Count Dooku's assassin," you offered, "a friend."

"I know you from somewhere," he said confused looking at you, "Kenobi's padawan..."

"Former. I left the order, I have a... fondness for clones... it made me sick that they couldn't see what they were doing was wrong."

"All I want is my brother's freedom, a choice that they have been striped off," he spatted, "just numbers."

"Not to me."

He was silent the rest of the way back to the ship, "You... and Commander Wolffe..." he said even more puzzled staring at your face a little closer.

"I thought I recognized you," you laughed looking at him, "Nasty habit causing bar fights."

"Your one to talk, stunning each other for fun."

"A soldier's entertainment, although drawing mustaches on the shinys were hilarious."

"What made you give it up?" He asked.

"I don't like the Jedi nor do I align with the Sith however, I joined a small third party because I could always do what needed to be done to protect the galaxy not just my personal interest."

"Who are you protecting helping us?"

"I use to think it was the men I loved... but I don't know anymore, the future perhaps," you offered.

"Men?" He asked raising an eyebrow.

You told him about The Bad Batch eventually getting to happened the night before you met Dooku, "I am just trying to pick up the pieces."

"I would personally love to shoot them," he said rubbing his wrist after the droids removed the cuffs, "Freedom at their finger tips, a choice... and they choose the wrong fight."

"Yet here I am still at Dooku's side for them," you scoffed at yourself realizing how pathetic it sounded, "at least I feel wanted."

"Free will is a fickle thing isn't it?"

Landing back at Serrano, both of you immediately waited outside of Dooku's private study for him to be done with his conference. Both of you sat out there talking about the war and filling in the gaps of what had happened since his capture. Dooku had been listening at the door hearing your side, content that his scheme of pairing the two of you together would work in his best interest for the war.

He finally opened the door, "Ah your back," he said feigning surprise, "Ventress spoke very highly of you and your abilities," he said looking at Slick, "You shall be part of her escort while she is with us."

"Yes, Sir."

"Come on," Wrecker said picking up Tech from his position on the floor of the Cantina's refresher toilet, "Don't get sick on me," he quickly added dragging him back to the booth.

"It's pathetic," Crosshair snickered watching Wrecker sit him down.

"It's not like you even care about her," Tech said steadying his swirling head on his hand, "Wolffe was right you just wanted to get in her pants and the moment you got it, you stopped caring about her."

"And who asked me to do it," he growled.

"Both of you knock it off. It's been three weeks. What are we going to do?" Echo asked looking to Hunter.

"Keep looking, we know she is alive thanks to the video Tech recovered of her rescuing a republic traitor for who knows why," Hunter said still feeling disgusted about it and the amount of red she was wearing even if it was a flattering color on her.

"With seppie droids," Echo murmured.

"Maybe a favor for the saber?" Wrecker offered.

"Possibly," Hunter thought, "it would make sense," he said relaxing.

Tech grabbed his data pad and slide it towards him, "You should read this."

"You modeled them after them didn't you?" Slick said appearing at your side looking down the droids you requested and the anger across your face.

You looked down at them, the spike shoulder pad like Crosshair, the red band around the neck, you subconsciously brought your fingers to your neck remembering their marks and Hunter's bandana, the big build like Wrecker, the relay band across the back of their heads like Echo's and the slight yellow tint to their eyes which reminded you of Tech's goggles, "It's a reminder," your heart said ripping a little further. "A month, 31 rotations and nothing," you said putting down the pad with your messages.

"Why do you torture yourself like this Duchess?" he said taking the pad from you tossing it over onto the table.

"If you don't learn from your mistakes you will keep making them," you said walking down the stairs to take in the sight of them closer. You ran your hand down the face of the first one, resting it under it's chin before disconnecting it's head watching it slump to the ground, "Fix him," you growled at the plants service droid.

"At this point I think you just like torturing yourself," he muttered kicking the head towards the service droid.

"What's on the agenda for today?" you asked him.

"Have to go collect tribute."

"How boring," you mumbled, "Let's go, Grevs coming?" You asked noticing his ship in the landing bay.

"No, he's just here to pick up and refuel."

"Awe, he's fun to laugh at-"

"The random coughing" Slick finished chuckling.

It was a simple routine both of you fell into, Dooku had you both attached at the hip probably so you both could keep an eye on one another. At some point Wolffe is going to look and get me, he always comes for his own. When is he going to realize their not coming? Would he come after me still?

You started the ship and Slick finished the power up sequence to get the hyperdrive on and put in the coordinates. Kilan? You groaned, Everytime I think I'm catching a break from being his lackey to do something more fun.

"I hate this planet," Slick mumbled, "if it's not one thing it's another with those people." You turned the chair and stared at him, "What?"

"Want to take care of business and then have some rec time?"

"What do you got in mind?" He asked strapping in.

"Literally anything that doesn't involve water, sand, and gathering tributes."

"Count me in, if I have to step on one more dust ball-"

"Don't jinx it."

The place was quiet... to quiet, "Stay close to me," you ordered him your hand twitching at your saber.

He moved in closer taking in how dead it was, not a soul was on the street leading up to the castle nor where any of the guards at their post. He moved in closer and drew his blaster, you pulled your sabers and followed suit. Your hand touched the ground, you focused your self to feel where the people were.

"Villagers are all in there houses, but all of the guards are behind the main gate."

"Trying to ambush us 'eh? Let just cut through the rear-"

"You go up the rear" the sickly sweet rage seeped out and you could feel the rage taking over, "If it's war they want, I'll give it to them."

You walked off switching on the sabers, you raised your hand using the force ripped the door off the hinges sending it forward slicing half the guards in two, "Knock knock, I hope you don't mind me letting myself in." You watch horror spread across their faces you looked up to see the King and Queen of the planet pale staring at you, you clipped the yellow saber back to your belt using that hand to lift the door again, "Do I need to finish cleaning your mess?"

"No no, stand down," the king ordered.

You slide the bodies away from you as you walked up the center of the destruction with Slick following in tow, "Now, just for this little scandal. If you want me to keep quiet about the attempted coo you pay me double although it should be triple given this is my second time here in a week."

"I will pay you no such price."

You pulled her husband up into the air, "Now now let's be civil it's only fair you pay Count Dooku his share for your protection and I for this accident."

"I will never pay, you monster-" then she dropped to her knees hearing the sound of his neck crack.

"His death is on your hands. Pay now or it will be your death as well," you threatened releasing him.

You watched as she stood there horrified, "Get the credits and double it," she ordered the guards weakly.

"Duchess Death has a good ring to it," Slick murmured.

"Actually it does," you smiled at him watching them bring you two big crates, "I assume there won't be any further disturbances?" you asked the in shock woman shake her head, "Good. I hope we don't meet again." You grabbed one chest open and check it and Slick did the other one 'good', he mouthed.

"I don't think that's the last we've seen of Kilan," he said once arriving at the ship.

"No it is not but she will never question our resolve again."

"That was quiet impressive," he complimented.

"You should see me when I'm mad," you smiled tossing the chest down.

"You weren't?"

"Not in the slightest. Let's drop these and get going, drinks before to much fun?"

"I'd kill for a drink," he said starting the ship, "literally anything."

"There's a new drink on Coruscant that would make you regret that statement. I'm calling it The Night of Regret."

"I take it you that's what you all were drinking that night?" He inquired.

"It was," you took out the data pad and looked at the channel, nothing not even from Wolffe. Your hope continued to fade. You screamed and tossed it against the wall sitting down.

"Did you ever think the force wants you here?"

You looked at him puzzled as to why it would, "I... don't know."

"I'll fly us back, just relax."

You nodded giving him the pilot seat, the rest of the flight was silent. Are they even alive? Did something happened to them? Why don't I just take the sabers and go? What if they are alive, would I just let the galaxy burn for nothing? Have I really been reduced from guarding the galaxy from knowledge to this? Forever? Should I just resign myself to this? Slick walked behind you through the castle finding Master Dooku in the court yard meditating.

"Something troubling happened," he said not opening his eyes.

You told him what had happen and he hitched one eyebrow finally looking up while Slick out the two trunks in front of him.

"How unfortunate that she is still alive," he said standing up, "no matter, we will deal with her permanently the next time."

"You are not mad, Master?"

"Of course not my dear, to stand against one of us is a rebellion to be squashed like the ants they are," he started walking and both you followed after him to a window overlooking another town, "I had a special keep for you made for you own.. trinkets incase anything is to happen. You can leave the droids you requested there too. It is underground but it is well fortified."

"I am humbled by the reward for my loyalty and service."

"I will take you and your trunk to it tomorrow, enjoy the night. I have personal matters to attend with Lord Sidious."

You bowed motioning for Slick to follow. Who is Lord Sidious? Is he the man in my vision? You tried to calm your mind so Count Dooku couldn't sense the loudness of it, you turned your thoughts to your squad letting the rage starting to boil.

"Do you have Civvies?" you asked Slicked looking down at his black armor.

"I do."

"Get changed, you don't need armor in a bar. Wear something... fancy."

Echo kept folding and unfolding his arms it had been days since Crosshair and Tech left to go talk to some informants without any contact and he also noticed Hunter had been acting unusual since whatever was in the report that Tech had showed him. He looked at Hunter and then back at the floor.

"What is it?" Hunter asked annoyed.

"I feel like we should be doing something more other than just waiting here."

Hunter folded his arms over his chest, "I don't like just sitting here either."

Crosshair looked at Tech when he returned from the refresher, perspiration thinly cling to his skin and his eyes with dilated with a pleasant haze over them. He watched him sip a small flask and his foot bounce as they waited for her to arrive.

Crosshair squinted his eyes at him, "What did you do."

"Not-"

"What the fark did you do?" Crosshair said turning grabbing him by the collar pulling his face towards his, "Tech... are you high?" He said looking at his brother more closely.

Tech pulled Crosshairs vice grip on his armor away but the sluggish response more than likely gave away the answer, "Possibly."

Crosshair let go and pulled his hand back to his lap "You are a soldier of the Republic, get it together before the regs turn you in."

Tech leaned his head back and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I can't until she's... back," I can't until she's home, "I am also aware the price for this information is high, a price I am not be able to afford."

"And if it turns into an addiction do you want her coming back and seeing it?" Crosshair countered trying to reason with him.

"I'll cross that bridge if she we ever find her," Tech removed his hand from his face and crossed his arms still staring at the ceiling, "I'm starting to wonder if she ever wants to be found."

"She'll come back for them," Crosshair said noting the mild emotion lacing Tech's voice, pain.

Tech looked up to the approaching footsteps, the informant. The way she swayed in commanded their attention. She put her hand on her hip and stared down at them, her eyes bouncing between both of them; it reminded him of her and another wave of guilt hit him. He took another drink and put the flask back in pocket, both of them standing in greeting.

"So a little birdy tells me you want information on a high profile player?" she cooed.

"Yes. Duchess Death, Count Dooku's new assassin" Tech said blankly, noting Crosshair's confused expression, "She is a former.. physical associate of ours," Tech stuck out his hand knowing she was going to probe their memories anyway, the feel of her hand felt like a ghost of a near distant memory.

She pulled back her hand and took Crosshair's for a moment before placing her hand back at her side, "I see," she paused and turned to Tech with a devilish smile, "You must give me the slice of yourself you gave her, that is the price of knowing when and where she will be," letting her eyes drop down before looking him back in the eyes, "But you already knew as much. Sacrificing part of your reserved dignity, something you hold most dear leaving you to wonder how she'll look at you once she knows especially about what's moving through your body right now. Make a deal with the devil and get the horns," she brought her hand to his face, "Do we have a deal?"

"Why does he have to pay it and why is the price that?" Crosshair gritted out, pissed.

"My species feeds off of the suffering of others and it be torment for him with how he's already punishing himself for pushing away the one he loves," she smiled, "You are suffering but you do and will make yourself the bad guy for others. You have less to lose," she said pulling Tech by his face towards the backroom, "he however has everything to lose."

Almost two months, every night the nightmares came to remind about the world to come and to remind you what you had become. Every night the sobbing would wake Slick and he could crawl on top your bed and try to comfort you back to sleep so he could go back to his room and sleep.

"Will you stay this time?" You asked weakly, the mask of your perfect flirty rage breaking.

Slick kicked off his boots, This is a horrible idea. She will never accept the fact she belongs here. "I thought these would have stopped by now," he said crawling into the bed, "It was about them again wasn't it?" he asked putting his arm around you, "They won't be free until the Republic is gone. Every day brings you a day closer to them."

"Every day I do something that will push them further away," you countered.

"Every day you make the galaxy a step towards a better place for them, no longer pawns," Slick countered, "hopefully when you see them again they'll understand that."

"I don't think I'll see them again or accept what I did... honestly I'm ready just to watch the galaxy burn to even find out if their still alive."

"If they don't accept it then the galaxy deserves to burn," Slick said holding you a little tighter, "Try to go back to sleep. If you have the dream again I'll be right here to wake you up."

"You're a good man," you mumbled turning into him and closing his eyes.

"I wish more people saw that," he mumbled. He laid awake for an hour waiting to see if you to make a peep before he finally went back to sleep, "Reaper, wake up," he said lightly stroking the sweat on your temples.

"Again..?" You mumbled feeling sweat and a warm chest.

"No, it's day light."

You pulled him a little closer feeling the muscles and groaned, "I don't want too."

"I'll make the good caff."

"Fine," you said letting go and flopping your back onto the bed, "I guess I am not above bribery."

"It's just caf," he said standing up and rolling his eyes, "Sorry I got really hot last night." He said putting his shirt back on, "I'm pretty sure I'm always cold because you got my slice of heat," he chuckled taking the conjoining door back to his room leaving it open.

You watched him retrieve the black box of the base of his closet with all of his 'smuggled' goods and what was left of his personal belongs which mostly consisted of photos of him and his brothers. You watched him hold one picture in particular, Cody and Him, your heart hurt missing Cody and for the hatred he feels towards Slick's betrayal. He's right... the Jedi were never hero's of this story. No one was. He put the picture down and grabbed the caff and the thermoses putting a perfect water to caff ratio, awkwardly he sat at the end of your bed and handed you it.

"Was it weird?" you asked grabbing the caff.

"A little. I know when you look at me you see them because I know I see them," he paused to look at his hand, the same hand all of his brothers hand, "and when you look at your commando droids all you see them. I don't think you truly see me."

"I see all of you," you said sipping the perfect hit of caffeine, "I see each of you with more then just my eyes. I do not fault you for your actions nor do I condemn them. I would go to great lengths to protect the ones I love and I know you deeply love your brothers. I don't agree with them being pawns to be slaughtered but I don't agree with the tactics of My Master and his Master either but I am also just a pawn here."

"Do you stay here out of love or out of fear?" He poked.

"I stay here out of Duty, if they are alive they've abandoned me and it is my duty to fulfill the bargain. I do not fear him or anyone else. I don't think love is an option anymore," how many transmissions had I sent asking for them to get me and have this be over, "We're soliders, we adapt to the situation at hand and move forward, that's what we were designed to do," I just happen to feel at war with every single living thing in the galaxy at the moment with no sense of belonging to anywhere anymore.

"You're right we're soldiers, that question wasn't fair. I'm sorry," you looked at him, "I'm glad your here Duchess," he added sipping his own steamy caff, "You are quite the extraordinary women."

"Are you hitting on me?" you laughed.

"Mildly. I'm going to go see what's on the agenda today. Hopefully something fun."

Fun. I miss having fun with the boys, but that's in the past and all I can do is move forward and keep going. Maybe find out what the Seppie's consider fun. You curled up on the window ledge your silk robe leaving you lightly exposed to the breaking daylight. You leaned your head back, I need to adjust to my circumstances, this view

and these faces until the end of the war. It's could be worse. Maybe I've tampered with time enough it's trying to adjust the course so what had happened will always happened or maybe this is a part I didn't see. Timeria... I wish you were here to guide me, I miss you sister. You've always been there for me, guiding me when I needed it with your talent for the dark side. Movement caught your eye and you saw Slick watching you from the door way, in awestruck.

"What?" You asked knowing the answer, smiling at him.

"I've never seen the dawn glow someone's features like that before," I could watch you sit there every morning for the rest of the war, "The day suits you."

"Why don't you fuck me on this window ledge then, enjoy my afterglow too?" You purred, he'll never have my heart but he could be useful, and it's not like their coming and I might need to find my own way out.

"Having a problem," she laughed in his ear, enjoying the torture rolling off him of barely being able to stay hard let alone focus. "Seems like only she can start your engines, I don't know if she'll love knowing that or be embarrassed for you."

"I only want her," Tech said trying to focus his attention on you, the way your lips felt against his and how warm you were to sleep next too after a long day.

"I think I've tortured you enough," she said pulling his soft member out of her but still holding it, "I'll tell you part of it for at least trying," she said looking down at it, "At least it's pretty."

Crosshair paced back and forth rolling his tooth pick side to side, This is taking longer then usual and he's not usually this quiet. The footsteps drew him out of thought, the happy smile on her face and the noticeable twinge of regret on his. "Well?" He asked.

"Let's bring her home," was all Tech said his braining reeling from the new hit of spice his heart thumping and the taste of regret. He heard her chuckle good luck before they made it out the door.

He felt Crosshair slam into him and hold him against the wall, "What did I say about pulling it together?" He hissed.

"It was wearing off, I did not enjoy it."

"You did what you had to do," he said shaking him a little, "Now get ahold of yourself," he said smacking him across the face to get his attention, "Four Eyes," he said waving his hand infront of his face with no response.

"Crosshair... I think she's right. I love her," Tech finally got out feeling like he was getting strangled by his own words, a betrayal of his mind for his heart.

Crosshair sighed putting both hands on his shoulder, "I know." He took another breath, "I didn't think I'd live to see the day to watch you fall like this."

Tech slumped against the wall and went down, "What did we do?" He said taking off his goggles letting his tears free.

"Tech."

Tech looked up at him, "What," he offered wiping the tears on his sleeve watching his brother sit besides him.

"You and I will find her if it's the last thing we do. I've never seen you like this, not even when I broke your favorite datapad as a kid, I... am sorry."

"You are a good brother, Crosshair," Tech stared at him for a moment, "You did the best you could to protect me."

"I failed to protect you from yourself," the realization tore threw his features, he knew what his sacrifice would cost but his brother hadn't only thinking about keeping the rest of them safe and didn't account for himself like always, "I think the reg's are smarter then you."

Tech chuckled checking in his body the rise of his core temperature, the heaviness spread throughout his body lifting and how feely he could talk, "Before I regain my sensibility," he started barely able to get himself up, "I think I should tell you what I know."

Every sentence pierced Crosshair like a blaster shot but he didn't flinch as Tech told him about the horrible things she had done and how much he blamed himself for it leaving him to wonder if they hadn't pushed her away where would they be now? "Hunter knows all of it?" Crosshair asked quietly. Tech nodded. Crosshair gritted his teeth and got them both walking towards the shuttle. It gnawed on him that Hunter knew before him and that he allowed this pining to continue. I have to do what I do best to protect him from himself and from her.

Tech put his goggles back on and adjusted them, "I know," I know you love her too.

"No you don't," no one knows.

Echo laid on the floor in her room, staring at her bed and the what was left of her scattered belongings. Echo held onto her black padawan robes, the smell of her long since faded. He clung to it feeling his chest heave, I will not cry. She'll be back we'll find her. Echo held the robes tighter steadying himself, the sensation of his mourning fading with his determination. Hunter came in and sat next to where he laid and stared at the bed too.

"I miss her," Hunter asserted.

"We all do," Wrecker said standing in the door way, "I really miss her."

Wrecker looked at Echo curled up in her robe and Hunter's defeated expression. Wrecker sighed and joined them. "They're on their way back."

Hunter grabbed the saber that was sitting in her bed and stared at it, Who are you going to be when we find you? Will you forgive us for taking so long? Will you stay this time? Wrecker grabbed it seeing how small it was in his hand, he though how small she was compared to him. He kissed the saber and put it back on the bed, "Well find her, Tech got the information."

Slick ran a finger under your chin watching you pant as you tried to catch your breath. Between the refraction of light engulfing you and the glow of the satisfied urge coating your skin he was starstruck of your beauty, "Words can't express your beauty," he smile watching the light curve around your face both lightening and darkening your features.

You grabbed his hand and brought it back to the side of your face, He's not them. He won't use me and then leave me like it was nothing but this is nothing... I won't let him get that close. You leaned into the touch more missing it, the feel someone else's flesh not the cool metal of a droid or the luke warmness of the bacta tank.

"What's bugging you?" he asked.

"How do you always know?" You asked back avoiding the question.

"Almost every soldier has the same tell. Silence."

"It's been awhile," you said closing your eyes just focusing on the touch, getting lost in the warmth and rough soothing callouses on his hand, "being touch I mean."

Slick stared at the tank and the deactivated droid, nodding in understanding. He pulled you to him and encompassed you in a tight hug letting his thumb stroke your check, "Better?" He knew there were no strings attached and didn't want them because he still believed they were coming for her because they would be stupid not too. "Count Dooku wants to show you the keep but that won't be until later today, until then we're free."

"Maybe a nap..."

"I'll stay incase the nightmare comes."

Again? The lightening in the dream got dark cuing the start of it. Your master and you were standing on the fauna covered planet of Mithril with Slick standing behind you weapons drawn. Dooku eyed you and you shook your head to indicate you didn't know him, his eyes alone gave a small nod. The scene changed to Master Zillo standing infront of Slick his saber inches from his chest and then you were before him grabbing the saber with the force and shoving it to the side. Staring down at the faint black tint to your hands confused about where it came from before clashing sabers with Zillo to keep him from cutting down Slick. Eventually his aged showed and he was on his knees before you glaring at Slick calling him a traitor and other foul things. You watched him in slow motions raise Slick from the ground choking him then in one motion your saber sliced through him before dropping the saber and dropping next to Slick. I've seen to many dead clones, Daughter please if I am still on the path please let him live. Your mind swarmed images of being on the front lines so young into adulthood, the carnage of soldiers and then changed to pictures of Cody, Wolffe and the boys then imaginative images of them dying in battle at your feet with Dooku looking at you impressed.

Strong arms shook you, "Duchess, breath it's just me. You were having a nightmare again."

You wiped the wet spots from your eyes, "Thank you."

"What are they about?" he asked softly.

"Past, Present, Future, everything that was and could be."

"I can't say I know what that's like, all we're taught to think was about being prepared for the next battle and the next and the next and that's it. We never get the chance to think about what could be just what is. I don't envy you."

"Consequences..." the nightmares maybe their consequences for trying to change the course of events just slightly.

"What?" Slick asked.

"Nothing, babble really," you said curling into him more, "Do you sleep at all?"

"I was until you punched me."

"Sorry.."

"Don't be, I thought it was an hilarious attempt," he said trying to lighten the mood even though he could feel the bruise already forming.

"We've been here for days when is she coming?" Wrecker complained putting his feet up.

"She did not give me a time estimate, I-" Tech paused another shiver shooting threw him, "could also offer her partial payment so I received partial information. I can stay here until she arrives" Tech offered, knowing he was finally through the worse part of the withdrawals.

"Not happening," Crosshair growled.

"Anything else that would useful?" Hunter asked.

"We'll know when we see several ships arrive that she is here."

"Several?" Echo choked knowing they were getting low on firepower because it took quiet the fire fight to get here.

"That would have been good to know Tech!"

"I haven't had the best frame of mind recently, my recall has been... lagging," he offered staring up at the sky.

"Between the amount you've been drinking, racing, fighting and sniffing? I'm surprised you still have a brain," Crosshair scoffed also looking up.

"It was a temporary lapse in judgement to... consolidate information and come to an understanding with unknown facts."

Crosshair rolled his eyes scowling at him. He watched Hunter's antsy fingers drum against the hull of the ship, "What is it?" Crosshair asked.

"There's a huge surge of energy on the other side of the planet."

"That part of the planet is reportedly abandoned," Tech said looking down at his data pad with all of the planetary information, "There would be no tactical advantage to holding that part of the planet."

"She's here," Echo said walking in, "I think."

"How did you know?" Wrecker asked raising an eyebrow.

"A gut feeling."

"I'll investigate that later, we should get moving," Tech said practically shoving Wrecker out of the pilot seat. We're coming, Reaper. Tech looked at the excitement on his brother's face for the firefight and how close they were this time, a tear threatened to fall and he turned his attention back to switching on the ship.

"Let's bring her home," Echo said taking the seat next to him.

"Looks like a dump," Slick said looking around, "perfect place for a base."

"Indeed," Dooku said his eyebrow twitching for a moment.

"What is it master?" You asked feeling a brief moment of unease from him.

"It's nothing of importance," Count Dooku said watching Slick moved closer to you, "I have a feeling today is the day," watching his face steel itself to that possibility.

You scoffed, "When womp rat grow wings and fly."

"You'll be ready when the time comes, I am proud of you Apprentice."

You followed after him to the abandoned building, "Your teachings have been most illuminating."

Slick grabbed your hand getting your attention and nodded in the direction of incoming ships, "Time to go home," he said with mild disappointment.

"No where is my home, duty is that matters. Shall we leave?" you suggested, squeezing Slicks hand and releasing it putting your hands behind your back, "There is always more to learn, Master."

"The book will call you when your ready to come back," he smiled showing teeth, "Slick activate the droids and let's prepare to leave."

"Yes sir. Duchess Death it's been a pleasure," he said with a small bow.

"May we never met on the battle field," you smiled watching him leave before your stomach and heart sank about the approaching ships. Are they here to rescue me? Or here for him? Or us?

You looked down at the small datapad you kept on you, “I’m coming Vencuy. The Republic is coming,” you looked down to see Wolffe’s code. “We don’t have long, shall we continue as planned until they arrive?”

“If you insist,” Dooku smiled, impressed with the loyalty in her and that Sidious was correct in sparing her. He wondered in that seed of darkness in her would finally root by the time the war ended, “I am fond of you apprentice, your presence will be missed.”

“As will yours, Master.”

Wrecker could taste victory, he saw the ship that Dooku was supposed to be in and knew she would be just behind those doors. He put his helmet on hearing the stomping of droids coming this way, he looking at everyone else getting into formation.

"We both know she's gone by now, Hunter," Crosshair whispered his finger twitching at the trigger,  "I'll take care of it," he said heading in before the rest of them. Friend or foe, Duchess or Reaper, Jedi or Sith, what difference does it make. A traitor is a traitor.

[gonzalez756]

Unlock Your Marketing Potential: Powerful Tips for an Effective Content Strategy

At Imagency Media, we understand that a well-crafted content strategy can be the key to unlocking your brand’s full marketing potential. In today’s competitive landscape, simply creating content isn’t enough—you need a strategic approach that aligns with your business goals and resonates with your target audience. Here are some powerful tips and guidelines to help you craft a content marketing strategy that delivers real results.

1. Document Your Strategy for Success

The foundation of any effective content strategy starts with clear documentation. Without a documented plan, your efforts can easily become disjointed and less effective

.

Set Clear Objectives: Define your content marketing goals. Are you looking to increase brand awareness, generate leads, or establish thought leadership? Your goals will guide your strategy.

Understand Your Audience: Develop detailed buyer personas to gain insights into your target audience’s needs, preferences, and pain points.

Map Out Content Types: Choose the types of content (blogs, videos, infographics) that align with your goals and audience preferences. For instance, if you’re targeting tech-savvy entrepreneurs, consider creating in-depth whitepapers and how-to guides.

Create a Content Calendar: Plan your content schedule in advance to ensure consistent delivery. This not only keeps your audience engaged but also helps you stay organized.

2. Amplify Engagement with Video Content

Video content is a powerhouse when it comes to capturing attention and driving engagement. Here’s how you can incorporate it into your strategy:

Explainer Videos: Simplify complex concepts with explainer videos. For example, a short video on how your branding services can transform a business can be more engaging than a lengthy article.

Customer Success Stories: Showcase real client testimonials in video format to build credibility and trust. Hearing positive experiences directly from satisfied clients can be a powerful motivator for potential customers.

Educational Tutorials: Offer value through educational videos or webinars. Whether it’s a tutorial on the latest design trends or a deep dive into the benefits of a strong brand identity, educating your audience builds trust and positions your brand as an authority.

Share on Social Platforms: Leverage platforms like YouTube, Instagram, and LinkedIn to share your video content and reach a wider audience.

3. Build Lasting Connections with an Email Strategy

Email marketing remains one of the most effective channels for nurturing leads and driving conversions. Here’s how to make the most of it:

Segment Your Audience: Personalize your emails by segmenting your list based on demographics, behavior, or interests. This ensures that your messages are relevant and timely.

Send Value-Packed Newsletters: Keep your subscribers engaged with regular newsletters. Include tips, industry news, and links to your latest blog posts or case studies. Don’t forget to add a compelling call-to-action to drive further engagement.

Automate Lead Nurturing: Set up automated email sequences to guide leads through the sales funnel. For instance, after a lead downloads a resource, follow up with a series of emails that provide additional insights and highlight your services.

Analyze and Optimize: Continuously monitor your email performance. Track open rates, click-through rates, and conversions to identify what works and what doesn’t. Use this data to refine your approach.

4. Educate Your Audience to Establish Authority

Educating your audience not only builds trust but also positions your brand as an expert in your field.

Create Insightful Blog Content: Regularly publish blog posts that address your audience’s pain points and offer solutions. For example, a post titled "5 Branding Mistakes to Avoid" can attract business owners looking to strengthen their brand.

Develop Comprehensive Resources: E-books, whitepapers, and guides provide in-depth information that your audience can refer to over time. Offering these resources in exchange for contact information also helps you generate leads.

Host Workshops and Webinars: Interactive sessions, whether in-person or online, allow you to engage with your audience in real-time. A webinar on "Effective UI/UX Design Practices" can attract those interested in improving their digital presence.

Share Quick Tips on Social Media: Regularly post bite-sized tips and insights on platforms like LinkedIn and Twitter. This not only keeps your audience engaged but also drives traffic to your website.

5. Boost Reach with Paid Promotion

While organic content is crucial, paid promotion can significantly expand your reach and accelerate your results.

Utilize Social Media Ads: Platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn offer highly targeted ad options. Promote your most valuable content, such as videos or in-depth articles, to specific audience segments.

Invest in Google Ads: Google’s search and display ads can help you reach potential clients actively searching for services like yours. Use retargeting ads to bring back visitors who have shown interest but haven’t yet converted.

Explore Sponsored Content: Partner with industry influencers or authoritative blogs to publish sponsored posts. This can increase your credibility and expose your brand to new audiences.

6. Measure, Optimize, and Re-assess for Continuous Improvement

No strategy is complete without regular evaluation and optimization. Here’s how to keep your content marketing efforts on track:

Track Key Metrics: Identify the KPIs that matter most to your business, such as website traffic, lead generation, conversion rates, and social media engagement.

Use Analytics Tools: Leverage tools like Google Analytics, HubSpot, and social media analytics to monitor your content’s performance. Look for patterns and insights that can guide your strategy adjustments.

Conduct Quarterly Reviews: Schedule regular reviews to assess your strategy’s effectiveness. Identify what’s working well and what needs adjustment. For example, if video content is driving high engagement, consider increasing your investment in video production.

Stay Agile: Content marketing is dynamic, so be prepared to adjust your strategy as needed. Stay informed about industry trends and be ready to pivot to new tactics that can drive better results.

Conclusion: Maximize Your Marketing Success with a Strategic Approach

By implementing these content marketing tips and guidelines, you can create a powerful strategy that not only attracts but also engages and converts your target audience. At Imagency Media, we’re committed to helping you elevate your brand through strategic content that delivers measurable results. With the right approach, your content can become a driving force behind your marketing success. Contact us and visit Imagency media to get more tips .