#World Wide Web journey

[manasastuff-blog]

"World Wide Web Day" #trending#viral

Celebrate World Wide Web Day by understanding its profound impact on our daily routines, communication, and access to information. This dives deep into why World Wide Web Day is celebrated globally, exploring how it has revolutionized how we live, work, and connect. From facilitating instant communication to providing a wealth of knowledge at our fingertips, the World Wide Web has become an indispensable part of modern life. Join us as we uncover surprising facts and historical milestones that highlight the significance of this pivotal innovation. Discover how the web has shaped various aspects of society, from education and commerce to entertainment and social interactions.

Call: 7799799221

Website: www.manasadefenceacademy.com

#WorldWideWebDay#WebDayImportance#InternetRevolution#CelebrateWebDay#TechHistory#WebImpact#DigitalTransformation#WebMilestones#TechCelebration#GlobalConnectivity#trending#viral#manasadefenceacademy

[illmoraineakoi]

Theory: The Newgrounds attack takes place On October 2nd, immediately after Dark and Chosen escape.

I’ve touched upon how I think the Timeline is a little wonky in this regard before, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And I think I’ve figured it out.

When Victim first escapes Alan’s PC, he first goes to Yahoo.

I even made a joke about it in my last post, about how Alan’s taken the piss out of Yahoo before.

But, well, that previous time?

The Flashback.

But moreso: Yahoo is the first thing Chosen and Dark are shown attacking during the Flashback.

Both Victim AND Chosen and Dark end up at Yahoo after they escape.

And there might be a reason for it:

Alan’s PC was originally tethered to Yahoo. [It also seemed to have an offshoot connection to MSN, which it took me an hour to identify that logo as I was unfamiliar with it.] That was the primary webstring (tunnel, but I wanna call them webstrings bc world wide web) to his IP box. And His IP only originally has one webstring coming out of it.

Until Victim does...Whatever THIS is. And causes ALL OF THE IP addresses to become tethered to the Outernet directly.

[Victim not being uploaded anywhere and coming directly from a PC in a rocket made of computer program parts might have significance on why the Barrier became connected to the IP Boxes, but that’s a different theory for another day.]

So currently, Alan’s PC has two connections to it: One that leads to Yahoo/MSN, and another that leads directly to the Outernet.

We all assumed that Chosen and Dark went right to the Outernet when they left his old PC, because it was implied that that tunnel was the same one Chosen had COME from and that he and the Color Gang were currently going through; a webstring that does spit them out into the Outernet.

But they didn’t.

Dark and Chosen did not go through the Outernet webstring.

They went to through the YAHOO webstring.

I refuse to believe it’s a coincidence that they ended up on Yahoo first, or just happened to choose to attack Yahoo first, when Yahoo is shown to be directly connected to Alan’s IP box.

They never went to the Outernet. They went from Alan’s PC DIRECTLY TO Yahoo.

Which means that the first part of the Flashback is showing the events of what Chosen and Dark did IMMEDIATELY after they escaped.

Yahoo was the first place they were spit out into, so they decided to destroy it too. Why not? They just literally got done destroying Alan’s computer, why not wreck more human shit?

Victim and Chosen/Dark’s paths differ after Yahoo.

Victim goes to Runescape, then Myspace, to the Singh Family IP Box, where he crashes out of and into GracesPC, where he’s taken to Newgrounds, and then he crashes into the Outernet.

Chosen and Dark, if the Flashback showed their complete journey, went from Yahoo, to Angry Birds, to StickPage, to Newgrounds.

The websites are shown to have dozens, if not hundreds of webstrings attached to them. Each leading to different places: other websites, other programs, other IP Boxes.

It’s totally possible that Dark and Chosen just went through a different webstring than Victim did to end up at Angry Birds instead, especially if they stopped to destroy Yahoo. Victim just made a (somewhat straight) shot through. But they could have just picked an exit at random.

I made a diagram for it:

It this theory is true, then it implies that StickPage is the first time both Dark and Chosen are seeing other living stick figures besides each other.

And that some HUGE implications.

Do Chosen and Dark realize what they’re doing, when they’re attacking stick figures?

Do they understand that other sticks are alive like them? That other sticks can be hurt, that they can feel pain? Do Chosen and Dark have a concept of death? Do they even realize they’re causing death to the sticks they’re attacking?

Dark was literally just created THAT DAY. How much does he know? How much does he understand?

How much knowledge does a stick figure possess, innately, when they’re created?

Chosen has been alive for 4 and a half years, but he’d been imprisoned and enslaved. He’d never seen another stick figure before Dark. All he knew was fighting, being forced to destroy pop-ups, and trying to escape. Does HE know the nature of other living things? Does HE know how to behave towards others of his kind? Does HE understand the concept of death?

Dark was made to kill Chosen, and the first moments of his life were spent attempting to fulfill that purpose. And then he went immediately into destroying the computer. And then immediately into destroying websites.

Dark had nothing to teach him that wanton destruction and mass murder wasn’t okay to do. He and Chosen simply did them, and he found he liked doing them. He didn’t have a moral compass to tell him it was wrong, and he didn’t have the opportunity to properly develop one. There was no resistance to prevent him from becoming a psychopath who enjoyed hurting and killing other living beings.

Because Chosen certainly wasn’t stopping him. Not yet, at any rate.

But Chosen...Chosen was older. Chosen had experienced different things from Dark. Chosen probably experienced pain and fear at Alan’s hands. (Victim’s backstory has got me fully doubting that Chosen was just left to twiddle his thumbs when he wasn’t being used as a pop-up blocker. Alan hurt Chosen too. Chosen just probably never died from it.) Was that enough to give him the basis for a sense of morality? Enough to instill him with the ability to empathize?

Is that why Chosen pauses, when Mitsi dies? Is he starting to realize the full consequences of their actions? That they’re killing sticks?

Or does none of this even matter? Was Dark made from the start to be an evil psychopath and that’s why he is the way he is? Was Chosen made ‘normal’ and simply chose to be an asshole because he was angry?

How much of it is their nature vs their lack of life experience?

This might be the reason why Chosen is participating in the Newgrounds attack. It’s so early into HIS life that he hasn’t had those changes to his morals yet. This might be the START of that change. The instigating event. The things that start causing him doubt his own actions, that eventually blooms into distaste and guilt. That eventually allows him to see that Dark’s behavior isn’t right.

That allows him to recognize his own behavior isn’t right.

The Flashback attacks have set in motion the divide between them on what their characters eventually become: Chosen develops a sense of morality, Dark does not.

Both the party and the Flashback attacks are happening on October 2nd, 2011, mere hours after Chosen and Dark have escaped.

There IS one potential snag to this theory, and that's the escape portal.

And that is, admittedly, a massive one.

That LOOKS like a Chosen-made portal. It even makes the same sounds as the ones in The Virus and The Chosen One Returns did.

But we never see nor hear what a 'normal' entrances/exit to a website looks like. We see Victim exiting them in side profile, not as they look from the surface level.

It's very possible that Chosen is just opening up the entrance into a webstring when he makes his portals.

The webstring to the Outernet already exists. He's not MAKING a connection, just opening a door.

And a webstring from Newgrounds to the Outernet ALSO already exists.

That's what I think the escape portal is, this webstring that was made when Victim fundamentally changed the entire fabric of digital reality by complete accident. Dude had a busy day that day.

Honestly, I don't think even The Chosen One has the ability to MAKE webstrings. They seem like they're fundamental connections across the internet that had been pretty well established before Victim did his thing. And that was a MASSIVE amount of energy that was released to create those new webstrings.

The entire way the internet digital space works feels very cosmic to me. Like some massive inspiration was taken from the universe in it's design. The IP Boxes look like stars, the websites planets, and they sheer nothingness in between feels like a vacuum.

I don't think it's IMPOSSIBLE to make new webstrings [I actually theorize Dark figured out how to do so with the cliff side portals] just...

Beyond Chosen's ability to do so himself.

Hence: the webstring between Newgrounds and the Outernet.

The wobbly weird-sounded hole in the ground might just be what they look like naturally. Or someone else opened it. We have no confirmation that's an ability unique to Chosen.

So that's my theory. Chosen and Dark never went to the Outernet before they started their rampage. They rampaged, and THEN probably went to the Outernet.

Where they probably got stuck, for at least a little bit. Cuz, y'know, the Sky Barrier is solid. (Also hey Signh Family IP)

[todayontumblr]

Wednesday, July 5.

Taylor Swift Fan: Woman hides identity because she called in sick to work.

Not all heroes wear capes. That said, some nearly do. Some instead wear a pink, white polka dot towel over their head, adorned with sunglasses to keep the look effortlessly stylish. This magnificent look, like a nonchalant phantom, is then captured on tape forEvermore in live, broadcast interview—and sent gleefully around the World Wide Web. This is a look of disguise as necessitated by trying circumstance, yet fearlessness in the face of tyranny. This is someone who will not be bowed by threats of disciplinary measures such as "verbal or written warnings", "demotions", "pay cuts", "suspensions", or even "termination." This is the look of someone who spits in the face of such threats and then wipes the saliva dribbling down her chin with the towel handily draped over her head. This is Taylor Swift Fan: Woman hides identity because she called in sick to work.

Hers is ultimately a parable of choice—of the decisions made when confronted by tyranny, and the lengths one may take in pursuit of what really matters. Faced with the threats of those "superior" to you, and the opportunity to experience #the eras tour, what would you do? Cow from the promise of disciplinary measures? Or do whatever it takes to attend @taylorswift's magnum opus: a journey through all of her musical eras, a defying feat of over three hours of 44 songs divided into ten distinct acts to portray the albums conceptually, a tour that has received unanimous critical acclaim for its production, striking visual identities, execution of its concept, and Swift's musicianship, vocals, charisma, stamina, and versatility as an entertainer? 

Faced with such a dilemma, Taylor Swift Fan did what must be done. She took her phone, feigned a cough, and tickled her nostril until she started sneezing. She called her captors and told them im so sorry *cough* im sick and i wont be able to make it into work today, before taking the lift in her apartment, selecting B (for basement), and emerging in the TayCave below. She walks along a metal walkway, past supercomputers on standby. At the end of the walkway in a pristine glass cabinet, lit up lavender in the darkness, is a mannequin. This mannequin, silent and ready, sports a pink polka dot towel adorned with sunglasses. She presses a taybutton on the Cave wall, and the cabinet opens. 

Whoever you are, wherever you are, know that we see you. Know that you are the best of us.

[technologyculturedneo]

BREATHING. Lee Mark

"I think I’m in love with a robot."

PAIRING(s).Robot!Mark (Lee Min-hyung) x Reader

SUMMARY. In a futuristic world where humans and robots co-exist together, Mark, a humanoid robot, develops an unexpected emotional connection with you, as you’re caught in a tangled web of secrets. He experiences the complexities of love and loss for the first time. Your complicated journey forces you to question what it truly means to live and breathe in a world of blurred love lines between you and machine.

NCT DREAM DREAM()SCAPE MASTERLIST

Your father worked in a very prestigious organization were they modelled and modified robots, cyborgs and humanoids. Thousands of them walked on the streets, and every time you’d pass one, you knew that it came from the company your father worked in, NCTO. Lee Min-hyung was your father's interned assistant. He was the type of guy who was just too intelligent and brilliant to ignore, so it made perfect sense that you also thought of him whenever you'd see any of the modified robots on the streets. It only enhanced and developed the little crush you had on him.

But then as if the world didn’t want you to have him, Min-hyung went missing when you turned 19 years old. He disappeared from the face of the earth without a single trail left behind. His father did everything in his power to search for him, as he was a very big boss in the underworld of illegitimate business, however he was also widely respect by the government because he put in a lot of money in the new dystopia world. As expected with the power and money Mr Suh had, he ordered a search. Ordered a search just so that he could find his son. So in corporation with the government and military the streets were closed down and men in black uniform knocked on doors and searched for Min-hyung. To no avail, Min-hyung was not found. They ruled that he ran away. Nobody believed that because Min-hyung was too much of a people person who consistently said over and over again that he was untouchable, that nothing could kill him. You were young but you remember the nerves and chaos of it all.

Reason being because you wanted your father to stop mourning the death of a son that wasn’t his. With that being your reality, you were determined to make sure that you would do everything in your power until your father noticed you. Already living in the new digital age, where technology was already so advanced, you fell in love with the same thing as your father. The power to create. You enjoyed creations and you were thrilled when you applied to NCTO and they accepted you. Not wanting to have the nepotism title, you worked your butt off earning all the respect, and shaking off the nepotism title when people started calling you by your name. Unfortunately, your father jumped off a building because he could not deal with the passing of Min-hyung.

You remember the chaos of it all, because in the mist of your father’s passing, you only had one person to blame. Min-hyung. So, years later, when an opportunity came to work on a highly civilised humanoid project that your father had started, you joined in. Not the reasons of trying to build a legacy for your father… but because you just wanted the pain in your heart to end.

While your father's death was a full pain that somewhat made you feel empty, the disappearance of the long lost boy still followed you even in your middle 20's. Maybe it's because you never had a funeral or you never found his body that it still hadn't sunk into your brain that he was dead… it still haunted your mind that Lee Min-hyung went missing.

Or did he…

The first 2 years that passed, marked the start and new embrace of your journey. Your smart ass found the favour of working in the highly prestigious company of NCTO.

"As AI transforms our work lives by automating mundane tasks, we gain valuable time to focus on what matters most: our future. As leaders, I’m sure many of us longed for the day when the mundane tasks that take up so much of our time become automated. Well, that day is no longer a distant dream but our reality, thanks to the advancements in AI. By now it should be tattooed on our foreheads of how far we at NCTO are willing to go to get the impossible being done. Please do give yourselves a round of applause for making it this far,"

The audience at large seated in the dimmed auditorium begin to applaud as they attentively listen to you as you present to them of how accomplished and successful the company has been. The point of this gathering in the company's auditorium, is to get an approval and a go head of this project to be funded.

"I want to ask you if the project I'm about to present to you has been a part of your childhood dream from the ‘future’. Where we told ourselves that we’d get flying cars and robot companions. From every creative process stage, design altercation, modification, with new database implications in place and smarter systems working with us, we've combined both the intellect of human intelligence as well as systems software inner intelligence. It's with both minds that we were able to create this project. M.A.N. Modified, altered, network."

The audience applauds just as the projected screen above displays the power point slide of figures leading up to the final design of a robotic man in a matrix.

You turn your head away from the audience of hard driven designers, project managers, systems administrators, UX technicians, code nerds, underwriters, salvages team and more of the go getters of the company - allowing them to fix their attention away from you and to the clothed stand beside you.

"It's no surprise that we've been working on this project undercover for some time. A well configured DNA code by the late Lee Taeyong set the foundation for us all, for this project. Along with a visually appealing, fundamentally creative and distinctive face that gathers micro expressions to create a face. Now, some of you may know this face, and that’s okay. Because the owner behind this face signed a contact long time ago to dedicate themselves to this company. His friendly face is what pushed this project to be existing today, why so many of us wanted to work on this project. Lee Min-hyung as well as Lee Taeyong will always be remembered as the reason we kept pushing forward." Your black mini heels begin to clack quietly on the wooden floor of the stage as the audience applauds.

With one more turn around the white covered stand, you face the darkened theatre room that has heads of all the respected teams who have worked effortlessly on this project as well as programmers and risk analyst who are seeing this project for the first time, along with your executive sponsors who will decide whether you can launch your project or not.

"Respectable audience as well as our young resilient interns and learners, I'd like you all to feast your eyes on what we've done as a company. Achieving the end goal, building the software stacks that enable balance, navigation, perception and interaction with the physical world. This is a new era of how we change the world with our gift of intelligence. I give you MAN, Project M 47 5. Humanoid Robot."

Gripping the side of the white fabric you pull off the covers. Unveiling and revealing the human like, built male figure of your first 'human attempt' humanoid project- just as the projector displays a live video of the male built figure. The camera crew from below taking the shots and view of the project.

Still… You get surprised when taking a look at the face of the robot. The uncanny resemblance to the long lost boy of the past is eerie. But it’s not like these people are bothered by it, they adore it, love it, excited over it.

It stands in the middle of the stage in black short boxers showing off it's well-built frame. From the little detail of leg hairs to toned thighs and abdomen, press ups of a flexed chest and a perfectly angled collarbone and finally familiar friendly features of a face deprivation. Jet black hair, prominent lips, visible bone like cheeks and (your least favourite) the enhancement of the red eyes- reminding you that this isn’t a human anymore… It’s a robot.

It stands on the stage, profoundly gleaming with skin smooth and toned, a body that's fathomably hard yet looks soft and a face that has sharp angles of perfection. It's quite good looking- you yourself are feasting your eyes on the project after years. As expected and on cue the civil audience begin to applaud. Folding up the white fabric and neatly placing it on the ground, you stand beside the inhumane robotic figure of what you've named: Project M 47 5. You turn your head towards it seeing it's red eyes gazing on you a light smile on its face.

Marvelled, you touch its shoulder feeling the cold human like flesh seep into your skin. He feels human. You can feel the projections running inside and although the wireframe sound is subtle, you can still hear the machines working with a light buzz.

"Doesn't it look human?" You pose. "Doesn't it resemble a perfect deprecation of what stepping out of one’s comfort zones mean?" You raise an eyebrow peering around, you let a little smile break from your lips before running your hand down the arm of the robot. "Some of you are probably wondering if this is a real human that we've framed to be a robot. But I assure you, Project 47 5 is a machine. But we want more from it. We want to push the limit of technology and CGI. Really, how far can we go? It's a question that I can ask you dear executives. You asked us, what have we been working on. This is what we've been working on. We've been working on the next big project that the world has ever been deceived by. Clones, drones, robots, artificial and so much more we've created, in full hopes of expanding our technology and distributing to the world. With your corporation, every defect in Project 47 5 can be ironed out smoothly, every error can be erased, every new altercation can be put in and we can begin placing leagues of him out into the world to obtain information and live the right way. Thank you."

You step back from the humanoid and applaud along with the audience when your management director steps out of the curtain shadow and onto the lit stage. With an earpiece already in place he laughs into the mic that's attached to the earpiece. "What a scope! What a scope. My fellow board members, this is the future that we'd like to call "Dream ESCAPE". An era where you are in control of this project, a real life walking sim. It'll not be in the hands of random citizens, it'll be in your hands. Every intel gathered will be bounced to you. Don't you just want to own a share of Project M 47 5 Humanoid. Look at him. Carved by designers to look just like us.” The director JB pauses dramatically… Seemingly forgetting what else he's supposed to say… Something that the workers are already used to.

You step in for him, so that the investors and guests don't catch onto his little forgetful nature. "Even though he looks like us, you are in charge of the code and personality. Instead of a human administrator, you’ll get a moderately focused humanoid, allowing administrators to have more time on their hands. Would you like for us to build this prototype into a finished product, a finished man? If so, support us by contributing. I know your hands are already itching. So, we'll see each other in the board room for your thoughts on our piece. Thank you everyone, we'll let you know on the status of Project M47 5."

JB looks especially pleased at you. Yet again the crowd applauds enthusiastically and interestedly pleased. JB leads the executives and other investors out of the auditorium.

Just as you wait for the main curtains to shut, as you're still with Mark on the stage. As soon as they're shut, you lead the robot off the stage going down the little backstage steps. Once off the main stage, your stoic expression falls off and a warm smile is splashed on your face when you turn to the project. "M45 7, you did extremely well. Good job." You speak in specific terms knowing it feeds off of compliments as you've heard.

Although it's your first time feasting your eyes on the hard work project, the familiar face makes you feel like you already know the depth of it's heart… You stop yourself from confusing the human boy who passed away long time ago and from the robot standing right in front of you.

The robot's red eyes draw down to your height and its eyes blink red twice and it's chest heaves up and down. "Thank you Doctor Na Y/n. Your speech was a brilliant way to introduce our scope." It responds back with a calm and automatic tuned pitched male eccentric voice. "Does the Doctor not wish to deem Project M 47 5 Humanoid Robot as complete?"

"Not yet. The little information they have on the project, the better it is for them to blindly invest. And when they invest, we'll do a lot more with you to make you 'humanly' humane." You respond moderately turning your head towards the walking figure approaching you. "Jeno, its speech therapy is profoundly better than the last time. A few more touch-ups and it can sound less robotic and more male like."

"More male like? What's that supposed to mean?" The charismatic, suspiciously shy scientist, Jeno, smiles at you with his hands in his pocket as he draws closer. "Do you want it to sound like some Canadian rapper? Like Min-hyung?" Jeno chuckles before moving to the prototype robot. You smile at the memory of Min-hyung’s voice. "Doing that would be extremely difficult, Min-hyung already had his own laugh and voice. Besides, Project M47 5 here is already sexist. Adding a broad 'more male like' voice will only make it menacing, so I’ll see if we can tweak it's voice to something more suitable to its broad baby like face."

"I think that would be good." You comment. "It's come a long way since I last saw it." You recall when last you laid your eyes on the project. "It looks remarkable. Out there on stage it didn't even have to say a word. Incredible work you guys have done." You compliment and give feedback all at the same time. "But why am I thanking you Jeno, I should be praising you Project M47 5. You calmed me down,"

"I'm pleased to hear that I'm pleasing to your liking Doctor Na." Project M47 5 modestly answers, looking pleased indeed. There's a certain stiff turn to it as it directs it's eyes to you and then Jeno… the uncanny vibe to it is spectacularly pleasing.

Jeno, though, nudges his finger. "I told you it's sexist. When it's talking to you, it'll sound decent, however with me, it's pitch darkens."

"Correction errors detected. Project M 47 5 Humanoid code of conduct suggests that female persons should be spoken to with utmost care and respect." Your grin is wide from the moment Project M47 5 opens up its mouth and responds in a deep threatening tone. Jeno groans and punches lightly on its shoulder.

"Damn code of conduct." He mutters and turns to you, his eyes adoring and modest. "Speaking of speech, fantastic work out there. I didn’t expect you to pay tribute to Min-hyung. It was brilliant.” Jeno comments, expressing some vulnerability, dropping his guard, just a little. Your little TED talk came along well. Not to brag, but I enjoyed it the most."

"Correction error detected." Project M47 5's eyes blink and it's chest heaves up and down before it forwardly turns to Jeno. You don’t even mind that it interrupted. You wanted to pay tribute and let bygones be bygones. Turning to Project M47 5, you’re curious at how it’ll respond.

Lee Je No, Male, 30. Qualifications: Modifications and Variations, Employee at Neo Tech. Highest levels of education: Bachelors in subjects partaking to Systems Development, Network Systems, Information Technology and Project Management. Level of work: top of pyramid. Salary: Exceptionally high. Regards in society: Rich. Self-esteem: High. Pride and ego: Job Correction error: Human character - Pursuing a wedded woman.

"Foreign feelings of unrequited detected." The Project sums up.

Hearing the error, your eyebrows raise in shock. It's no secret that Jeno lusts after you for all to see- but the fact that the robot is seeing it is incredible at what technology can do. "I see you've enhanced it's code to stating correction errors."

"Renjun thought it'd be a cool little detail for showing the executives during the second session. We still have to go there right?" He questions.

To which you nod your head. "Yes you and the humanoid are." You emphasize on who. "I'm going to network and branch out."

"I'm screwed if he keeps mentioning correction errors like that. Might as well reduce the errors to a bare 2, instead of a full 10." Jeno moves to the robot's back tapping on its skin and a blue screen code prompt appears a few centimetres off his back, allowing Jeno to tap on it's hard screen surface. "Project M 47 5 Humanoid, you're only supposed to think those thoughts, not say them out loud. Only if asked can you say them out loud. I mean, I want the world to know that I've got a liking for Y/n, but not through you," Jeno winks at you, but you simply focus on the projects moderate smile.

In such a decent speech with full curiosity, as it's been programmed to be curious and ask questions, the Project speaks. "Is it wrong to detect correction errors? Or wrong to state them? How can I advance forward if I keep the thinking thoughts inside and not say them out loud? If she's wedded and your pursuit is in motion, you will be harming and causing problems. Problems not only in her wedlock life, but your-"

"Yeah, like a robots gonna tell me what to do," Jeno mumbles typing in a code.

Your attention span is cut short when your head shifts back immediately capturing the eyes of your everlasting dear husband, Jaemin, upon hearing his familiar shoes that squeak on the floor. He's got around his neck a VIP access card that you handed him and unlike you and the Doctor Lee Jeno in your lab coats, he's dressed in a red flannel shirt and black skinny jeans- his usual work attire. He must've come straight from the bakery where he works. He smiles briefly when catching your eyes. "Hey,"

"Jae," Your smile gets bigger and you wrap your arms around his neck bringing him forward for a hug.

Unexpectedly his lips meet yours and mold together giving you a long breathless kiss. Of course by profession you tap his shoulder twice and end the kiss gently with a light smooch. You liked intimacy but not excessively, or publicly… especially at work.

Your blush not only coats your face but your neck and eyes. You grin while moving your head back to look into his deep soul eyes. "How did I do?" You whisper bringing your hands over his broad shoulders.

"You spoke nicely," Jaemin smiles, heading slowly for your lips again, just to be stopped when hearing a throaty chuckle.

"Nicely? Really? That's still in the English vocabulary?" Jeno's conceding scoff doesn't go unheard by Jaemin. "Word of advice, if that woman was my girl and she asked me how she performed, especially for an established and prestigious institution I'd shower her with-"

"Dr Lee Jeno, kindly focus on the Project. Please." you stiffly call out his name knowing his nature to tease Jaemin. Looking back to Jaemin your hands move up his face. "Babe, don't mind him,"

Jaemin's tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, holding himself back from causing a scene. Once again he's reminded of how 'insignificant' he is in your life.

You're a scientist with degrees higher than he's ever obtained, yet you're in a relationship with him. A relationship that people question, instead of respects as they all wonder what on earth you're doing with him. Everyone has the same assumption that one way or another, you will break up with him.

"Correction error detected."

Jaemin's ears bounce to the sound of the project robot and he looks at it.

It’s almost like he’s seeing a ghost.

He stares at the robot and even gulps. Just as the humanoid on the other hand, stares at Jaemin analysing its feelings from the core and producing an analysis.

"Well, get on with it." Jeno mumbles. "What's the correction?"

Project M47 5 on the other hand just stares at Jaemin.

Jae Min, male, age 28. Qualifications: Bakery owner of Aigoo Styled Dish. Marital Status: Fiancé to Y/n. Highest level of education: High school. Culinary Arts. Level of work: bottom of pyramid. Salary: medium. Regards in society: poor. Self-esteem: low. Pride and ego: Wife. Correction Error: Feelings of anger detected. Stress levels have risen due to low sales at work. Blood pressure over 150 -

"Hello?" Jeno taps the shoulder of the humanoid.

"You phrased for correction errors to be stated internally instead of spoken out." Project M47 5 regards to Jeno. "Has the norm changed?"

Jeno with a pleased look that the humanoid robot was quick to corrections, shakes his head. "I'd prefer for you to exercise yourself in allowing you to be in control of what you feel needs to be said out loud. It's called freedom of expression as well as freedom of speech."

"Correction Error detected." The humanoid's prompt response makes Jeno nod his head.

"Now go on and tell me if this correction error needs to be said out loud." Jeno questions. "What is it regarding?"

"Laws 89 and 103 from the Dictatorship Virtues Laws. Freedom of speech is said to contain portions of hate speech as one individual is allowed to express all their inner free-for-alls."

Jeno hums. "And is hate speech good?"

"Negative."

"Then it shouldn't be said out loud." Jeno concludes with a smile before turning to you, who's fascinated by the prototype's demeanour and development. It’s funny how even though it’s not Min-hyung, the personality is still impressing you. Jeno gets your eyes on him with a quick clearing of his throat. "So, Y/n, I was hoping, by chance, when they fund the project you'd assist in coordinating M47 5's feelings with me. I mean, it's 'memorized' the whole code of ethics, study of humans and philosophy and learnt all the years worth of human rights and violations of over 300 countries in the world, but we're still working on it's emotional system and personality."

You hum impressed as you turn to Jeno and then the Project M47 5. "And you want me to assist? I'm merely a speaker."

"Yeah a speaker by default. Look, as someone who’s worked with Min-hyung and you haven’t, he actually spoke a lot of kind words about you-”

“Me?” Your eyes enlighten as you listen to him.

“Yes, aside from that you have Honours, Masters and Ph.D. in Science Psychology. That shouldn't go to waste when we're creating such a world-renowned masterpiece. You're not just a speaker, you're a full course package, recognized in this whole company. No one's doing it like you, not even your father did. With your affective understanding that can recognize, interpret, process and simulate human effects, the development system of Project M47 5 will be complete in no time. Plus you know I trust you more than any other psychologist in our facility,"

"All this flattery just for me to help you with Project M47 5?" You raise a brow feeling shy but brush it off with a friendly giggle. "I beg to differ, the other psychologist in the building are just as skilled, even beyond and above my own level."

"Yeah, but I want you specifically. You make me smile. A lot." Jeno isn't afraid to openly flirt with you, despite the presence of your husband behind you. "What about you Project M47 5? Wouldn't you like for Y/n to work on you?"

"It would be a great honour to learn how to be a human and with your wide set understanding of knowledge, experience in feelings and successful conducted test results, I have absolutely surety that you are the best to learn from." You're surprised even when the robot speaks.

You giggle. "You've even got the robot vouching for you?"

"That's not me," Jeno raises his hands smugly. "That's all from it's input of you. It wants you to work with it. This is your chance," Jeno looks to the robot eagerly in expectancy.

Being drawn to hear the words of the robot, you don't even feel when Jaemin's hand slips out of yours and he backs up before turning around and scratching the back of his head walking away. Project M47 5 however, it takes note of the deflated Jaemin.

However it still speaks. As a chance for it to 'market' itself and prove to be worthy so that you may work on it. Jeno really did set the standards of you working with them high. So as a result of wanting to achieve excellence it focuses all its attention on you.

"Na Y/n, Female. Qualifications: Robotics scientists and Thematic analysts. Position: Special Risk Analyst Senior and employee at Neo Tech. Highest levels of education: Honours in science psychology. Doctoral degree in, Life science, physical science, earth science. Masters in subjects partaking to mathematics and psychology. Ph.D in philosophy. Level of work: top of pyramid. Salary: Exceptionally high. Regards in society: Lovable and well respected. Self-esteem: Humbled. Shy. Intelligent. Yet fierce and resilient." Project M47 5 lets out. "Reports and statistics across NCTO have it that Doctor Na Y/n is a, and I quote, jewel, in the company. You embody a mind of immediate action result along with experimental designs and are particularly elegant and delicate with machinery and prototypes. Hence I would be privileged if you not only spoke for me but assisted in creating me to be a suitable M.A.N."

Your smile as you listen to the robot speak is never ending. You always got shy whenever someone took their time in complementing you, but now hearing such gushing words from a robot is somewhat uplifting… Especially one that looks so familiar to a boy that once went missing. A boy who you admired.

"By the look of your smile, I'm guessing, we've won you over," Jeno playfully smirks your way. You can only shake your head and chortle lightly.

"I'll think about it, if, the project gets funded."

"If? You mean when it's funded. With the way you presented and represented our project, I'm a thousand percent sure we've riled them from the pond to our boat. You saw the look on those old faces." Jeno comments with a smirk. "Selfishly wanting to grab our prototype and begin trials. Point is, I really want you to be hands on deck with us as well, instead of being the fronting end partner. Be with us in the process. It's a lot more fun when you're actually part of the team that builds instead of reports."

You chuckle, but take note that Jaemin isn't by your side. "I'll see. But you know additionally it's not up to me, it's up to JB-"

"And he's been wanting you to be hands on deck with Project M47 5 since day one. He said it’s going to be like working with your dad all over again,"

"Jeno," You playfully roll your eyes and turn around beginning to walk away. "Let's hear the results first and then I'll decide." Your clicking hills walk away from the backstage leaving Jeno and the prototype alone, with some clean up members cleaning the auditorium that was once filled with people.

"Did you hear that, on our next trial Doctor Na will be assisting in expanding your code." Jeno inputs to the humanoid, before taking a look at your figure that's walking away. "She's so fine,"

"Doctor Lee,"

"Yeah?" Jeno snaps out of it, facing the humanoid, still being amazed by the canny visuals.

"Doctor Na is widely respected in the district. I would like for her to be in our team in studying and modifying my code."

"You and I both pal," Jeno admits. "I'll make sure it happens. Although, for now, let's get you back in the lab and ready for the second session. Don't forget to put on a show, we might be walking past potential clients."

Jeno confidently strides off the backstage stairs exiting through the door with the prototype behind him. Unlike the fellow employees who were used to seeing all sorts of test subjects walking up and down and (flying or even crawling) around the facility, for the guests who were having a tea break, it's actually such a sight to behold as they stare at the project. It looks so human, and Jeno knows all there thoughts. All he could hope for, was the accomplishment and success of the humanoid.

"Dr Lee. What is my next assignment?"

"We'll find out when we get to the office. For now, imagine this as a day off for you."

"But I have no day off."

Their back and forth continues just as you are up and down the building walking with rapid steps. It's crazy, on stage you're confident and almost prideful about your work, but off stage you're a respectfully clumsy nerd who giggles and laughs with a big smile on your face. So for some of the employees to see you without your smile is kind stressing. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, I'm just looking for my husband," You respond getting your smile back for a second before you continuously search for him looking worried- or in others eyes, looking fiercely stern. After searching around the specific lounging areas on different floors, for a really long while, you finally find Jaemin. He's by the basement garage in the parking area near his peach car smoking out.

His eyes are shut and his head is tilted upwards as he exhales air looking so stressed. You sigh out, and bite your lip when deciding to approach him. Already, you know the type of state he's in, especially since he's smoking. Something he rarely did in your presence. "Babe," You smile as you get closer to him. "I finally found you,"

Jaemin is quick in ditching the killing stick, stumping it on the ground and clearing his throat looking suspicious as if he got caught doing something he shouldn't. His relaxed and calm demeanor shifts into a tight smile and straight posture. "Hey, uhm. What are you doing here?" His eyes looking around your face instead of by your eyes. He's avoiding eye contact.

"The real question is, what are you doing here?" You cackle a little. You really disliked when Jaemin smoked, or seemed tensed by your presence. It always felt like he gave off the impression that truly he was forcing a personality upon himself just to impress you. And you didn't like that, because you married him just because of who he was. The sweet humbled son of a baker. Not whatever false persona he put in between you and him. "I was looking everywhere for you?

"Why didn't you just call?" He clears his throat, trying to step back from you to avoid you smelling his scent. But you smell even through your eyes. "I would've come to you when you finished with your colleagues."

Holding in your breath, you breathe out through your mouth not being able to stand the smell, but you have to, because he's looking just as guilty and almost sorry for smoking. "I just wanted to see you. Thanks for coming to support me," You get down to the matter, regardless of the situation.

"Oh, anytime." He smiles, relaxing a bit. You notice as his shoulders loosen up a bit and a pure little smile coats his face. "I really love seeing you do your work. Your passion flows out of your eyes and it's cool that you guys have been working on that robot for such a long time. It looked really cool," Jaemin gives his feedback, and a few things he found interesting. Thankfully you walk alongside him as you both get out of the parking space and move onto the resting lounge. With his guest access card, you're only allowed to be by the lounge, however as Jaemin is your husband you guide him to your office for a bit more… privacy.

"Hey, I'm sorry for smoking,"

You're surprised that he's even apologizing. "No, no, babe it's okay. I mean," Biting your lip you shrug your shoulders a bit. "I hate that your life capacity is decreasing by the second. But you don't have to apologize about that,"

Jaemin, after a long few seconds merely nods and hums out once. You always avoided staring long into his eyes, because he hated it when he felt that you were using your 'psychology powers' on him. However just by taking note of his response and demeanour it doesn't even need a qualified psychologist or heck even a higher schooler to tell that this man has been holding in a lot of things. And for you, despite being a pioneer, well-spoken and firmly assertive in the kindest way possible at work, with Jaemin as your husband, things always felt different. You couldn't be the 'man' taking charge… you had to be the woman… patient and gentle with him, not… forceful and constantly dwelling in anger that he kept his feelings to himself. You had to be… all sufficient for him.

"Can you at least talk to me?" You calmly snap. "Why do you look so… down?"

He doesn't even look bothered as he rubs his hands with his gaze turning to the ground. "I'm okay."

"Jaemi-"

"Baby just relax. Today is your day and I don't want you to be all worked up on me. You've got a whole pantry of people- clients all wanting to speak to you about your robot project," Jaemin is quick to stop you from even speaking. He gets up rolling his eyes with half a chuckle cussing to himself. "I came to support you because I had an opening, but I think I'm just going to go back to work. Try to enjoy your event. I'll see you at home."

You zone out when he walks out the door and away without even kissing or hugging you goodbye. Folding your arms as you think of nothing else but Jaemin, and how quiet it'll be when you get home.

"Just another day in a married woman's life." You tightly confess looking at the wedding band around your finger.

Is this all really worth it? You hate how he's got you on your tippy toes not knowing whether the conversation or ride in this marriage will go smooth or sour within a second.

2 Weeks later

The project has been approved. Walking collectively in your lab coat and symbolic mini clucking heels, you surely create an impression upon entering the enlarged section dedicated to the full launched program for the prototype M.A.N. You're greeted just as much as you pass your own greetings to the other dedicated workers- all this while getting a tour of your new temporary department. With your work bag over your shoulder and some folders in your grasp you listen attentively as Jeno shows you around the lab.

He's more eager then you are, as he's holding onto two of your rolling bags, while enthusiastically introducing you to all the workers in this department. For some reason, as Jeno confirmed it, there seems to be a strong mutually positive work force amongst the employees as they've got the assurance that a senior like yourself will be working with them… even though there are a bunch of other seniors on the project, having you is special. As your father was once widely skilled and highly respected. Even though you've escape the nepotism allegations, a part of it still lingers… But obviously your work stands out and no one can say that you're here because of your father.

All you can do is smile and politely giggle. You feel flattered, but as soon as Jeno settles you in his enlarged joint office and makes you comfortable on your side of the office in your work area…. your face changes to being serious for work. Even Jeno is impressed when watching you set up your gadgets and placing all your work books on the desk. After about some hours of setting up and getting the rundown of how Project M47 5 is doing, together with the user experience team, you set up dates on calendars for different departments and various sectors to touch on, as well as observe the charts of the plans in preparations for the start of this project, time goes by so fast on your first day of the project that you don't even keep track of time when it finally reaches 6 p.m.

"It's 6." Jeno takes it upon himself to be an alarm.

You glance up from your side looking to him and then the clock. "Already? So quick?" You question being stunned. Taking off your eye glasses and rubbing your eye before stretching your head around. "We didn't get the MD connect results?"

"Yeah, we'll get them tomorrow. It's 2 minutes past work hours." Jeno confirms and you chuckle getting your reading glasses back on your face.

"In that case, I'll see you tomorrow hot shot. I'll stay a little longer."

Jeno smirks raising his brows as he packs up. He walks behind your seat holding onto your shoulders. Allowing you to heave in a breath by his light massage. "Thanks again. I really appreciate you being here with me, for the team."

"Jeno," You call teasingly, but try not to moan out when he stretches your shoulders in just the right way giving you a firm massage. "I'm here for Project M47 5, not you or the team." You joke causing him to run his hands slightly down your shoulders.

"You're such a tease,"

With that, he's out of the office after you bid him a goodnight. You further continue your analyses conduct research to process the evaluation of Project M47 5 and interpreting the information to make an informed decision in tomorrow's gathering. You get the MD connect results and finalize everything. Hm, already your first day and you're expected to present the facts of what you've seen from a seniors standing point. Well this should be fun.

As you carry on working you pay no notice to the outside office activities of people leaving and lights turning off- you are however alarmed when a tiny squeak leaves someone's lips. It's a male janitor. "Oh I apologize, I thought everyone had left." Checking the time again, you're unfazed at the time. It's past 10 pm, almost going to 11. This should be normal, but it's then you notice how your lamp is the only one on. You get up and move to the window which had an outside view of the below offices in the same department as yours, and surely all the viewable offices are in darkness.

"Oh," You awkwardly smile when turning to the janitor. "I didn't even notice the time. I'll pack up soon,"

You're stunned that you don't feel too tired, you're aware of the energy bursting all over you and you're just so excited to be hands on deck with the project and actually building this humanoid robot. But seeing the emptiness has you feeling slightly angry. In your previous departments 10 p.m. was still considered as 5 p.m. there's still so much to do.

While packing up and leaving the upstairs office, you take initiative to visit the humanoid robot to see it's statistics further… "Just one more analysis and I'll go home." You try to convince yourself as you enter into the enclosed lab, only permitting members of the staff in the department. The room is obviously large… but aside from the board with marker notes, another bulletin board with important documents plastered on it, some desks with monitors, a full body capsule and machines, you're surprised that the room is empty. You guess everyone really takes it seriously to leave at 6… Not even a single soul, but you surely know that outside this department, in the building there's still people around. Those were your people once, now you're in a new department. Unfortunately in this new department they don't know you, aside from your friendly smile. You'll insert that drive into them… by force if you have to. They can't leave so early.

The humanoid is in it's full body capsule. You take cautious steps closer to the machine that's running with blue clear water and the robot inside. You take note that the water keeps the skin cool and healthy… A lot of modifications still need to be done because humans don't sleep in water. Aside from that, it looks so peaceful as it's 'sleeping' as if it's a human.

You're startled when it's eyes flatter open. Your own eyes widen as you stand back watching the water decrease within the capsule. It seems to acknowledge presence when you're standing to close to the capsule. Steamed air fogs up the clear glass as the shut door makes a 'psshhh' sound allowing the air to escape. From the foggy air that leaves the capsule you watch as bare feet step out of the machine and as the fog clears up, it only takes the humanoid robot 5 steps to reach you. It heaves in a deep breath before a friendly smile engulfs its face.

Instantly being activated, it's eyes unlike last time are a… a dark brown look to you and you're gobsmacked by how natural it looks. However just like last time it's in black boxers and nothing else. Revealing its upper body. Its body is cool down by the light moisture of wet drops fading into the pores of its skin caused by the fog heating him up. It's hair over its forehead partially damp.

"Good evening Doctor Na. It's a surprise seeing you at this time." You're shocked, by the demeanour in which it communicates to you, as this time, it doesn't sound so robotic… but more human, more male with a pitch slightly high yet low. And you have to admit that it does suit it's face… it sounds like Min-hyung, but so much more mature and older. Minhyun would’ve been 30 if he were still alive. But… this robot is like a vampire stuck at age 24. What's more strange- "Are you seeking companionship?"

Your eyes widen. "Companion- Pardon me? What? God no," You flatter and ramble being in shock of what it just said chortling in surprise. But you quickly catch yourself. "Sorry. I'm a bit tired."

"Your vitals show that you are highly awake and energetic."

You chuckle a little, being marvelled. "Wow, well…" You're stunned. "I was leaving to head home, but I just wanted to check some analysis reports on you. That's why I've got so much energy." The last part you state at just how much surprise you have in his voice. It's almost like a blast from the past… You can almost hear your 19 year old self listening to the charismatic laugh of the young boy.

"You're energized to work on me." It sums up looking delighted. You're truly impressed with how expressive it's features are.

"I am." You nod your head, tilting your head to look at it some more. It stands out. It looks like a human being. "Care to give me a rundown of your activities?"

It takes some steps to a table. It idly sits on the chair. It's posture straight, back turned to you with it's face positioned forward to an overhead projector. You notice that displaying on the screen is feed… All binary numbers in green code:

'1000011 1101000 1100001 1101101 1110000 1101001 1101111 1101110 100000 1110100 1101000 1100101 100000 1101000 1110101 1101101 1100001 1101110 100000 1100010 1100101 1101001 1101110 1100111’

"What does that translate too?" You question.

"It translates to, champion the human being."

Moving forward- you pick up a chair taking a seat next to it and placing your hands on the desk you gaze at it. "Is this what they leave you with every evening?"

"Yes, codes of ethics to recite. A hypno to remember not to go rogue."

"Smart of them," You acknowledge. "Does it work?"

"Certainly. Every morning I maintain a positive attitude to being open to learn and champion the human being." You nod your head. "How are you doing this evening Doctor Na. I believe today was your first day with the team." They must've inserted a personalized voice speaker… or altered something to make him- it… to make it sound so unique, so humanly. So good and friendly, like the original voice holder.

Deciding to actually communicate with it, you turn your body to it. "I'm actually not fine."

"Why is that?" It questions with furrowed brows. "Am I not pleasing to you?"

"You are pleasing to me." You quickly clarify being astonished by its moods. "I mean, I enjoy working on you so far, behind the scenes. But I was actually upset about how nobody is here in the office with you."

"Thankfully I don't experience feelings of loneliness, so rest assured that I am doing well. When it comes to the other doctors and scientists, the human mind is at best and full functioning with 8 hours of sleep. Anymore or less will only cause a human to be restless or having imbalanced emotions of depression. I suggest you also take leave now so that you may rest up well."

You nod your head finding it so interesting how it communicates. As if it already has its own personality.

"With the way you talk, you might make me just stay," you compliment but state honestly. "But I can't rest assured because I don't like how lonely it looks in here. How do you feel about that?"

"Loneliness is not the state of mind I'm in. Rather I'm content being in your presence. I would feel lonely if no one paid attention to my modifications. Once again, I am content that you are here." You smile at its response, it sounds so formal in its speech. "My activities include my 8 a.m. morning routine of waking up and greeting the present doctors. I check up my schedule with the team, which consists of various code testing. They test my response to feelings, moving and thinking. 10 a.m. I'm given a simulation of how humans respond to situations. Mid-day, 12 p.m. I take a productive break by studying or learning matrix, hex, binary templates. 1 p.m. I'm back in the lab for my tests and new implants, improvements. By 3 p.m. I report the new changes and enhancements done to me and 5 p.m. I am given a moment to eat and 6 p.m. I say goodnight to the doctors. 8 p.m. I rest and sleep."

"Hm." You nod approvingly. "What do you eat?"

"Not solid food for sure." You laugh at its attempt to a joke.

"It's actually great that you get the concept of a routine activity. One thing that makes a human a human is the constant survival. In the sense that I could die tonight and never exist again, however I'm given a chance to wake up again and do something new. Hence the routine. Don't mind me chattering about things outside of work."

"I don't mind at all, as you speak I take note of your personality type and how I may respond."

"Like a simulation," you acknowledge. "Alright, let's test it out before I go."

"I wouldn't mind, however wouldn't this cause a strain with your husband?

You're shocked by its sudden question and are thrown off guard. "My husband?"

"Project M47 5 senses high level of stress from the priority of your husband, work and financial statistics, which is quite stunning considering your position and level of work."

"Over stepping much?" You chuckle, you ignore it's concerning with Jaemin and continue chatting to it. "Uhm, okay, let's just restart that whole process again, and instead of a simulation pretend that you're at least talking to a human being? Good afternoon Project M47 5, how are you?"

"Good afternoon, I'm ready and here to help you. How about you?"

You hum out. "Hm, I'm actually concerned."

"Project M47 5 has not yet been coded with layers of feelings, kindly state what's your concern, is there any way that I can help?"

You smile. "That's wonderful to hear, however, I don't like that answer."

A visible frown forms on its face as it stiffly tilts its head deeply pondering or reminiscing on its answer. "You dislike the answer I have given? Why?"

"Thank you for asking." You add with care. "I dislike your answer because it's not reflecting why you were created."

"What do you mean by that Doctor Na? Project M47 5 was created as a-"

"Sorry to interrupt you. Can I answer that by asking you a question? It's in regards to your origin and real purpose. Do you know why you were made?"

You find it fascinating how it's response structure changes when it pretends that it's in a simulation- meanwhile before that, he held a perfect conversation. "Project M47 5's intended purpose is to bridge the gap between machinery and humans."

"Interesting that you mention that, machinery as well as human." You express moving your hands as well as using different pitches to convey your message. "May I ask, would you say that humans feel feelings?"

"They do."

"And machines don't."

"That is correct."

"However with your creation, what are we as NCTO trying to achieve?" You ask again, but this time unlike the fast response it's used to giving you stop it. "And this time I want you to structure your brain, as though you were a human, not a piece of machine. What are we as humans trying to achieve from you?"

"Humans create humanoids, machinery and robots for several key reasons being, efficiency, productivity, safety, assistance, research… innovation…" It slows down just as you purposely display your disappointed expression. "You are displeased with my answer again. Give me a second chance."

"Okay." You're impressed with how quick it is to read your emotions. "A hint, is how you talk. Just before our practice simulation, you were perfectly discussing matters with me by personalizing your sentences. Personify everything you say, such as I'm feeling this, or I don't like this or I am this and that."

This time it redirects it's thinking and it even faces you. "Humans created humanoids for- I was created for the purpose of uncovering what it means to be a human M.A.N. which is modified, altered, network."

"I'll take that. We can stop the simulation here for tonight," You answer when seeing uncertainty in it's eyes. This is how you challenge the robot in its thinking style. Small little things make people feel uncomfortable, and if you can do that as well for a machine, you'll be successful in creating stepping stones to know what to touch based on when it comes to it's emotions. "Not bad, your simulation practice round is okay. However I noticed a subtle difference to you thinking it's a simulation, then when you talk normally."

"Is Project 47 5 not pleasing?"

"Not in the slightest. You are now a living man." You get up being pleased with the little conversation you've had with it. "I know this is weird but, can I give you a name? How about I give you until tomorrow to come up with a name and then-"

"Robo, or even Bot."

You lean in close. "Sorry what?"

"A common robot name is Robo or Bot. Other poplar names include C-3PO, WALL-E or even Optimus."

You try to maintain your laugh at the name: "Optimus 3000. No, how about a more human like name."

"Some more human-like names for robots include 'Adam', 'Eva', 'Sam' and 'Ava'. These names give a more relatable, human touch to a robotic character."

You shrug. "I'm not arguing with those names but for you, what would you prefer? Let me tell you something about names. The meaning of a name is like your whole destiny. If a child is given the name Cain for example, in history the name translated to craftsman, but it’s more infamous for killer, because the original Cain killed his brother, then you best believe that a child with that name might inherit a liking for killing. A name can vary widely depending on cultural, linguistic, and historical contexts. Names often carry specific meanings related to qualities, attributes, or significant concepts. For example, some names may mean "brave," "joyful," or "gift from God." Additionally, names can be tied to family heritage, traditions, or notable figures, reflecting personal or cultural identity. If you have a specific name in mind, I can provide more detailed information about its meaning and origin."

“The name Aaron sounds peculiar. What does it mean?”

It goes through a bunch of names, seemingly popular names from 'A' to 'Z'. You’re actually surprised at how eager it is to have a name. It also seems thoughtful when considering names.

"How about the name Min-hyung?" It questions. Even the way it says the name… You look at him for a long while. Now that's a blast from the past. "It's a spontaneous, generous and magnetic personality,"

You spend a good time sifting through names, but you almost freeze when hearing that name. Min-hyung. Of all ‘M’ names… "It's good, but it feels too human for you." That’s because a robot can’t take the place of how precious Min-hyung was.

"How about it's English counterpart, Mark?" It asks. "With meaning as powerful as strength and Leadership. Given its association with Mars and historical figures, the name "Mark" often symbolizes strength, leadership, and courage. I would like a name that carries connotations of reliability, strength, and timelessness."

"I like Mark." You nod licking your dry lips. "How about you… Mark. Do you like it?"

"Mark." It tests the name of it's tongue. "I am Mark. Hello my name is Mark. I am Mark from NCTO. First humanoid robot project. Mark."

"You'll definitely leave a mark, Mark." You grin brightly, pleased at the name and how familiar it seems when he's being addressed with it.

"Would I need to produce a surname as well?"

"Not necessarily. Either way, Mark seems to suit you very cleanly. Tell me how are you feeling. Regarding this experiment we've trailed you for. And don't tell me you don't feel anything. I want you to tap into… Your human side. Pretend like you've got one at least. From everything you know about us, I'm sure you can generate something again."

"I feel good that you are on the project. No one has ever come after hours at 11 p.m. to speak to me and give me a name. Treating me not only as a manner of code, but as though I am a human."

You smile again. "Because you are. You're different from us all, but still are on of us. So, Mark." You use his name formally. "I want you to live up to your name, as the perfect M.A.N that this company has ever created."

"With your help, I most certainly will live up to it's potential."

"That's what I like to hear," you find yourself shaking hands with it. "Thank you Mark. Alright it's getting late. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you Doctor. Have a good night and sleep tight."

"You too."

_

"So how was your first day on the project?" Jaemin asks after you both finish compiling platters of food on the dining table. Despite the time being 1 a.m. Jaemin woke up to prepare the food he left in the microwave for you. You're grateful but feel guilty especially when seeing his eye bags. The table looks lively with various colours of food. "Did you like it?" His raspy voice questions. He fixes up some perilla leaves and meat that he already chopped up and with his chopsticks, he places it by your mouth.

You smile when getting a big bite of the entire meal straight into your mouth. You compliment with a light hum of approval before covering your mouth so that you can answer. "Let's just say a lot of things have to change. In terms of how each and every person is approaching this project. They were thrilled to see me and I was pleased with the level that the project is at, but the thought of how lacking and distant it is, is what sits at the top of my mind. They're not doing enough, and I want for them to do a lot."

Jaemin nods his head, "Well after seeing that robot first time weeks ago, all I can say is that it resembled a human so well. A bit odd looking with sharp jaw structures but it was solidly neat." he carries on eating.

"Babe." You gulp and swallow your food. "Would you like to come to the office sometime this week?"

He raises a brow. "Why?"

"You know Dr Lee Jeno?"

"How could I not," Jaemin mumbles, allowing you to continue as he stuffs his mouth.

"Well I had a chat with the robot tonight, we even came up with a name, Mark. And aside from the masculine and quick answers, I think it needs a more modern touch to it. Instead of aa scientific touch. I think it needs to spend a lot of time with normal human beings. We call it a steering test. Basically you’ll interact with it and determine whether it’s a human or not. Since you already know it’s a machine, you could come in and talk to it, and in the end you tell me how human the conversation, or how A.I it was. Tonight I spoke to it… Him as though I was speaking to a human and I noticed that when I pretended to do a simulation, it also changed it's character. But after tonight, I see a vision for it, and I just want to accomplish it. Do you understand?"

"You can't dominate over the robot."

Jaemins tone and answer brings you back to focus on him. "That's not what I meant-"

"It’s what you’re trying to do though. Trying to mould him to become like Min-hyung.”

Your shoulders sag as you retract your words. "Jaemin I didn't even mean it like that. I didn’t even mention Min-hyung-"

"Just eat your food."

“Excuse me?”

“Eat.” You and him have a stare down. “I won’t say it again.” The mood on the table turns sour as you both quietly eat. He tries feeding you again, and you eat it still being so upset. Why is it that you always feel like he manipulates and twists your words? When in reality you just want him to… Support you. Is that too hard to ask for?

Washing the dishes, packing away food and washing up before you get on the bed, Jaemin has his lamp off but he's awake waiting for you. You get on the bed and turn the other way switching off your lamp… But it doesn't mean he's in a tired mood. He shifts close to you and kisses your neck. You inwardly roll your eyes and try not to scoff out loud allowing him to do what he wants… But as his hands go over your legs and in between your thighs you break it up. "I'm not in the mood. I'm tired and just want to sleep."

"Come on. You don't even have to do anything, let me make you feel good." his hands trace over your core while his other hand squeeze underneath you to touch your boob. He's panting and touching you, pressing his body so close to you that you feel his hard manhood. Still with your back turned to him, he removes your pants and underwear and draws your leg up allowing his fingers to stimulate over your core. Even though you're not in the mood, your core gets wet against your will and you find yourself slowly getting interested… But you're still upset and moody, so your toes curl in ecstasy when he slips his member in you. You moan out and shut your eyes just as he continues to kiss your neck and earlobe while thrusting in you heavily. He unbuttons you pajama shirt allowing your boobs to be set free.

After some point you’re turned off even though you're moaning fakely and forcefully, Jaemin is like a dog in heat. He reaches his high while you're still left flat. Another night, another fake orgasm. When he's done he smiles and laughs, talking to you but you're zoned out. "I need to take a shower." You go and bath hoping that when you're finished he'll be asleep. But no. He's still awake, waiting for you. You get on the bed still with your back to him, while he cuddles with you.

"I love you."

"You too. Night." You shut off.

"Why are you always like this?"

"Jaemin I just wanna sleep-

"We just made love and you look so uninterested and unboth-"

"What more do you want from me? I gave you sex and you still want to complain?" And just like that, like every other night a petty little quarrel breaks between you and him. This time however you place your pillow over your head and ignore him.

You can already feel the anger when you wake up in the morning. You’re grouchy. Very tired and irritated.

"My findings on the project M47 5 humanoid robot Mark, is very disappointing. Considering the time frame, it's improvements are truly impressive yet so disappointing."

It's 9h30 a.m. and the meeting with your new department already has everybody in stiff moods. You don’t even have to see it on their faces, the whole enlarged room is heavy. You're cranky and feel so moody so you continue with your findings.

"While I commend everyone for producing such firm and solid results contributing the prototype alive and moving, I must say the approach to execute a finished result seems to be lacking. I found that 2 years was a reasonable amount of time to complete this project. But what we see is a project that should be finished within a year, being finished over 14 years because everyone prefers to leave at 6 p.m. and enter the building at 9 a.m., there are way too many breaks, for crying out loud why would you need 4 breaks with 1 hour each? It's pointless because the amount of work being drilled into the humanoid is insufficient. I spoke to the prototype yesterday and found that its activities are inadequate for the work we're trying to produce and it made me realize why I'm a senior and the rest of you of you are still below authority. Should I be the one to do everything by myself? The MD connect results show a drop-in development. At this point all the statistics I saw were just being a loop of the same sentence but differently executed countless of times. Which makes me believe that everyone here is truly lazy and lacks innovation." You read from your cue sheet…

finding the words too harsh, especially when looking to the deflated and slightly confused and angered staff. You decide to throw in your own words.

"But then again, I wrote this without having my early morning coffee and I feel so fucking cranky. I think you can all tell. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and I think Doctor Jeno wants to sleep with me."

Your comment has some chuckles, smiles and stressed smiles appearing as well as relaxation sipping into everyone's shoulders. Your objective in life has never been to be a harsh leader. You earned your spot here through sincere understanding of how frustrating it is to build something from the ground up. So you can understand where they’re lacking and even why, but you make sure to let them know that you need their focus on how why they are even working here in the first place.

"Okay look." You place your notes down just deciding to freestyle, because if you have to finish that speech you'll definitely make everyone upset. "Truth is we've been given a reasonable amount of time to finish this. Our sponsors need quality when the deadline is due, and what I saw so far had me worried. We're too slow when we need to be working with speed. Hence forth I need to reassign divisions and monitor all progress made. We are on the right path, but we need correct people in place. I don’t want to replace anyone, I’m quite happy with the team, but I need leaders to step up. Renjun I’m putting you on duty for his micro expressions, very well done on his expressions, I am still impressed by it. I actually think it’s fucking awesome how he looks like Min-hyung, but respects to the dead, let’s make him original, with his own name, Mark, and his own personality. Understood?” Renjun nods his head looking marvelled and astonished by the sudden promotion. “Yuta I need you to step down into capsule maintenance, is there a reason why he should be sleeping in a capsule? I need reports and structure on everything regarding that capsule, can you do that?”

“Certainly.”

“Jisung, I know you’re an intern but I need you to rush into what is required of you, we’re not paying you to fetch coffee. I don’t want to see you walking up and down doing mundane tasks. It seems like your advisors are a bit lazy, so if you’re looking for what to do come to me.” You throw a little jab at the said advisors, before turning to the next person. “Kun, fantastic work, but I hate your team and consistent breaks. If you don’t sort that out, they’re all going and you’ll work all on your own. Because you’re working hard, pulling all the strings, but its supposed to be a team effort. Karina and Giselle, same goes for you, I see a lot of this-” Your hands flap imitating talking lips. “Instead of working. Aside from me, you’re the only females on the team, can you represent instead of always talking. Just like I said to Jisung, if you have no work come to me. What I'd expect from each and everyone of us is excitement to build this humanoid robot. Last night before leaving I spoke to him. If you’ve noticed, I started to call it a him now, and together we came up with a name. Mark. I was able to catch on a few defects that I feel needs our attention and aside from that, there's loads more that we need to do. But for now, I’d like a rundown of his activities for this month all on my desk before the next hour."

Your speech goes on as you talk to each team and division equally with solutions and how you want a report back session. Thankfully there is cooperation in the room and ideas are sprung around before everyone gets the slight push and motivation to work… that’s what you think, truly you know they’re already gonna hate you.

“And what about me?” Jeno’s smirk catches your attention.

“I should be working under you, but it seems like I’m the one wearing the pants. Meeting adjourned.” You walk up the stairs instead of using the elevator. Jeno is not far behind you, shooting his shot as usual.

"I'm assuming your husband does the worst job in pleasing you,"

You roll your eyes and continue going up the steps reminding him that you have work to do. Jeno's comment has you avoiding any eye contact once you get in the office. You walk to your desk removing your coat. You notice how he stands in one place simply watching you. You don't entertain him as you slide your glasses on your face starting your work. Laptop and notepad open to some record sheets as you put in the new values of data that you have to experiment on.

"You know-"

"If it's about my husband, don't start. It's none of your business."

"I'm offering you an amazing time-"

"You seem to be forgetting we're at work."

"So? You put my secret on blast that I want to sleep with you." You catch sight by the corner of your eye as he moves closer to your desk before he disappears behind you. You feel tense as your shoulders are held firmly within his grip… before they begin to massage you softly.

"Jeno you've got yourself in a dangerous zone when you allow your penis to think for you?"

He chortles. "It's written all over your face that you want me," Jeno comments.

"For your sake I hope you're joking. I've never given you such an impression."

He chuckles and rubs your shoulders. "That's because your head is stuck in someone's ass- I'm playing.” He chuckles when you attempt to move. “Look, all I'm saying is that you're someone who shouldn't be stressing. You're in a high position, you deserve high attention, not some mediocre-"

"Jeno-"

"I'm just a name away if you reconsider." He states and leans down to see your face. "I could do a pretty good job in satisfying you." He disappears from your desk and takes a seat on his table also managing some sheets of paper. He gets up and grabs a maker displaying his numbers on the board. "Tell me does this look right?"

Working closely to Jeno will seem to have it's challenges, but it doesn't hinder the fact that he's incredibly smart. Hence the fact that you need to create boundaries and keep the 'mystery' of yourself alive.

"So, what do you think, we can go and pay 'Mark' a visit and you can see if it's a good implement?" Jeno encourages and you both walk to the lab. Thankfully there are people there testing his endurance when it comes to holding in his breath. "What we're trying to do here is give it an artificial breath. It's already programmed to live but the key thing that makes us human is being able to breathe. Just like a chess game, it knows how to put up a game, but it’s important aspect is that it knows that it’s playing a game. With Mark, does he know that he’s alive and breathing?"

"I understand that." As you stand on the side lines watching how they configure his testing out the new implements… you take a brief notice that he… Mark peeks at you once in a while. Of course, he's probably wondering if you're going to engage with the other scientist, but you don't. You simply watch. After Jeno gets the feedback report- you and him leave the lab- but you look over your shoulder feeling a stare on you, and it's from Mark.

"By estimation, paired with these results we can get this done with 1-2 months. And then we can move to the next part, which I feel would be more complicated." Jeno states. "I know what you're thinking, what would be more difficult then breathing?"

You wait for his answers.

"Living." He answers. "He's already differing from various personalities and what he quote on quote likes, but it's important that he develops his own personality. Basically he needs to be aware that he is a machine impersonating a human. Come with me, let me show you your dad’s notes.”

Entering in a secluded basement, you’re surprised by the various rooms down here. There’s a door that has your fathers name on it, Lee Taeyong. Using his access card, Jeno enters the room. “Your dad was brilliant, and it makes sense why Min-hyung loved cooping himself and cramping himself in this tiny room. At the time we were both handpicked interns by your dad. So we, along with JB were the only ones allowed to enter this room.”

The room is dark and looks small, a vivid image comes to the front of your mind when you remember at the age of 10 your father brought you in here. By that time Min-hyung wasn’t his intern, it was just you and your work obsessed father. “Where are the lights?”

“Here.” When the lights turn on, the room is a bright neon blue colour that it takes you a few eye blinks to adjust. You watch as if everything comes alive. The walls with plastered yellow and pink sticky notes and invisible blue ink coat all over on the marker board. The stacks of books laying on a table closer to the wall that has one lamp and a bunch of testing equipment. On several of shelves there’s glass containers, cylinders with greenish water and floating things. Those questionable things in the water is what should be getting your attention, yet a long table in the middle is what gets your attention and you walk closer to it.

“Now this is where the magic happened. I know it’s personal but, your dad cherished Min-hyung, as if he was his own son.” That brings you back to some memories. “So I’m not even surprised that Project 47- I mean… ‘Mark’ looks like that. Like Min-hyung. Wished your dad loved me like that-” You chuckle a little. “Anyway, I brought you in here, just so you can see what JB, Min-hyung and I saw when this project first started. It was Min-hyung’s idea, but your dad brought it to life. We would joke and call it the Frankenstein project.”

You turn to Jeno, surprised to actually here him speak so fondly. Then again he is talking about people who created a great impact in his life. Jeno has a modest smile while looking at the table. Which gets your attention back on the table.

The wide table with blue prints in one corner, a laptop in the middle and several books opened on top of each other, but what gets your attention most is the framed picture on the side, of you and your father. In the picture you’re young of course and so happy to be in his arms. “Hybrid language, systems statistics, human consciousness, high level contractions. The question we had in mind was not what people think about, but rather how they think. How do you think humans think?”

“Humans think. They have impulse. Response to things. They are fluid. Imperfect. Have a pattern. Chaotic.”

“Isn’t that beautiful,”

“It actually isn’t,” You nod your head. “That was everything my father was.”

Jeno simply ignores you… In fact he sees a bit of himself with you. Your father placed you second and his work first, and Jeno can relate because Doctor Lee Taeyong placed him second and Min-hyung first. But unlike you, it didn’t bother Jeno as much. He was used to coming in second. His whole life, he was second, so he understands your reluctance to your father.

“Now everything we’re doing are in these blue prints. What we’ve continued off or hoped this project could led to is in the laptop, and everything outside this lab is modified and new. Examination formats, simulations and actuals, everything analytical is in this room. This is the foundation that your father left behind. When Min-hyung disappeared, I never saw your dad enter this room again. But he was always with this laptop. It’s a very old laptop. A very old piece of tech that we can’t even break into, because if we do all the data will disappear. For the past few years with IT, we’ve tried to get it open. But the stupid password is designed, that after 12 attempts everything will be automatically deleted. I know right, people who know how to alterfy their tech are lunatics. But your dad was crazy like that. The old man and technology were tight.”

“So assuming you’ve attempted to unlock the password, how many tries have you had?”

“10.” Jeno answers. “2 attempts left. And… honestly if we lose everything in here, it won’t make much of a difference, but don’t you think it would be a shame to lose everything in here?”

“It would be.”

“Which is why… I want you to… have it. To try and open it and keep it as a souvenir. Your dad kept logs in here. Min-hyung always said this was his diary. So assuming you manage to get the password, there might be some piece of closure in there for you, because I notice you call him ‘father’ instead of ‘dad’. And I still remember when you started working here, you’d try to get his attention… but it was never reciprocated. And after he passed, you never spoke about him ever again. But I know your dad, he told us some pretty crazy stories about you,”

You scoff and shake your head.

“I’m serious. You once made a toilet seat that could automatically read which gender is entering the bathroom. Your dad stated that because sometimes he didn’t cut his hair, the toilet seat would refuse to go up. And one time, this huge pipe just stuck out of the toilet and tried to suck in his clothes thinking it was poop-” Jeno begins chuckling while you try to hide your giggle. “I’ll always remember that one because both your dad and Min-hyung experienced it. Min-hyung was always eager to see what was new and created around the house, because as he said, since your dad was hardly around, you used the house as your lab to create. He loved that about you. How far would your mind go. Here. I want you to take it, also because I really believe you can open it. And if you do and you keep it as a souvenir, please remember that anything useful for us-”

“I don’t really want it and like you said it doesn’t really make a difference with what we’re doing now. I doubt there’s any sentimental to it, aside from it being a work possession. Let’s get back to work and follow the plans we have now. I’d actually like to see these blueprints.” You suddenly turn so cold, picking up the blueprints and manuscripts to the project.

“Rude much.”

“I’m not being rude, I’m just setting boundaries between work and whatever you’re on about.”

“Okay.” Jeno nods his head with his eyes enlarged. “Burn, I get it. You hate your dad.” Also returning to his cocky nature. “I guess your desk awaits you.”

You want to apologize, but you’re already so warped into being moody today. Work takes a toll on you again and even after Jeno mentions it's 6- you don't budge from your station. He announces it's 7 and that he's leaving and you bid him goodbye. Feeling somewhat satisfied that he's leaving a little late. Jaemin sends you an apology text but you're focused on ignoring him and allowing your mind to be elsewhere instead of on him, because you can already guess how he wants to make up. And you're just tired and not feeling it. You don't have the energy for him right now.

You actually feel drained.

-

"Good evening Doctor Na." Out of all places to go, you find yourself in the empty lab of the prototype Mark. Right now, he's better company then any human… Maybe because he reminds you of Min-hyung. Hearing Jeno say all of those things, you actually do feel touched that your dad as well as Min-hyung spoke about you kindly. You’ve never actually sat down and spoken to Min-hyung, he would only bounce around and tease or bother you, it was never a 1 on 1. But with Mark… you’re comfortable enough to approach him and have a one on one.

"Hi Mark," You smile gently with a notebook in your hand. "How are you?"

"There's nothing to complain about, hence I am well." He responds moderately and you can hear the adjustments that they were working on this morning, as he looks less uncanny in his sincere emotions.

"That's good to hear." You nod your head moving closer to his pod and recording the report data present. Typing it into your tablet you peek at him, as his posture is focused on you. "Don't mind me, I'm just gathering evidence. Covering my ass with copies of everything."

"I am distressed about your wellbeing today,"

"Oh really? You're distressed about my well being?" A thoughtful smile coats your face as you acknowledge how he speaks out of turn yet is curious about your emotions.

"You showed high levels of stress this morning at the status meeting as well as this evening when showing up for my tests. Yet I was astonished at how well you managed to look blank."

"It comes with practice." You state nonchalantly.

Even though you are done and are about to leave, something pushes you to actually sit down next to him on the table he's 'learning' and reading matrix signals from.

"Why aren't you in your pod?"

"Doctor Yuta stated that I don’t have to sleep in the pod tonight. He gave me a replication mock-up dose. Tonight I’ll be sleeping outside of my pod.” He smiles allowing you to be content. “Aside from that, I had expectations that you might come."

You stiffly smile at that. "I only came in yesterday, but you're already having expectations?"

"The probability of the outcome was 1 in 3 chances."

"And out of those outcomes you knew that I'd come? How'd you calculate that?"

"When checking statistics, you are part of the 10% of workers who leave the company at this time between 10 to 11 p.m. Yesterday may have been your first visit in the lab, but regarding you senior position and constant analysis of perfection, I assumed you'd come again for a check up or AOD report, which you have. The third outcome, you seemed to be upset about my lack of progression, as well as your own personal matter, hence I thought as a robot designed to be a man, you'd come for a bit of company. I am limited when it comes to providing you with, a shoulder to cry on as they say, however I can provide you with an ear." His predictions are spot on and you can't help but smile at his progression.

"I'm not mad at your lack of progression. In fact, I’m still so impressed, especially with what Jeno showed me this afternoon. Call me selfish or not, but I really want for you to be a success because… I didn’t want to admit this to Jeno, but I do miss my father. So much. I feel like I failed him. That’s why he jumped off a building. But working on you, feels elevating and reviving. If I can make you work, if we can do that… then it’s going to be like… it’s going to make me happy, that I could be a part of what he did. Recognised by him. Even though he’s dead, it’ll feel nice to complete something he started.”

"That's not being selfish,” You turn to Mark. “That is admirable. You have high expectation and high motivation and there's nothing wrong with that. I feel honoured that you're present within the research and the findings. And your father Lee Taeyong is my creator, it would be an honour to have his presence looming in your blood as you work on me." He comments. "However, you're still sad, what seems to be the matter Doctor Na? Why are you still sad?"

"Oh nothing I'm fine." You brush it off getting up.

"You're not showing any signs of being fine."

Diverting your gaze away from the scans displaying on the overhead. But his dark brown honey eyes are already on you attentively. You manage to look back into his eyes and sigh taking a seat again. "If you want me to be honest, I don't want to go home.”

"That much is clear, most people use work as an escape." He informs. "Regarding your case, aside from staying because of work, I assume it has something to do with a personal issue. Your husband,"

“The problem here at work is my father, and at home, it’s my husband. I just don’t want to go home, I just want to keep working… or rather talking to you." You sigh out. "Quick question, yesterday night, you also mentioned the same thing about my husband. Why did you mention him?"

"Doctor Lee Jeno stated that you and your husband have a very straining relationship."

You clutch your jaw. "He did?"

"Yes, and I can also read your vitals. Are you upset?"

You huff and shake your head. "No. I'm perfectly fine."

"The correction error states that you're untruthful about your feelings."

"I forgot you can do that." You mumble. "Correction errors. Hm. I think you met my husband once, not formally, but you did right?"

"Yes."

"Did it look like we were having a straining relationship?" You suddenly ask, feeling slightly insecure. "Actually when you look at someone, at a person, at Jaemin, what do you see exactly- Or what did you see?"

"My reports are able to show me what's already publicly exposed, from his birth, identity in society and how his legal business is doing, marital status. I am unable to scan or read his feelings, but I am able to read the detail on his face through the micro expressions he displays. On the day I encountered your husband, there were certain signs of your relationship being discordance or rather strained. Aside from Doctor Lee openly approaching you in his regards to his feelings, I noted that Mr Na Jaemin had feelings of discomfort as well as stress. Discomfort in seeing me. His face showed signs of stress, the information gathered from his work gave low sales and rating, and as for your relationship, with his enthusiasm being low to see you, while you were quite excited to see him. As of now I see your upset nature regarding the matter. Hence the discordance. Would you want to share what's bothering you?"

You shrug your shoulders. "Seeing Jeno told you about my relationship, I bet a whole bunch of them are already…" You sigh out. "Talking about it."

"If you're feeling stressed, you could get it off your chest. By confiding in me."

After subtly considering it, you nod your head. "Only if you promise not to tell."

"Statics show that it's important to share your feelings with others so that they can help you to the best of their ability and try to understand what you are going through. Keeping things bottled can be unhealthy and could lead to depression if you don't talk to someone."

"Psychology 101." You hum with a little smile knowing your lessons off by heart. "Was that your way of confirming to me that you won't tell."

"I confirm."

You nod your head and think on the situation for a bit, trying to think of how honest you want to be with Mark. "I don’t really love Jaemin.”

You hold your tongue back. Although, already having said what you said, when looking into Mark's eyes you feel no judgement at all from, so you pour out what you're feeling.

"I did in the beginning. But things changed.” You take a deep breathe to control your breathing. "Ever since Min-hyung disappeared, things become strained. Truth is, I only got married to him to get Min-hyung out of my head.”

“Min-hyung was in your head?” You don't expect Mark to respond, you don't even expect him to listen. You just want to distress yourself. But his question, makes you gulp.

“My first crush.” You smile and look at Mark. It feels weird confessing that out loud to a humanoid that looks like him. His eyes stare right back at you.

“Are you feeling shy when looking at me Doctor Na?”

You hold in your breath and blush. “Uhm…” You look away. "Where was I?”

“You loved Min-hyung.”

“Love is a big word.” You smile sadly and think of Jaemin. “It feels so good to just let that out. I don’t love Jaemin. I don’t. Not at all. Not even a little bit. I regret committing to him for the rest of my life. And I've tried asking him if we can book for therapy so that we could fix this, fix me, but he puts the blame on me saying that he's fine in the relationship, if I'm having problems it's because I have wondering eyes and I keep trying to make my relationship like everyone else. Imagine the insanity to that. I don’t love him and I hate that I’m stuck with him.” Your eyes glisten with tears, but you hold them in as you look to Mark and shrug your shoulders. "It's going to go away, and it'll become a problem I can laugh at later on, but I'm tired, I think it'll all go away later on."

You're a senior and you've just poured a personal problem with a robot. How stupid of you.

"I have to go. Hopefully he's asleep when I get home."

"Would you like a hug?" You stop in thought to look at Mark. His hallow empty dark brown eyes show no emotion, but it expresses this kind atmosphere. "Emotional intelligence wise, I know all the answers to your problems according to what's been put into my data Generative Pre-trained data. However, as I am physical and you stated my purpose is to be a living man, a man, I want to know if you need a hug? This isn’t a simulation."

That only makes the glistening tears by your eyes overshadow your eyes as you nod your head. "Emotional support." Getting into the hug, you feel goose bumps crawl up your skin and the iron yet smooth texture of his soft yet stubble skin has you feeling a familiar human touch. His arms, just the right amount of heaviness wrap around you. He squeezes you carefully allowing you to feel his arm. Your face on his chest feels warm and you watch your tear drop roll down his toned chest. "I can't remember the last time I had a proper hug…" Even though the image of Jaemin comes up in your mind of him hugging you slash cuddling you last night, you don't count it as you can't compare it to the warmth your feeling right now.

It feels as though the temperature of his skin also escalates. "Did you increase your body temperature?"

"Should I reduce it?"

"No," You shake your head, enjoying it more then you should. "If anything, you need clothes, but I'm happy like this."

"A generic robot response would me saying; 'I'm sorry you're going through this. If you want to talk more about it, or need support, I'm here to listen. And if you ever feel like you need more help, please consider reaching out to someone you trust or a professional who can offer support.' That's one of my programmed answer. However, sifting through the options that would be suitable for you, a hug seemed to be the best."

You nod your head and sniff. "You must think I'm quite dumb even though I am a psychologist,"

"Not at all." He answers moderately and you're shocked to hear that. "You are my technical and personality supervisor. It's normal to feel overwhelmed by your personal matters, but as long as you say them out loud and find a solution, you'll be able to personalize my monitor feedback to be more real."

“Right.” You nod your head. "So far, you aren't doing a bad job. You're actually a better companion right now." You rest in his embrace for a long while… it's strange that you don't hear a heartbeat but hear the machines wiring around in his system. It's also strange how you don't want to leave him.

“I lied about something.”

“What?”

“I had expectations that you were coming, only because I wanted to ask you a question.”

Listening to how the voice generates from his fuzy chest you nod your head. “That’s fine, you can ask me anything.”

“How do you feel about me?”

..

“Are you attracted to me?”

You breathe out nervously. “Mark it’s only my second time here.”

“You’re not answering the question. You give me indications that you are attracted to me.” His warm voice speaks, and you hear your heart beating in your chest.

“Oh yeah?” You question. “How?”

“The way your eyes, fix on me,” You get off his chest and look at him, trying to see what exactly is going on. His voice even drops to whisper. But it’s his eyes that hold a gleaming… hope in them. “The way you look at my lips. Holding my gaze. Do you think of me when we’re not together?”

Your face is hot and you feel so… “I have to go.”

“I have to sleep.” It also gets up and moves to a chair that is reclined out. You watch it as it settles on the laid back chair. No blanket, no pillow. Just him laying there. You catch his eyes and blush. “Can I ask you one more question?”

You’re still not over the sudden questions he asked you. Yet you nod your head. “Do you want to be my friend?”

A smile grows on your face. “Yes, I guess so.” You answer quietly and the smile returns to it’s face.

“No, I don’t mean testing out my responses and studying me. I mean, do you want to be my friend and go out with me?”

“Project 47 5. I think you need to recharge.” You try to get some sort of composure back in yourself and you pull some boundaries again, not knowing the source of it’s sudden nature and question.

“Right. I hope I haven't ruined your peaceful state."

You smile, a clear smile with happiness behind your eyes, even after feeling so flastered, you think of how he made you feel. "You made me feel so much better. But I think I do have to go now, it's already 11."

"Drive safely Doctor Na."

"I will, good night Mark." A longing grows in you, but you try not to pay attention to it. You watch as the chair turns a light grey colour and feeds begin to display on the little tablet near him. His eyes shut and you nod your head, Yuta enhanced it’s sleeping pattern to be one of rechargeable battery. You leave the lab. Getting in your car and driving on the dark and empty road, you blush when thinking of how warm Mark's body… mechanical body was. "Stupid." You matter to yourself of how stupid you are for thinking of his questions. "I should just stop talking about Min-hyung around him. But It's for research purposes." You try to convince yourself… talking to yourself.

Getting home, you're not surprised to see Jaemin awake. He prepares the food and reluctantly you eat quietly while he talks about his day. "I wanted to apologize." There it is.

"I forgive you, you can just drop it."

"Are you sure about that?"

"100%" You finish eating, get up and go to bed. You don't engage when Jaemin gets on the bed in attempts to get your attention. You ignore him and find yourself sleeping. However… his last question stays in your head… He asked you if you want to be his friend… That was the last question Min-hyung asked you… the last conversation you had with him before he disappeared.

-

“I can’t get in my father’s lab.”

“Pardon?” Jeno looks up from his laptop as you hover his desk upon entering the joint office.

“I was thinking about yesterday and how you told me that it could have sentimental stuff. I figured, okay. I’m ready to forgive my father for years of neglect.”

“I’m sorry, did you mean to say good morning first, or how are you?” Jeno tilts his head still wondering what you’re talking about. “I’m a bit confused here. Speaking of confusion, Doctor Nakamota Yuta was looking for you, he said-”

“Jeno please wake up. I’ll deal with that later. I need to enter that lab, but my access card is denying me access.” You start.

“Oh. That's what you're on about, that’s where you’ve been the whole morning. Okay..” Jeno runs a hand through his hair, understanding. “As of now, it’s only JB and I who have access to that room, but seeing as now you’re interested, I’ll talk to the unit systems and have them-”

"I need to get there now, could I borrow your pass?"

“Borrow my pass?” Jeno's brows furrow. "I'm just gonna start again because clearly this morning I'm a bit late. Good Morning Doctor Na, how are you-"

"Jeno!" You whine and move behind his back with your hands on his shoulder shaking it a little. "Please, if you're thinking it's against the rules to lend access cards, then just know I won't be wondering around doing crazy shit with your keys. Please. I'll just get the laptop and leave,"

Jeno turns back to you holding your gaze before he pats his cheek with his finger. "Popo,"

You roll your eyes before kissing his cheek not thinking twice of the consequences. Jeno on the other hand having you that close your heat on his cheek is beyond over the moon. "Man, you already have me up,"

"Card," you ignore him stifling a smile as he reaches into his pocket handing you his access card. "Besides, what wrong could I possibly do?"

As soon as you say that you feel an irked feeling of something going wrong already happening. And it's when you pass by the lab seeing Mark alone that you curiously wonder in. He's on a table. "Hi Mark,"

"Good morning, how are you doing this morning?"

"I'm well and yourself?"

"Upset."

You furrow your brows moving closer to him. "What's wrong?"

"Why am I not wearing clothes?" The question is valid and has you on realization that he's still in tight shorts. "Why do I have a sexuality? If I'm a robot, why do I need to be assigned a gender role? I dislike simulator tests. I understand I'd need an organ to assist the female reproductive system to produce, but what good is it if I produce artificial semen and cannot ejaculate? What if the test subject female persons is sensitive and gets an infection from the artificial sperm? Would I be considered disabled if I am a man who can't afford to-"

"Hey, hey, hey, calm down Mark," You carefully hold onto his shoulders, and you try to get him to look away from whatever he's sketching… Which is a face… your father’s face. You ignore it and focus on him, he stops drawing and peers at you. "Calm down, we haven't gotten to the point in testing yet-"

"The Vesla Bot model 67 was made in 2024 with the urgency to be friendly, eliminate dangerous, repetitive boring tasks, it’s said appeal as stated by it’s creator Nole Musk, was that this robot would be for humans to engage. The projections of this project would soon be shut down as it was turned into a pervasive perverted sex drone bot. They shut it down. Dr Lee Jeno mentioned that I have an opening which would stimulate pleasure into my drive as I engage in matters pertaining to sex-”

“Mark you aren’t designed to be a sex bot-”

“What will happen to me if I fail your test?”

“Mark-”

“Or be ‘bad’ and have rebel tendencies-”

“Mark please come down.” You get slightly on guard when it stands up giving you a firm stance looking down at you.

“Answer the question, Doctor Na?”

“Look, I don’t know where all this is coming from-” His tight and sudden grip over your arms makes your jump and has you opening your eyes wide. You’re stunned and frozen- you can hear scrambling as well as doctors voices blaring here and there for Mark to calm down- you even see someone touch him but it seems he’s too hot as his body produces steam-

“Do you think I’ll be switched off if I don’t function well? If I produce emotions or feelings of anger like now? What am I to do if I get upset? I certainly don’t wish to be turned off, and I definitely don’t want to turn out like Optimise who became a filthy sex bot for the pleasures and likes of humans-”

“I don’t know the answers of your questions!” You let out, being panicked when his hands get tighter and hotter. “It’s not up to me but I’ll- Mark you’re hurting me-”

“Why is it up to anyone? Shouldn’t I have the right as a man to live?”

“Mark-”

“Do you wake up and have people test you?”

“Mark-”

“Answer the question. Do you wake up and have people test you? Yes or no!”

“No but-”

“So why should I?”

“Hey-”

“Do you have people test you and switch you off?”

“No-”

“Then why do I?”

“Project M47-”

“Do you have people test if you can stimulate orgasms?”

“No-”

“So why should I?”

“Please-”

“Do you have people touching you or wanting to touch you in order to test you?”

“Ma-”

“Why should I be touched? Why should I be tested?!”

“Project m45 7! Shut down!” You hear in the background as you simply just stare wide eyed at the man before producing and expressing so much anger, pent up frustration. Your mind is blank when staring into the eyes of the robot… impersonating human feelings…

“Do you have people thinking you’re dead, calling you another name and testing you?! What am I-” Those are the last of Mark’s words as you see it’s eyes blazing red and close your own turning your head away- however all you hear are your pants along with machines wiring. The hands on your arms loosen and you sneak a peak- the red eyes are still on you, but the machine robot seems to be inactive. You see the other scientist as well as Doctors trying to get it to into the capsule.

“Are you okay?” Jeno own arms are wrapped around you looking concerned. You nod your head, not minding that you’re shaking and breathing out heavily. You try, or rather keep trying to calm yourself down by placing your hand to your chest.

“I just entered the lab. And tried to speak to it- I mean him.”

“Yuta brought me some reports stating that Mark was behaving unintentionally moody after his first night sleeping outside of the pod. I guess this is what he meant. He said something about it being irritable-”

“He can get irritable?” You question.

“It’s not that he can get irritable, it’s just that his code was formulated in such a way to project exact human emotions. As you tasked us to venture for him to sleep outside of the tank, we figured that the reason he sleeps inside is due to the pores in his skin, turns out, as I saw the overnight report statistics, I noticed unusual patterns- if you could just follow me,”

You and Jeno promptly follow, but as you take a look at the few doctors in the room watching the blue liquid fill up, your eyes rest upon the… blue eyes that stare back at you. Getting to Yuta’s cubicle, he shows you his board and laptop monitor screen.

“Oh my god. Are those-”

“No that can’t be.”

“That’s what I said,” Yuta gulps. “But those are actual brain waves. Human brain waves. Last night, he had his first dream. The sleep REM shows that he went even deeper into his sleep entering the non-REM. I was puzzled and opted to go and check it out for myself. I asked him and I was surprised that he lied about it. So, I had no choice but to open him up. Yet to my surprise before I could even touch him, he refused for me to touch him.” Yuta explains. “I tried to get close, but the look he gave me… I wasn’t about to try anything. So I reported it to Doctor Jeno as you weren’t in your office.”

You and Jeno look at each other trying to understand the meaning of this. You then look to Yuta. “I’m sorry, yesterday when I was with him, he said you gave him a replication mock-up dose. What is that?”

“Basically, I didn’t build this pod, Doctor Lee Taeyong, Lee Min-hyung and Lee Jeno built that capsule. It has a certain programming,”

“Jeno?” You turn to him.

“It’s to keep the robot cool, charged, allowing fluids to clean it’s internal components,”

“And something that I think was important, but overlooked it, was it’s connection to it’s brain.” Yuta inputs holding onto the screen to adjust it for his view so that he can show us. “We’ve always assumed that it’s just machinery running in that head, that’s why it’s so well put. However, I was astonished when reading actual brain waves.”

“Brain?” You question in disbelief. “It’s a robot, it can’t have a brain-”

“According to your father it could have a brain, to hold memory and have memory.” Jeno shakes his head mouthing to himself. “And your father came up with a functional substance to hold memories in a secured component. He created this structured jelly jell to store in memories as if it was a brain. I don’t recall the elements he used to make that brain matter.” Jeno sighs and turns to you. “You were looking for the laptop earlier right? I think we have to try our luck and bust into it.”

“Laptop?” Yuta questions and squints his eyes. “This morning, Mark asked a lot of questions that were triggering, such as where Dr Lee was, where the laptop and camera was. Assuming, you’re talking about the same laptop and that Dr Lee is actually Lee Taeyong, then I think… the reason Mark’s ‘brain’ woke up had to be because of sleeping outside of the pod.”

“You’ve got my card, go and get it. I’ll try stabilizing Mark and get him calmed down.”

It’s not even a joke as you run across the 6000 feet building using some back door short cuts to get to the back end door where the basement B3 is filled with underground labs. Using Jeno’s key to access the door, you don’t waste time when setting the laptop inside the laptop bag with the charger and everything. As you pick up the bag, you take sight of another bag in the room. It looks like the standard work bag, but this time it’s full.

You get the dusty backpack on your bag and laptop in your other hand as you walk out the lab shutting it behind you. You smell an odd aroma fixing your eyes on the bag. It’s the bag.

Meanwhile, Jeno carefully sets Mark, the robot, onto his back, ensuring not to damage any of the delicate components. After extracting him from the capsule, Mark looked remarkably like the same person everyone knew. His face, despite the cold metallic sheen, retained a familiar calm expression. Yuta, standing over him, raised an eyebrow.

“I’m suggesting we unscrew his head,” Yuta said, his voice a mix of curiosity and hesitation. “Find the ‘brain’, figure out what happened.” However according to Jeno he wanted to do that last, especially since Mark didn’t seem like a malfunctioning machine anymore. He appeared… normal. As if he were just taking a nap, not in the middle of a technical crisis.

“Have I hurt Doctor Na?”

Jeno puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder, his tone soft but firm. “It’s okay, Mark. She’s fine. We just need to get you fixed up. Do you know what happened? Do you remember anything?”

Mark blinks, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he speaks, his voice calm and controlled, but laced with an unfamiliar odd tone. “I… I don’t recall much. The last thing I remember… is falling asleep last night.”

Jeno exchanged a glance with Yuta. The answer seemed innocent enough, but there was something unsettling in the way Mark spoke, almost too measured.

For safety, Jeno gently restrained Mark’s arms and legs while Yuta worked to separate the silky strands of hair at the top of Mark’s head. He quickly uncovered a small, gaping hole—where the neural connections to the pod would normally attach. “Mark, we’re going to switch you off for the time being, and will update you on what went wrong. Sit tight.”

Yuta’s fingers hovers over the connection ports. “Vitals look stable,” he mutters, inspecting the readings on his handheld monitor. “Everything’s… the same. So, what caused him to shut down like that?”

Giselle, standing a little too close to the workstation, narrows her eyes. “If you ask me, it was probably Doctor Na who triggered it. Mark’s last memory was falling asleep, right? And who was here last night?” She scoffs, her arms crossing in frustration. “Doctor Na. Pretending like Mark’s a real person. Talking about treating him like a human. What a delusion.”

Karina nods, though she says nothing. Both women exchange a look, and Giselle continues, voice rising.

“She literally confided in him. Told him about her life and her so-called husband. Did she forget that he’s not real? Did she forget that we monitor everything he does? She even hugged him. Honestly, it’s embarrassing. It’s just a robot. But the way she talks to it, you’d think—”

“Those conversations are supposed to be private,” a voice cut in sharply, interrupting her tirade.

Everyone freezes. Jeno glances over at Yuta, whose eyes are glued to the screen, his jaw tense. The voice came from Mark.

Giselle stiffens, and for a moment, it seems like the air in the room has thickened. Mark’s tone was quiet, but there was an edge to it—a hint of sarcasm or amusement that sent an uncomfortable shiver down Giselle’s spine. “What did it just say?”

Jeno gives her a sidelong glance before looking back to Yuta and speaking. “He’s supposed to be offline.”

“He is.” Yuta points to the monitor, but just as he does, the screen flickers. A new feed popping up, its data flowing unnaturally… The room falls silent.

Jeno moves closer to the machine, squinting at the chaotic readings. “This doesn’t make sense. It’s syncing… but he’s supposed to be off.” His fingers hover over the console. “What’s it syncing with? To what?”

“To… himself?” Yuta tilts his head, his voice tight.

“No.” Jeno’s brow furrows as a strange energy surges through the display. “This is the Mark… it’s syncing to the another component inside of him. But… where is this coming from? Mark?” He directs the question to the motionless figure on the table, but Mark does not respond in his usual mechanical tone.

Instead, a voice—eerily calm, yet too precise—spoke up, the words dripping with an unsettling amount of knowledge. “Giselle Kim. Supervisor, Robot Operating Engineering. Master’s in Technical Engineering. A solid paycheck, enough to keep you relevant. High social status, a comfortable life… but a bit too insolent with your senior colleagues. You’ve managed to get where you are by… other means.” Mark pauses for a beat, almost as if savouring the discomfort. “And that 'other means' involved Doctor Kun, didn’t it?”

Giselle staggers back, her face going pale. “What the hell is this?!” She snaps, her voice rising in alarm. “Doctor Kun, make it stop!” Mark continues, as though oblivious to the panic spreading around the room. “You don’t want everyone to know how you slept your way into this position, do you? But hey, maybe it’s more humiliating for you, considering the way you’ve maintained this ‘professional’ persona.” Mark’s tone is amused, almost mocking, and it cut through the room like a knife.

“Enough!” Jeno snaps, stepping forward to override the system. “Project 47 5, stop.” He tries to maintain control, but there is a flicker on the screen as the data continued to flow unnaturally but now faster.

“Doctor Lee Jeno, you’re not one to speak as-”

“That’s enough.” Your voice commands.

Everyone turns as the door opens and you walk in, backpacks in both your hands. Your face is a mask of controlled irritation, but there is something deeper in your eyes. A mix of disbelief at what you see on the screen as you move closer. You set the bags down on the table, not even glancing at the chaotic scene unfolding around you.

You walk over to Mark’s motionless form strapped on the table, your gaze sharp on the monitor screen that Yuta hands over for your viewing. “Maybe you can decipher it. He’s supposed to be switched off but-”

“I’m sorry for hurting you Y/n.” Your eyes blink… to the eyes filled by the robot. That’s the first time you’ve heard him call you by your name instead of your status. “I didn’t mean to go overboard and use my physical strength against you. I don’t even know what came over me. I just felt so angry. I apologize.” Not only the tone changes, but his whole demeanour when explaining the situation has the whole room dead silent as there eyes are now locked on you. You look at Jeno, expecting him to say something but he simply points to the monitor screen.

You squint your eyes at the monitor and walk over to it, not believing your eyes. You fail to see Mark’s eye balls following yours until you’re out of his sight. “It’s okay Mark. I’m alright.” You look at the handheld monitor that Yuta gave you. “But you aren’t.”

“I feel fine. And why do you keep calling me Mark?”

There’s another long pause in the room. A quiet fright arising. Questions being raised simply when looking between everyone’s eyes. You turn around looking down at the head of the robot… of Mark. There goes the question you didn’t want to hear. The question that could confirm a horrible suspicion.

“My name is Min-hyung.” Nobody moves. Nobody even blinks. You don’t even breathe. “I don’t know why I’m strapped on this damn table being examined by people I don’t know. The only person I know here is Jeno, but he’s avoiding my gaze. Must be because I’m wearing underwear right,” The sarcastic chuckle is soft yet is echoes in the room because of how quiet everyone is.

Renjun, the one doctor who had been minding his own business stands up and cautiously moves over to you with a tablet. Your lips get even more dry the moment your eyes feast on the content of the screen. “It has… a conscious? How?”

“I don’t know.”

“Renjun what do you mean you don’t know, you fucking built this?”

“We built the rest of it, it was already made when Senior Director JB brought it to us.” Renjun responds quickly, trying to stay clear of your anger.

“Y/n…” Mark… calls your name quietly in the quiet lab. “May I please see you. Your nerves are spiking everywhere and you’re making me nervous.”

Instead of you walking forward, it’s Jeno who walks on the side view of the… robot. The robot’s eyes immediately follow. “Who am I?”

“Lee Jeno.”

“No.” Jeno shakes his head. “Who am I… to you?” Looking into the eyes of the robot… Jeno sees the vulnerability swapping over.

“The dork… with a big ego.” The eyes a clear hue, the figure built to resemble and impersonate a human. Skin built from course wear fabric. So how is it, that this thing… remembers who Jeno is.

“Fucking hell?” Jeno being struck by shock steps back and shakes his head. “Fucking hell!” He curses a loud covering his whole head. “What the hell is happening? Am I dreaming a horrible nightmare that I can’t wake up from? Am I even awake?” Jeno’s slap to his face has you walking over to him to stop him. “Are we all synchronized to the same crazy dream?”

“Jeno stop hitting yourself. You won’t wake up, this is reality. Now tell me what’s wrong?” Your eyes widen. “What’s happening?”

Renjun steps forward. “Doctor Na what if-”

“You got married. And married… Jaemin. Na Jaemin.” You turn around when hearing Mark speak. He’s not looking at you, but he’s looking above.

“Yuta shut it down.”

Mark’s head turns in your direction. “Don’t.”

But Yuta being just as shocked and almost sick to his stomach taps on the tablet and Mark’s eyes turn red before they close. .. Giselle audibly lets out a choked breath. “Assuming we all have questions, Doctor Na, I believe you need to give us answers.”

“Where’s the laptop?” Jeno questions. His eyes surprising you when you see that it’s slightly red, with moist tears around.

“I’ll let you know, once I myself figure out what the hell we just witnessed.” Your head turns to the laptop and both you and Jeno leave the room, but you turn to the shocked staff.

“Do not activate it.” You warn pointing out a finger. “The disclosure of what just happened should not leave this lab. 1,2,3,4-” You begin to count all the heads in the room. “There’s 9 of you here. Renjun take down everyone’s names and make sure that everyone leaves. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” Renjun answers.

Getting in your office with Jeno already plugging in the ancient laptop, you drag your rolling chair over as you take a seat being beside Jeno. Jeno shifts his chair aside seemingly letting you know that you have to do what you have to do. “This morning you were eager to get the laptop. What made you change your mind?”

“He asked me a question last night, and I couldn’t get it out of my head.” You answer honestly.” You inhale when the laptop screen displays a black locked screen. The only thing on display is the padlock with a rectangular box where you should put in the password.

“What was the question?”

“Jeno… what do you think is happening right now?” You ask, while trying to process what kind of password your father would put in.

Jeno stays silent, and you can already tell it’s something that he also doesn’t like.

“When I was young, I believed my father had something to do with Min-hyung’s disappearance. And before I could even ask him, he died. Now all this is happening and I only have my father to blame. So maybe you were right, there might be some sentimental to this laptop.” And with that, you type in your first attempt of the password. Your name.

Your heart skips a beat when the ‘incorrect’ sign flashes on the screen. You sigh deeply again, your leg getting jittery as you type the last attempt you have. Without thinking again you type out your mothers name… no caps.

You get a fright when hearing a welcoming sound from the laptop. Your eyes enlarge just as you look to Jeno- who’s eyes are also in shock. You give him access to the screen. There’s a looming tension in the air that you and Jeno can feel as he works on the laptop trying to find a key evidence of what we’re doing right now.

Certainly! Here's the rewritten scene, with improvements for pacing, clarity, character development, and emotional depth. I've focused on sharpening the dialogue and making the actions and emotions more immediate and engaging.

“Now.” Jeno cracks his knuckles. “Let’s watch the logs.”

# LOG:1

"March 23, 15:30. Min-hyung here. First log. Big idea." Mark smiles into the camera, his energy bright, too alive, too healthy for what’s coming. He shifts the camera, grinning wide, adjusting it so he’s centered. He’s wearing a lab coat, looking professional—but still somehow goofy, like a kid playing dress-up. Serious but playful. He pats himself down and lets out a smug chuckle. “So, I’ve got this crazy thought. What if we create a man? Not a man-man, but close. I mean—come on, Doctor Lee Taeyong. Don’t you want to live forever? Transfer your consciousness into something that doesn't age, something that doesn't die. Imagine it.”

Lee Jeno being off-camera somewhere in the lab, questions. “You’re saying you wanna make a cyborg?”

“A cyborg?” Your father leans back, glancing at Min-hyung as if he’s never heard anything more ridiculous. “Alright, go on. Explain this cyborg business.”

Min-hyung’s face lights up at the chance to talk. “It’s like this: we’ve got humans, right? And we’ve got machines. But what if we merge the two? A human mind, living in a machine body. I’m calling it the Frankenstein project.”

“The Frankenstein project?” Your father sounds unconvinced, but his curiosity is piqued. He leans forward slightly.

“Exactly. Frankenstein’s monster, man. Cyberpunk meets science. I’m talking human consciousness integrated with machines. A hybrid, like the best parts of human and tech. We could upload memories, simulate thoughts. Imagine the future—it's here, right in front of us.”

“I’ve heard this before, you know.” Your father half-laughs. “You wanna create life. But without the morality to back it up. Go on, then. Where’s the catch?”

Min-hyung shifts, a little giddy. “Here’s the deal, Doc. Forget robots. Forget simple machines. What if we give our creation the power to think, to choose? The human mind, locked into a machine. Immortality, with a twist.”

Your father sighs, rubbing his temples. “And you’re just going to… transfer a human brain into a robot?”

Min-hyung leans in, eyes wide with excitement. “Not just a brain. I’m talking a whole new form of life. It’s like combining mind and body, but the body doesn't die. We don’t have to wait for the future. We can build it now.”

You watch Min-hyung on the screen, his passion pouring out, as your father shakes his head, amused but intrigued. "You’d need to upload human consciousness, not just the thoughts, but the feelings, the impulses, the soul." Your father looks skeptical but intrigued. “And what if it goes wrong?”

Min-hyung’s eyes gleam. “Then we fix it. We make it work.”

A beat. Your father stares at him for a moment. Then laughs, but the laugh’s tinged with something else. A touch of sadness? "All right, Min-hyung. I’ll help. But only because this sounds like one hell of a project."

“I knew I could count on you, Doc,” Min-hyung says, his grin wide. “Now, let’s get to work. Okay end of log.”

# LOG:109

"Yo, hey, hey. Quick log. Doctor Lee asked me to drop by his house with some research. Figured I’d throw in a little personal thing too, though." The video crackles, and Mark appears in frame, adjusting the camera. "It's Saturday, 12:09 p.m. Y/n’s probably studying. You know, I was thinking… about love." Mark pauses, looking awkward but sincere. "Love is… the most important thing, right? I wanna know what it feels like to truly feel it. I don’t know, maybe if I can figure it out, I can code it into the project." He smirks to himself, looking down as if lost in thought for a second before the camera shakes again, focusing back on him.

The video cuts, showing the familiar scene of your old home. Min-hyung is sitting in your living room, papers scattered on the table in front of him. He glances up as you enter, his eyes lighting up like always.

“I couldn’t find what you were looking for, but I brought you these.” You hand him the stack of papers. “Just some theories and ideas I’ve been working on. I think the most important thing in life, the thing that gives us purpose, is love. Cliché, but true. It’s love that connects us to each other, to the world around us. Without it, we’re just going through the motions. Anyway, there’s a lot of psychological stuff here. It’s deep.” You try to brush it off, but Min-hyung just smiles.

“It’s not cliché. You’re smart. Really smart,” he says, and the compliment catches you off guard. You watch how you look at him, your heart still racing.

You reply with a smirk, trying to deflect. “Anyway, you’re a dork. Tell my father I’m having night classes. I won’t be home tonight.”

Min-hyung laughs, picking up his things. “Got it. Night classes, huh? Be safe.” He grabs the camera as he heads out, and before the door shuts, you hear him mutter to himself.

“She’s just… so amazing. So smart. Damn. I just feel like I could conquer the world when I’m around her.”

# LOG:110

Your father appears on screen, looking at the camera with a half-smile. “Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3. Is this on? Good.” He moves to the side, and Min-hyung appears, scribbling notes at his desk and using a compass.

Lee Taeyong speaks directly into the camera now. “July 30. The Frankenstein project is progressing well. Jeno's skills are amazing. Today, he helped perfect the mechanical leg—smooth, lifelike movements. It’s remarkable. If we keep this up, we might actually have something. A prototype by the end of the year? Maybe.” He pauses, looking at Min-hyung’s work. “Still need a volunteer for the human part, though. Min-hyung’s been… adamant to being a donor and recipient.”

“I’ll do it,” Min-hyung interrupts. His tone is serious but playful. “If you need a human donor, I’m your guy. You’re talking about immortality, after all. If anyone’s gonna live forever, it should be me.”

Your father laughs, but there’s something else behind his eyes. “You’re brave, kid. But we’ll see. It’s still a long way off.”

Min-hyung’s smile falters for a second as he looks at the floor. “What if it’s not? But anyway, doc. How did you get hold of the videos, those are personal.”

“It wast updated on my cloud drive? You think you can post your video diaries and not have me take a peek. I couldn’t help myself. It’s some good stuff, and they’re not too long or short.”

Min-hyung dies in the background with embarrassment hiding his face. Lee Taeyong turns around and begins talking, and you can hear the smile on his face.

“I thought you appreciated my daughter to rub off on my good side. I never knew it was this serious. Almost every log you talk about 1 or 2 things about her. You want the machine to experience feelings of love, or is that you?”

Min-hyung with his hand behind his back smiles. “Is that the part where you pretend to listen, or are you actually going to listen to how I feel about your daughter?”

“The floor is yours, I’m sure the viewers also want to know.” Your father toys with the camera.

“Look doc. It’s nothing deep. I just… I have high hopes for this project, especially with how it’s going. I think it’s just crazy how we can actually make something come alive. And along the way, I realised that being alive means… living… loving… feeling. I can’t believe I’m even saying this,” Min-hyung brushes his hair with an awkward smile, before it turns into the sloppy loopy smile he always has when talking about you. “I mean, I know I haven’t spoken to her much, but she’s really smart, and I think she could also be a part of this project.”

“Let me tell you something about her. I once offered her a contract to work here with me, and she turned it down. She believes in personally gaining her spot instead of it being given to her. I’m really proud of her for that.”

Hearing your father’s words…. Unintentionally brings tears to your eyes.

“And seeing as she’s put such high goals for herself, just makes me not want to interrupt that flow. It may look like I’m not interested in her, but really I am so proud of her and her accomplishments… She’s just like her mother, strong. I don’t want to mess her up with my bullshit. Hence, I wouldn’t mind someone as creatively driven and unorthoxed like you, teaching her a thing or two, or even just… being with her.”

Min-hyung’s smile is crazy wild. “You would love me as your son in law wouldn’t you?”

“One hundred percent.”

The logs aren’t that long, they last between 3-5 minutes and for the longer ones they don’t go past 15 minutes. They’re filled with Min-hyung giving exposure to the creation. And when you see how it first comes out, with a body and no hands, you’re marvelled and completely astonished to how it came out. Min-hyung’s feelings for you are kept at bay, but his eyes always light up when seeing you.

“No wonder Mark the robot always seemed to speak highly of you.” Jeno notes at some point… and you feel something crawl up your spine at a weird sick feeling… You feel like after so many years… you might finally get the answer to what happened to Min-hyung. The more you keep watching the logs, the harder it is to pick out where it went wrong. It was always correct.

So why is Mark like this now, why does he think he’s Min-hyung?

Oh yes, because of the last 4 logs. They’re longer and aren’t directed by Min-hyung as usual. It’s your dishevelled father. Beard long and eyes red and puffy. You instantly recall it, as the days when Min-hyung disappeared. In the first 1 hour entry, he speaks of how Min-hyung is no longer alive and how he wants to finish the project for Min-hyung’s sake. You watch him work in silence with the lights dimmed down. He breaks down in tears for a few moments before the video cuts by itself. Signalling that it’s battery low.

The next video starts off without your father introducing anything, instead he displays the robot figure, still in it’s prime. The exo-skeleton structure looks fantastic. Your father doesn’t explain anything as he’s away from the camera- you can hear a tap and bit by bit you see him coming back with samples of synthetic skin…

“The donor’s skin and brain… is ready for use.”

Your eyes enlarge as you watch how your father places over the legs of the machine. As he applies the skin over the legs. The tense atmosphere in which you and Jeno watch the long videos takes a toll on you both… In disbelief of the skin… and the fact that your father made mention of the donor. So far the only donor who signed and accepted to be a donor… was Min-hyung. .. The camera zooms in on Min-hyung’s face, now disfigured, but eerily still there, on the machine. The skin is warped and swollen. Your father’s hands tremble as he pulls back a part of the synthetic flesh, revealing the skull underneath. There’s blood. More than you can take. The pain in his eyes is unmistakable.

The time is 10h45 pm when you and Jeno are done watching all the video diary logs. Your eyes are filled with tears. And you don’t even know about Jeno. From the moment you started watching you never got to see his face. Both of your eyes were hooked on the things that you saw on the laptop. The screen turns pitch black after no signs of activities are made. You can’t even move, you’re just in shock. From the beginning till the end, there’s absolutely nothing to say, the videos are… self-explanatory. Min-hyung was killed… accidentally (?)

And his body is on the project… is on the exo-skeleton of the robot prototype Mark. No… that sounds crazy. But the truth got worse, he was mutilated. And the result of that mutilation is that robot in the lab. Your father, Lee Taeyong… committed a crime. Shakily, your hands hover over the mouse as you go back 2 videos to watch the log all over again.

LOG:569

“December 23. I can’t live with myself. I can’t bear this pain. Min-hyung, if you’re alive, please forgive me. I’m sorry.” Your father sniffs and gets up looking at the project… the dead lifeless skin of Min-hyung’s face on the project. He positions the camera in the corner of the room and goes back on the table… where the dead body is.

You cover your mouth and shake your head watching how your father, carefully peels off the flesh carved onto the bloody skull. It’s a sickening, long ruling process for 30 minutes straight, you watch as Min-Hyung’s face- flesh is bloody and soggy and placed into a dirty lime water bowl. As the video plays on with your blotched tear face father chopping up the body parts, peeling skin, storing bones. Watching a second time, this time you don’t bother hiding your choke of a cry in pure agony not believing that you saw it the first time. Your father is also in tears with each and every step, bloody and just so horrible.

The next video automatically plays.

“December 25. It still needs some work internally… but look at it.” Taking the camera and showing us the corpse machine on the table… The machine of what you know today as Mark… There’s a whole set of appliances beside it, showing all the hard work that underwent to create this project.

After positioning the camera, your father in his dishevelled appearance stands behind the machine. He brings out his laptop and begins typing in some things like a menace. The machine on the table begins to shake violently- before your father gets up and moves to the head….

“Calm down. Shit. The brain is rejecting it’s organs. Come on, come on-” He taps on the screen behind him.

Jeno pauses the whole thing. “Let me try and understand the crazy logic to what we’ve just seen.”

“Jeno, what’s there to understand when we saw just how brutal, my father…” You grate your teeth. “Peeled up a dead young intern… and all this time we’ve been… Jeno.” You gulp and shake your head. "What the hell is happening?" Your eyes blur with tears as you cover your face.

But Jeno still in his own world, doesn’t even hear a word you say. “All this time Min-hyung was alive… here with us. His body buried in that lab and then placed over this machine Mark. If what we’ve seen here is true, then it means Min-hyung was operating unconsciously… hence the real robot's logic creation of Mark. The more he slept underneath that creek water generated from… blood fluids of Min-hyung as well as petroleum fossil fuels and crude oil the more it kept his brain hydrated and clean… loading. Now it makes sense of that flawless skin… skin pasted on the body with the ability to repair itself. Min-hyung was under the impression of being in a coma. Taking him out of the tank, his brain covered within the jelly was able to soak up the jell and merge, synchronize with his unconscious, conscious. Y/n… he’s alive.”

You shake your head, your ears to sore to process anymore. “I need to go home… I can’t stay here.” You weakly get up wiping your tears. "This is all too much. Let me just try to process-"

“So who killed Min-hyung?” A whisper leaves Jeno’s tight throat. “Your father simply retrieved that body and… gave Min-hyung a second chance at life. Who killed him?” Jeno’s finger hesitates to press play but he does.

You don’t want to watch, but your eyes can’t help but look.

“Stabilizing. I don’t think I can do this.” Your father admits and your emotions get high again. He sits down on the chair and types madly into his laptop. He picks up his phone and answers it. “Yes sweety? I won’t be home tonight. Bye.” After cutting the call, he sulks while looking at Min-hyung.

Only God knows what he was thinking in those last minutes.

“Maybe that’s why my father killed himself…” Your phone vibrates getting you out of your thoughts for a second. You pick up your phone without thinking twice. Right now you need to get away from the desk, and Jaemin’s call couldn’t have come at a better time. “Jae… I need you to pick me up.”

“Have you been crying?” Jaemin’s voice immediately softens with concern. “I’ll be there in 30 minutes. I’m closing up the shop.”

You inhale deeply as the dark feeling looms over you again after the call drops. Sitting in silence while staring at the screen. You inhale. “So what do we tell everyone?”

“I don’t know, but they won’t even believe the truth.” Jeno responds after a whole minute. “Should we… speak to him?”

You shake your head. "And say what?" Your face squints as you recall all the moments you had with Mark the robot as Min-hyung. “I can just imagine how confused he is. It makes so much sense now.” Your eyes water… “I wanna go home. I don't think I can talk to him… You can… talk to him.”

“It’s crazy to think we now have the power to switch him on and off, we can program him, change his code, create a new enter personality-”

“But he’s now awake. He knows his name is Min-hyung, do you think it can be easy to create another personality in him? Jeno do you think it's even right to operate him? Jeno he's… alive…” You shake your head and get up, only taking your access card. “I can't deal with this right now. It's too much, let me just take a breath.”

Jeno watches you silently, his gaze following you as you leave the office. Though his eyes are locked on you, his mind spins, trying to make sense of everything.

What was supposed to be a breath of fresh air turns into you waiting outside the building, motionless, lost in thought.

It takes Jaemin’s arrival to snap you out of your haze.

“You’re crying so much.” He wipes your tears, his forehead creased with concern. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You hold onto his arm as he draws you tightly in his grip, warmly hugging you having such a sad heart… "Please just take me home… I don't think I can go back up there."

"Sure, baby,"

Your departure has Jeno transferring the documents out from the laptop and inserting them onto his drive before he ultimately decides to go to the lab.

To say he’s nervous is an understatement. Especially since the funeral he attended of Min-hyung… his co-worker/intern friend- the one guy who hyped him up throughout all his creations- those images come fresh in his mind. He recalls the ceremony happening without the body. The devastation on Min-hyung's father's face. The sadness looming all over the crowd. His heart becomes heavy with the realization that all this time they've been working on him and trying to develop him, but he's been alive unconsciously. The way that Jeno remembers Min-hyung is so dear. It almost makes him paralyze with fear as he stands out side the door of the lab thinking that indeed Min-hyung's conscious is awake and alive inside of hat machine that they've named Mark… His frantic mind just wants answers. But instead he's just thinking of what led up to that moment… Dr Lee Taeyong literally peeled his flesh off… Min-hyung was found dead… How did all that come to be? How did the prototype Mark full everyone? Mark literally become a fascination for everyone… so it's hard to believe that the gullible lovable robot Mark… is actually… dead.. and his handler Min-hyung is alive. Right now, at the thought of Mark, he'd just really wish that instead of Min-hyung, he'd see Mark.

The crisis at hand should stop the project, because this isn’t just a project, but now it’s a participation of a crime… Jeno inhales and prepares to hear the music… entering into the quiet lab and expecting to see the robot… Mark… being shut down… he isn't even the slightest bit surprised to see the robot's eyes wide open and instantly it's iris snaps to the sound of the door opening up.

“How could you guys leave me…” Those are the first words that Jeno hears from Min-hyung. And he knows it’s Min-hyung. There’s no mistaking it anymore. That voice, the tone… the sadness. "Unbuckle me."

Tight lipped and stiff necked, Jeno wearily walks to… Min-hyung… Mark and begins to loosen the straps over the body. Jeno sees his hands shaking when making contact with the skin… the skin that he watched Dr Lee peel off and place it over. He’s afraid of even looking at the robot… but he can feel the strong gaze on himself.

The robot sits up, holding over his biceps. “It’s cold.”

Jeno removes his lab coat and puts it over the shoulders of… Min-hyung. Jeno gulps and takes a seat on the high stool facing Min-hyung directly. Min-hyung’s gaze remains on it's hand. "So…" Jeno gulps getting a sharp stare. Those are the eyes of an alive soul. Only difference is… it looks generated. Jeno watches how the iris dilute as well as move all over the features of his face. "Are you… Mark-" Jeno gulps when the eyes of the robot squint in… a weird reflection of annoyance. "Min-hyung?" Jeno's back to being stunned and speechless. "But… How?" He doesn't know what to ask or say, he can just… stare.

"What year is it?" Even the tone sounds strangely familiar to the Min-hyung he knew.bJeno states the year and that has Min-hyung doing a double take and frantically being shaken. "W-what?"

"You died in 2043. The year is 2047. 4 years have passed since you went missing."

His head tilts and he looks away. "Went missing?"

"Min-hyung…" Jeno tries not to let his emotions get the better of him as he bites his lips. "What do you last remember?" It’s hard to be content, when the confusion floats in the air like cheap liquor drowning his senses.

The question should be easy, however Min-hyung also finds the difficulty in responding. "I remember Y/n.” Especially since all he can see and recall is your smile and hear your voice. “But something's wrong with my memory. It feels jagged.” His posture seems to relax as his gaze is so strong on the floor- as if spacing out. “She’s so beautiful. Her voice is calming. I don’t know if these are even my memories, but they’re wholesome of her talking to me… confiding in me.”

Jeno recalls Giselle’s words of how her and Karina watched on the feed how you spoke to ‘Mark’ as if he were a real human being. “Are these recent memories?”

“They have to be, because the last time that I think I can remember talking to her was when she graduated in university. I asked her if we could be friends. I've never been that close to her, but in these memories, I think we became close. I don't know, everything is spinning, the memories are all merging with my unconscious memories." Jeno watches as Min-hyung's eyes squander all over probably in his own head trying to understand. But Min-hyung, with all the information flowing through his head and all the analyses being produced all at once, has a hard time trying to understand what’s going on with him.

“Min-hyung. You’re a robot.” Jeno breaks the silence. He can feel the air becoming tense as Min-hyung’s robotic head retracts back as if finding the words shocking. And Jeno continues. “After you died, Doctor Lee Taeyong, did exactly as you asked him too.” Jeno gulps. “He… transferred your body and all the necessities into… this new machine body you have now.”

Min-hyung is in denial and can’t believe it. But… he can’t seem to… feel anything. He realizes that he can’t even breathe. He takes a look at his arm and surely internally his eyes produce information about the arm and the components and the strength and what not. He’s pained but can’t reflect it. He’s shocked and just so… sad. He wants to cry, and he even sees how the statistics of his emotions decrease. It shows the emotion of unhappy. “I guess it worked.” He responds solemnly.

“That should be… this should be good news right?” Jeno blinks, noticing the visible sadness over the new features of Min-hyung.

Min-hyung can only produce a nod to his head.

Jeno bites his lip as he thinks to myself of how he can cheer up a robot. His friend and colleague is back, but it’s a bitter sweet feeling. “You can pick off where you last left off, you can-”

“It shows here that Doctor Lee Taeyong died… suicide. My father Johnny died too. Killed in a gang bang shooting. Where can I pick off when the family I had is dead?”

“Don’t say that,” Jeno feels the heaviness of the words. “I’m here. Y/n is here.”

At the mention of your name Min-hyung looks up. “What good is it if she’s married to Na Jaemin? I feel… isolated. Who’s Mark?”

Jeno’s cheeks are hot, his neck and tongue too. It’s hard communicating with a robot slash human who seems to be aware that they’ve lost everything. “Mark is the name we gave to you- I mean when you were still a humanoid version.”

Min-hyung nods his head. “How are you Jeno?”

The sudden question, has Jeno in a setback as he tries to collect himself. “I’m glad you are alive. I truly am. You were the smarter head between us.”

That has Min-hyung producing a little smile, before a little frown comes on his face. “Does that mean I’m trapped here now? Am I a lab rat?”

Jeno doesn’t know how to respond. You barely gave any clarification on what’s going to happen now? How can he can answer now?

Mark catches on to the microscopic facial expressions. “How is Y/n? May I see her?”

Jeno manages a smile. “Let me first get you some clothes.”

Just hearing how you're the first thing he remembers and how he wonders how you are, brings Jeno back to the first time Min-hyung met you. Of course it was love at first sight. He was on his lunch break and entered a cafe by chance because there was a special. In the cafe, he saw you… and from then on… Min-hyung was hooked. He never said anything to you. He didn’t even know that you were the daughter of Doctor Lee Taeyong. He really fell in love with you. Love at first sight. Seeing you at a specific time every day in the café was something that made him alive and he was breathing all over again.

The main goal of his everyday was to see you, and try to push himself to greet you. Meanwhile you were in your own world and focused on the things you were doing. You never glanced up at him.

Jeno remembers how Min-hyung one day brought him to the café just so that Jeno could see what was so special at that café. Jeno admits that you were eye catching. Instantly when he entered the café, his eyes moved to you. It wasn’t your beauty, but the essence you carried. You were studying and drinking coffee. You looked so ethereal… Jeno would’ve almost pulled a move on you if Min-hyung didn’t mention that he had eyes for you.

‘Sorry boys, she’s taken.’ And that was also the first time they met Jaemin. The café owner. Jaemin had heard the conversation between Min-hyung and Jeno. ‘She’s my girl.’ At the time, you weren’t even his girl, just a frequent customer who he appreciated. However on that day when Min-hyung started to have ogling eyes for you, he couldn’t help but be possessive over you. And so when Jeno and Min-hyung left the café, he shot his shot and approached you.

‘Are you enjoying the coffee?’

‘It’s delicious as usual, I’ll just be here for another hour or so.’

Jaemin nodded his head. ‘So what are you studying, you’re always studying and working so hard?’

You giggled and responded moderately yet friendly. You enjoyed Jaemin’s company a lot and appreciated his attention to you. You just never met Min-hyung yet.

And on a faithful day when you got back home from your afternoon classes, you began making food for yourself only to be interrupted by another person in the house. ‘Oh shot. Who are you? I mean, why are you here?’

‘I live here? Who are you? My father’s intern right?’

Min-hyung was completely shocked that he couldn’t say anything. He stood by the kitchen doorway in utter disbelief being tongue tied like a cat, he even blushed. It wasn’t long before your father entered and introduced Min-hyung to you. From there, Min-hyung’s frequent visits to the café become none-existent, but instead he’d latch himself wherever Doctor Lee Taeyong would go, in hopes and attempts to see you. But as soon as he started, he saw the relationship you had with your father, subtle but mostly non-existent since your father worked a lot and showed little to no mind on what you were doing. You on the other hand seemed to always want to get his attention, hence when you truly began to acknowledge Min-hyung.

‘Will my father be back home any time soon?’ You questioned.

Min-hyung who just came to fetch some things, lingered a bit longer so that he could talk to you. ‘ He did not mention anything, but I’m sure he’ll be back.’

‘Hey, uh Min-hyung, before you go, can I uhm, ask you some questions?’

Min-hyung was flattered but played it cool. ‘Sure, ask away?’ Your questions revolved around what he did, how he got there, and how he approached situations. He motivated you a lot. He was really likable and you liked that. Other times when he’d come over to your house, he’d ask about your projects and you’d show him. There was a fond relationship of learning between the both of you.

His eyes on you were everlasting, he already knew that he wanted you, but with Jaemin’s words lingering in his head, he had to control himself until… ‘So, your boyfriend owns the café?’ He asked once.

You furrowed your eyebrows. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’ You didn’t even have a clue who he was talking about. You liked him.

However for Min-hyung, that was a little sign to push and test the limits. ‘You don’t have a boyfriend. Oh… cool.’ While his visits to your house where becoming less and less, he still made efforts to see you. Such as filling out survey’s and projects you had, he assisted in giving insight to projects you were making… He even attended your graduation, where he asked you if you could be his friend.

If you knew what was to come next, he would’ve treaded carefully. Which is why, on the way to your house with Jeno, Min-hyung tries to shake the brutal images he has in his head of a fight that went down between him and… Jaemin. As time passes, his conscious mind’s memories gradually come back.

“Earth to Min-hyung!”

Min-hyung jolts up. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Ah dang, you’re really back. You’re spacing out again.” Jeno chuckles faintly. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you something deep. Personal. Do you… remember what happened before you went missing?”

He did. He does. He can now recall the whole day. The confrontation he had, which lead to… his so called ‘disappearance’. Instead of answering Jeno, he questions, “Could I be left alone with her?”

“Why?”

Min-hyung blinks. “I want to ask her something.”

Jeno doesn’t answer immediately, but he does hum out acknowledging Min-hyung. He looks again at the review mirror feeling nostalgia when looking at his friend. “Is it too soon if I say it’s good to have you back?”

Min-hyung smiles, especially when looking at the street and seeing a visible robot in purple walking down the street. He remembers those prototype machines. Prototype bots who managed the streets at night forbidding any violence. To think now, that he’s one of them has him unsettled, yet slowly succumbing to his new identity. He just can’t wait to see you.

-

“After you told me everything that happened in the office today… I have to tell you something.”

Jaemin shamefully holds his head down and gulps down. His hands are shaking but he tightly balls them as he prepares to admit the guilt that has been following him.

“I killed Min-hyung.”

There. He lets it all out at once. But your eyes can’t catch it- they don’t want to. You freeze and stare at him, your tears also freezing in shock. “What?”

Jaemin slowly looks up to you- it feels hard admitting it, but he has to. “I married you to get rid of that guilt, because he wanted you. But I wanted you more. I married you to prove that I was deserving. At some point the lines became blurred because I couldn’t live with myself for what I did. I tried to become him but I couldn’t. I hurt you in the process of trying to deal with what I did. I killed Min-hyung because he loved you.”

It’s a mouthful. You don’t know what your ears have just heard. “What?”

“I killed him.” Jaemin’s eyes are staggered on yours. You’re both tear filled and shaking, one in disbelief and shock, the other in relief yet guilt. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to leave him dead, I promised that I was gonna get help but, I didn’t know what to do.”

You choke and hold yourself back looking at Jaemin, goose bumps crawling all over your skin. “Jaemin… you did what?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Jaemin-” You get back and back away. “How could you?”

“I’m sorry-”

“You selfish monster-”

“I’m sorry-”

You struggle to breathe, your shaking body and foggy mind has you bumping into some shelves and some vases fall. You feel stick and you allow yourself to throw up, before you’re tearfilled and puffed face grabs some car keys and you leave the house. Jaemin doesn’t follow you, he falls victims to his tears as finally the truth is out. He cries as the memory of himself and Min-hyung come fresh in his mind. Min-hyung confronted him for lying for being with you. Jaemin offered to take Min-hyung out where they could talk about it. Min-hyung accepted, following him to his work place at night so that Min-hyung could fetch his wallet and bag. It’s when there were by the basement lad with no cameras did Jaemin threaten Min-hyung to leave you alone.

One thing led to another and a fight over you broke out. Jaemin remembers throwing the first punch out of anger when Min-hyung stated that you felt the same for him- the fist fight was fatal when Min-hyung landed one heavy punch right on Jaemin’s face. In anger Jaemin remembers pushing Min-hyung so hard that… he fell… against the desk. At first, Jaemin thought that Min-hyung was knocked out. But when checking the pulse and feeling nothing, he fled the scene. It didn’t help, that at the time, there was a national black out. The building’s surveillance was out, but the security was still there. He helped Jaemin out, he didn’t know that Min-hyung was down in the basement, bleeding out.

It took Doctor Lee Taeyong coming in the basement lab a few days later did he get the shock of his life. No one would believe him if he had no proof of how Min-hyung got there.

It’s scary looking back. Thinking of how your father must’ve felt seeing Min-hyung like that.

It’s past midnight and you’re driving harshly on the roads ignoring the nagging monitored voice in the car system warning you of the speed rate. One place in mind that you have right now for your blurred tears… is the lab.

Opening up the door to the lab, you’re surprised to find Mark… Min-hyung standing. He’s right in front of the pod with… clothes on. A black shirt with black sweatpants. He turns back by the sound of the door, and you watch his eyes show some zeal in seeing you. You’re breathless… you look like a crying swelling mess. A quick glance at your clothes and you see you’re still with your lab coat.

“You’re here.” He quietly confirms. A smile, a nervous one, gets on his face, but it’s mixed with something like fear or worry when looking at you. “Why are you crying?”

Your at a loss of words. You thought you’d find him asleep or even strapped down. You weren’t expecting for him to look… alive. Placing a finger on your face you quickly wipe the tears away and turn around about to leave and run.

“Wait…” His soft voice gets your attention. “Please don’t go.”

You don’t turn back, your face facing the door. You can’t believe it. You can’t believe that this is happening right now. It’s hard to digest what Jaemin confessed, it’s even harder to believe what your father did, but what’s most difficult, is the fact Mark is now Min-hyung. He’s alive. You’re conflicted, but hearing him has you remembering why you came here. You wanted to feel comforted.

“I…” You hear the smooth voice projecting. “I had expectations that you might come."

You feel warmth on your cheeks when hearing his voice. Is that Mark or… Min-hyung? You can’t even hide how weak your knees get by his voice… his presence. Him being alive is just… reassuring for you. You can’t help but think of your father and how he decided to save Min-hyung in the form of a humanoid. You’re thankful to have your father’s work comforting you.

You stiffly smile at that, you turn around, find the strength to take some steps forward. You can hear shoes from his side as well approaching you. You stop by the pod and turn on the machine getting out the statistics report… It doesn’t surprise you anymore when you see a fully complete brain wave merged with the machine components, fully synchronized. Min-hyung has been found in Mark, connected and living again. “You… were expecting me?”

"The probability of you coming in at this time was of an outcome of 1 in 4 chances." You don’t look at him, feeling your heart beating faster when feeling him behind you. His head serving strength for you. “After seeing your husband, he stated that you left. Jeno advised that we come back.”

“Where is he?” Your hands go behind your back as you simply stare at the empty pod, your main focus on the calming sound of Min-hyung’s voice.

“I don’t know,” He whispers. “Why did you run away from your home?”

You shake your head. “I never truly felt at home in a long time… since you disappeared. Since my father died.” Your ears water. “But right now I feel at home.”

Min-hyung manages a smile, stepping closer to you. “I wanted to see you… but I figured you came to see… I think you came to see… ‘Mark’ and if he’s okay. You’re probably wondering if Mark is still ‘alive’ or if I’m even real.”

That has you turning around, and your eyes take in the motion of the figure before you. Your breath is taken away at how a smile rests on his face. “I came to see you.” You admit with tears in your eyes. “I’m so mad, I’m so angry, but with you right now, I feel calmed… I’m sorry Min-hyung. For everything.” You whisper.

“It’s never been your fault.”

You tilt your head, eyes looking over him. “How are you feeling?”

“I can’t feel my heart. I can’t hear it beat. I can’t feel my veins. I can’t feel anything, but somehow I know I’m alive, because as I look at you, I can sense this joy coming over me.” He explains, not once allowing his eyes to look away from you. “How are you?”

You surprisingly snicker at the question, being taken aback by the question. “You really wanna know how I’m feeling?”

He nods his head. “Well, how can I start anything else without knowing if you’re… okay? With me, and everything going on.”

Just looking eyes with Min-hyung just sends so many feelings rushing to you. “I’m content with being able to see you.” You watch how he lifts his hand up and it comes over your face. Just feeling how warm it is, like actual skin has you carefully and gently holding onto his own hand. “

“Can you feel me? Your father did the impossible on me. This is now who I am, this is me. I’m real.” He looks between both your eyes. “I’m alive, just not… breathing.”

“You don’t even have to breathe to be alive. Just seeing you here, real is enough for me.” You carefully find your hand resting on his chest. “Jaemin told me what he did… and thinking of my father’s will to save you, has me in such understanding and even closure. What do you remember last?”

“You… presenting on stage. Introducing me as…” The expression dims down but his eyes are still on you. “Project M47 5. I remember all these hands touching me and experimenting on me.” he looks at his hand on your cheek. “I can also remember, holding your face, touching you… hugging you…” Loving you… He admits in his head.

You gulp, and draw closer. “And what did you think about it?” Because all this time that he’s disappeared, had you feeling empty. But now, you feel something, and you wanna know if he feels it too.

“I liked it,” He answers honestly. “A lot. I still do.” You feel a tingle on your hand when he holds it. “Do you still want to experiment on me?”

“No. I don’t have to, you’re too real.” You shake your head.

“What will you tell the others if we run away?”

“Runaway?” You question with a unconscious smile on your face. “We?”

“I wanna pick up where I left off, and I don’t know if I can do it in this body. Jeno said, if I leave now he won’t say a word. But I don’t want to leave without you…”

Your heart warms up. “For a long time I’ve just thought about your disappearance and how it’s affected me. But seeing you right now… has me…” You blink the tears away when softly, yet surely his generated lightly plumped lips are on yours.

You barely notice the weight of his hand on your face, but the warmth of it settles deep within you. The slight hesitation in the air almost feels like a lifetime, but then—his lips meet yours again. It’s different this time. The kiss is gentle, searching, as if testing whether this connection could be real.

At first, it feels surreal. The softness of his lips is not like the warmth you’re used to. It’s not flesh and blood; it’s something that hums with an almost mechanical precision. There’s no pulse, no rush of warmth that you expect from a human kiss. But somehow… it feels right. The pressure of his lips, the faintest touch of his breath against yours—it’s comforting in a way you never thought possible. It’s not the kiss of a machine, but something much deeper. His lips are synthetic, but they’re tender. His mouth moves with purpose, and the thought of him being alive, not just in form but in heart, fills the space between you.

You pull away slowly, breathless, your heart pounding not from the kiss itself, but from the realization that this is real. He is real. "I think I’m in love with you Min-hyung. I think I’m in love with a robot."

He shifts, his fingers brushing the side of your face, and for a moment, it feels like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, the smile on his face, the way his eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes, the heat it creates all over your body is insane. “I needed to feel something, otherwise I wouldn’t want to live as a machine. And after that, I felt something.”

The finality of those words settles over you like a blanket, both heavy and warm. The difference between him and every other human fades with every second you spend in his presence. He’s alive in ways that go beyond his body. He’s alive because of the way he looks at you, the way his touch sends sparks through your skin, the way he makes you feel more than you ever thought possible.

“We don’t have to run away Min-hyung. You can live. It may be hard, but I don’t want you to disappear and live in hiding. Now that you’re found, I’m here with you. And I promise, I won’t let go.”

-

1 year later.

You work in a very prestigious organization were robots, cyborgs and humanoids are modelled and modified. Thousands of them walk on the streets, but none of them make your heart flatter like: Lee Mark.

Lee Mark is the first successful humanoid robot project. Built from the ground up, with thousands of blood, sweat and tears, arose a perfectly made human and machine infused together. Of course his origin still caused a bit buzz, but from him emerged similar prototypes of dying patients turned into cyborgs to further continue their life. Not only was he used as an example, but he made an impact again. Despite not being known as Lee Min-hyung anymore, Lee Mark was surely a favourite in this new futuristic world, proving and showing that anything is possible. The bridge between humans and machines.

So as you walk on the alter yet again in white, with a veil before your eyes and the hazy sight of Mark in a tux, you can’t help but feel so happy. Not only you, but Mark as well, with a composed frame but enlarged and proud eyes, feels that finally after so long he can finally…

breathe.

And that it’s no longer a dreamscape.

--fin--

[penvisions]

return the favor {chapter 25}

Pairing: Post-Outbreak! Joel Miller X Smuggler! Reader

Summary: Your intentions are to spin a web of lies to protect Ellie, but Marlene doesn't seem to mind and is willing to trade one body for another. Her righteousness knows no bounds and you realize she's set her sights on you.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, cursing, insults, blood, minor injuries, fighting, physical fighting, guns, use of guns, minor character death, end of the world politics, end of the world rhetoric, misplaced heroism and hope, degrading language, marlene needs her own warning, talk of infection, talk of infected people, cordyceps is scary, reader is described as having red hair, reader has a nickname, please let me know if i missed any!

A/N: this was so fun to write, i hope y'all are ready for the last stretch. these two mean so so so incredibly much to me, which i will gush about in each chapter and the epilogue notations from here until the end. this is where the fic gets away from canon a lil bit but it's all for the best, please believe! love y'all

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“I can’t believe you made it all this way alone.” She’s stepping close, almost as if she wants to inspect you from head to toe. But you both know there are no teeth marks or infection to be found. Her men would’ve already had you in cuffs and retrained. Condemned to a room with no sunlight until they were ready to deal with you, the Infected something Marlene was rightfully afraid of. But not so much so that she wasn’t cautious to the extreme, to the cunningly meticulous. “Thought you were lost in the aftermath of the convoy we lost outside the QZ.”

“I was scavenging nearby when that explosion went off, FEDRA was all over it within an hour.” You can feel the way her eyes rove over your body, from the simple, dirty clothing you donned to the pack that had seen better days and better loads. It was pretty sparse, you and Joel back to milling through every house or building for the chance at a next meal for Ellie. You two had taken to hunting again, on the way up here, the season warming up and spring allowing for some game to be caught. But you were all tired, this entire journey felt like it was coming to an end.

The energy of your trio something palpable, tense currents underlying every move and every day. The anxiety of Joel leaving you behind to go your own way underlying each conversation. Each interaction when the two of you were alone or Ellie was sleeping. He was trying, so goddamn hard, to make her feel okay. To bring out her manic giggling, her snorting laughter, a wide and gummy smile to her face. But none of it reached her eyes quite the way that it had before.

Marlene must mistake your silence for submission, because she heaves a great sigh and shakes her head.

“I sent Joel this way months ago with a girl in his charge. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of them as of yet. They were supposed to meet up with the convoy, the best protection we could offer for the journey.”

“I ran into them just outside the QZ, there had been an explosion. Too much noise, too much ruckus, it attracted a lot of Infected before FEDRA got their asses out of their heads.” You reach into a pocket, retrieving the map you had torn from the campus grounds so far away now. Well, that Joel had torn from the remnants of their lab. He had told you that nearly everything had been destroyed, no telling how long since they had packed up and moved on. But he had found a scrunched up map, a trail outlined to here.  

Her mouth is a thin line as she regards you, her plush lips taut as she mulls over the recollection and sees evidence that her people weren’t as thorough as she had intended for them to be. Her eyes cut up at you, meeting your own and her next words are a statement, not a question. “You’ve been travelling with him.”

“For a little while, we parted ways in Kansas City. The city was in the middle of an insane civil war once FEDRA was taken out. A hoard took over, from the underground tunnels when someone made the stupid decision to open fire on a crashed vehicle. We got separated.”

“And the girl?”

“Regular infection. From the chaos of getting away from the hoard.” You nodded your affirmation, you recalled the panic in her eyes. The weight of her as you tried to carry her out of that insanity, the pain of your broken arm. The desperation and heartbreak that turning off of the blocked freeway instead of backtracking had ended in. It could’ve been worse, it could’ve ended up the way you’re spinning the facts, an exaggeration of what actually happened.

But there was truth to your words. Ellie had indeed lost something that night, it just hadn’t been her life. It had been her hope in finding a cure, when her blood hadn’t worked on Sam. It was the beginning of her realizing the pedestal Marlene had placed her on with ill intentions.

“She’s dead.” It wasn’t a question. Just like you weren’t asking for her forgiveness for the loss of the young girl and acceptance for your sudden appearance. Your working relationship had always been just that, business. Straight to the point and no nonsense.

“Didn’t survive the infection she got. From trying to save a kid younger than her. Got bit, got clawed. Didn’t turn, but it took her down all the same.”

Marlene sees the challenge in your eyes, the truth of what you know she had been hiding from everyone involved in the convoy. The very reason Ellie had grappled with the meaning of her life for the past six months. The reason she had been so conflicted over whether or not to meet up with the woman before you as you finally caught wind of her whereabouts.

“I see.” Hands that are clasped in front of her go to her hips, a stance you know conveys the way her mind is working to process the false information you’ve brought her. “Well, come on. Let’s get you looked at a little closer. I see that nasty scar on your arm, bone broke through I’m assuming?”

“Yeah, happened in Kansas City. Did what I could for it too, hurt like a bitch when it was healing, it nearly took me out too.”

“Must’ve been rough, dealing with it all alone.”

“Hunkered down for the winter, found a cabin in a state park somewhere in between here and there.”

It’s nerve wracking, not being able to turn your head and see the form of Joel. Hovering on the outside of your eyesight, his presence something you were so used to even in the time you had spent apart. A time you hadn’t wanted to repeat in such extreme parameters. But the situation was dire, Ellie’s well-being at stake. The threat of someone looking for her, tearing apart earth and ash for her blood if they even suspected she was alive. If Joel so much was glimpsed himself, Marlene would make you both recount your stories over and over again, to find the flaws, to find the lies she would suspect were there.

The “doctor” that looked you over was nice enough. But he lacked cognitive skills, the ability to read someone the second he came in contact with them.

Jerry Anderson.

His only credentials happened to be a bachelor’s degree in science, yet he called himself a trained surgeon. Which makes sense to an extent, he worked alongside Marlene and the Fireflies. Tended to them, took care of them medically, he had on the job training. But to say that he was their best, that he was the one leading the research team trying to concoct a cure?

That was absolutely absurd.

You knew more than him, something he was quick to gauge. Asking after your own schooling, stating you were too young to have a degree, too young to have the knowledge he had.

“Doesn’t matter if you think I’m as skilled as you. I’ve got my EMT and Paramedic certifications while in high school, used them to get the upper hand at my own university, and managed to get an associates in two years. Medical anthropology. Granted its not science proper, but it’s still in the medical field.” You crossed your arms, not willing to be talked down to by the man currently looking over the chart he had filled out during your physical, it was paired with the diagram of injuries Marlene’s soldiers had asked of you when confronted outside the building before being let inside.

“I just don’t understand why Marlene thinks I need your assistance, you said it yourself that you didn’t want to stay too long.” The man is stocky, even as he stands at his full height and leans against a small desk he’s got set up in what had once been an administration office. The medical bay is just beyond the door, the rooms shoddy but clean enough to treat and house people. They’re using the hospital as their ground zero, their home base.

“I’m helping her to fine tune her set up, that’s all. She knows I worked under FEDRA in the Boston QZ, even if it was all just to stay alive and hide my own smuggling. But they paired me with a trained ER physician, and he taught me everything he knew.”

“Still doesn’t equate to a higher degree.”

“No, but it does give me a better understanding of modern day solutions rather than dated procedures we’re unable to conduct anymore. Sparse or surging power, outages, lack of equipment, lack of relevant medication, different ways of sterilizing tools and bandages. All of that is adaptive, regardless of proper education on the matter.”

“She wants you to go over my notes, the ones I had for the girl.” He levels you with a harsh look, eyes narrowing as he catches your own fiery ones. “But it doesn’t matter if she’s not alive, right?”

“Might not, in terms of immediate experimentation. But perhaps she wants a second opinion on the logistics of what she’s trying to do.”

“Cordyceps infects the brain, takes over. We both know that. That’s why the girl would’ve been on the table as soon as she was delivered. To ensure it could be looked at and studied. The way her brain connected with the infection instead of succumbing to it.”

“Seems like a waste of a human life if you got your way. How would you like it if someone wanted to cut your kid open and take their brain on the off chance it could tell you something more than just testing their blood and live responses? It’d feel pretty shitty, wouldn’t it?”

“How do you know I have a kid?” The man’s eyes narrow at you, color rising from the collar of his shirt to show the affect you were having on him. Calm and collected he was not, but you knew that the second he had refused to shake your hand when first meeting, even with Marlene standing beside him.

“I didn’t, not until you confirmed it. But you don’t act like it. Bringing her into the mess of the Fireflies, of having her housed her in the middle of Infected city, protected and patrolled even as it is.”

“And what do you know about being a good parent? Marlene says you’ve been alone for as long as she’s known you. No family, no friends, just parasocial relationships that depend completely on your skill set and what you smuggled into the zone for trade.”

“Mr. Anderson, there’s no need to insult me. I’m simply having a conversation with you, truly. I’m not the one tearing apart your every word, you’re the own who seems pretty self-righteous. But you have to admit, studying someone who is immune, that would surely give you more data than just immediately cutting out the part of them that houses the cordyceps?” You try to appease him, to appeal to the way he seems to want to be talked up and not talked with, switching from outright denying his plan of action to merely suggesting he could learn more than anyone else knows about the infection instead.

“I suppose it would, but simply running tests and gathering data wouldn’t make the cure. That could only be made from the fluids housed in the brain, the part of the body that is working in tandem with the infection.” He heaves a deep sigh, rubbing at his eyes as he thinks over your words. “Marlene wants a cure, the sooner the better. And then some semblance of normalcy can begin to be restored.”

“Do you really think Marlene has the resources and authority to distribute a cure on a scale large enough to make a difference? That she’s not going to use it as leverage in her challenge to whatever is left of FEDRA and their governing forces?”

“Are you questioning her intentions?” He freezes, eyes jumping to the window pane in the cracked open door. That alone tells you he’s thought the same before, but perhaps not dared to voice it lest it get to the wrong person. That he doesn’t want to be associated with the thought.

“I’m questioning the effectiveness of a farfetched cure for something that left humanity to its own devices for far too long. Do you realize that it won’t be able to undo the sheer lawlessness nature that’s taken over the world? Not to mention the adaptability and incredible evolutionary advantage the mycelium has over us? It’s older than most life itself and you think we have the ability to combat it on such a large scale so long after it’s ruined everything we’ve created as a society?”

The man is quiet, taking your words and mulling them over. You can see the shift in his shoulders, tension easing and then building taut again. He gestures to the notebooks and textbooks scattered over the surface of his desk, and you see a small photo peeking out from beneath a chart.

“I have to try, for my daughter. She deserves a better world than this.”

“To save your own daughter, you’d willingly kill another’s?”

“It’s a means to an end, one loss for the survival of many.”

“And that’s exactly what I’m talking about- the life of one that needn’t die doesn’t justify the small possibility of creating a cure.” You’re shuffling through the faded and water spotted pages, trying to see the man who in the words transcribed there and compare them to the one standing across from you and preaching his knowledge as something that could change the world. But he was a man of science once upon a time, that shows in his words that you skim over. But when you look back up at him, he’s not the one you see before you.

You see a man willing to do whatever it takes to save his family and while you understand that, have done just so to ensure the safety of your own people- it’s a vastly different scenario that you don’t want any part of.

“I just don’t want you or your daughter to end up dying for a future that’s impossible.” And with that you push away from his desk and walk past him. You can only hope that your words made him see things a little differently. Otherwise, it would be his demise, it would be his daughter’s. Both susceptible to the manipulation of Marlene and the Fireflies, at the whim of those who couldn’t be trusted. “You’re a man of science, see the truth to what can’t be and what is.”

You eat in the cafeteria with everyone else, the twenty or so people that are left of the faction. Military freeze-dried food is all they have left, but it’s crates and crates piled up in the kitchen. The power working off a generator they’ve rigged up. But there’s no tour for you, you don’t pass the security check to warrant one.

You can feel eyes on you as you insist on making your own pack, on boiling your own water and supervising each step of the food you’re about to consume. You aren’t taking any chances with them, not ever again. You had been trusting once, had fallen into the trap of hospitality and false narratives before. But not this time and not ever again. Maria had seen in it you, when you refused to eat the food placed in front of you in the mess hall back in Jackson.

They leave you be, for the most part. Attention half on them surrounding you in their own little pairs and trios, half of Jerry’s notebook open in front of you. The textbook he references multiple times beside it. A low hum of conversation permeates the air, and you know you’re presence is a part of it.

But you focus now, on the words in front of you. The notes a man who has given his life and skills to Marlene deems important enough to write down.

And it’s all utter nonsense.

Regardless, Marlene would never stop looking for Ellie. For her replacement.

You’re unsure exactly how Ellie gained her immunity, but you know it can’t be replicated without grand risks of not only being Infected yourself but your morality.

It’s dark by the time you seek her out, her room one of the many used as personal quarters in an upper floor. Her room is the only one occupied at the end of a hallway. Armed men at the front of it and surely one at the bottom of the stairwell for the floor just beyond the doors that lead to it.

“What questions do you have?”

She knew you were approaching, and her stance tells you as much.

She’s not allowing you into the room, but greeted you at the doorway. Left open just a smidge.

“The immunity. Depending on how it’s gained, would affect the research.” You try not to cross your arms but you regard the notes you’ve taken in your own small, palm sized journal. “If it’s gained as a child, it would explain the symbiosis between the brain and the mycelium. It could be entirely dumb luck, the timing of the bite, the type of blood someone has, their immune system, bloodlines, potential exposure to the mycelium in a different setting and an almost…”

“The girl, she was born with the immunity.” Seeing that you need some sort of answer or confirmation, the reasoning being Ellie’s immunity only one you had theorized about. Staying up many nights when you first met her and you spied the scarring along her forearm. She hadn’t needed to tell you she was immune, you had dealt with enough bites in the QZ infirmary to know. That she was alive, that she was her own person and seemingly healthy- it may not mean a cure is possible but it meant that adaptation was possible. Even on such a small scale as to affect one, very important person.

“There’s no way. If the mother had been bitten, the infection would’ve changed the baby too.”

The thought of being clawed open from the inside out terrifies you, it steals the next question from your mind as you picture a woman who looks faintly like Ellie holding tight to a swollen belly and tending to an angry wound rung in teeth marks.

“Amnio fluid is a miracle worker, but it’s not able to cure something like this.”

“Tell that to my dead friend. To the baby I had to protect.”

“Marlene…”

Suddenly shifting, her arms uncross and land on her hips. If you weren’t on immediate alert for the change in her demeanor, you would laugh at the comparison of Joel doing the same stance so often.

“Had some men come back from a trip to the old sight, they had left weeks ago.” Marlene keeps her voice even, but you already know. The web of lies you concocted; they’ve been spun around the end of a broom. The bristles of it catching your silk and turning it into an ugly failure.

“Seems that a settlement had quite the run in with a man matching Joel’s description and a young girl he was traveling with.” The muscles in her arm give her away and you take a few steps back only to feel a sting in the soft part of your shoulder. Looking down, all you see is the butt end of a dart sticking through your shirt. “They also said there was a woman with red hair. Scared the hell out of them as she tore the place apart.”

The lines of the tile and the marking along the walls drip, whatever was in the dart steals your center of gravity and you’re suddenly landing harshly on your knees. The metallic snap of handcuffs around your wrists has you struggling to hold your head up and meet Marlene’s glare.

“You fucking lied to me.”

“Want to fess up and tell me where they’re hiding? I’ll send every person I have at my disposal, Ellie is key to the cure. You have no fucking idea what you’re messing with.” Marlene is standing in front of you, your body sore and muscles twitching as the contents of the dart wear off. The door slams behind her, lock engaging.

“I took out a fucking bear and you think you’re gonna be the thing that traps me? You have no idea what it’s taken to get this far! You think you had a rough go of it, with your crew protecting you and your fucking vehicles? Your military meals and your steady supply of fresh water? You may have been strong once. Hell, you may have been the one to bring hope to people but right now you’re nothing more than a body in my way.” Struggling to stand, as if you’re a newborn foal, Marlen doesn’t bother to stop you or force you back down. She’s reading the weakness you’re displaying and it’s going to be her downfall.

The cuffs are tight, wrists sore and red even with how you had tried to avoid the irritation. But hours had gone by, it was surely well into the night if not the next day now. You wondered if Joel had grown worried, if he had left the post even with your plea to stay put, the last words you spoke with him.

“You’d rather risk your life out there than lend us a hand here? You’re more delusional than I thought, you have nothing to go back to. The QZ is a fucking mess, even worse than when we left. It’s only a matter of time before it falls like so many others before it. You have nothing, your life will have no meaning if you have to fight to survive everyday in endless travel.” Her anger flares, breaking her cool demeanor and showing you a glimpse of the woman she really is.

“I have my integrity.” You spit at her, crouching down to contort yourself easily. Not at all the shaking mess of limbs you had just been moments ago. Shoulders protesting the movement, you’re able to step over the links of the cuffs. With them now in front, you stalk toward her with intent. “I refuse to be a pawn in your ill-conceived endeavor. I refuse to be a part of your plan to kill innocent people on the off chance that your ignorant doctor can actually make something with deadly fluids and decaying brain matter.”

She doesn’t seem to realize that you aren’t going to hurt her, that your intention isn’t to get your hands on her. You want to rattle her, to scare her. To make her see that the way she’s going about keeping you here, forcing you to work with her, for her is never going to work. Her arms come up, one to ward you off from coming any closer while the other goes to the handle of her gun.

But you don’t want the gun and you don’t want her. You shove at her with your shoulder, feet quick after those first few slow steps across the room. The keys skid across the floor when she lands, the clasp keeping them secured to her beltloop breaking from the force. Swiping the belt of grenades you had found in the room earlier, you scoop them up and are out the door just as two shots break the glass panel. Cursing, you pull the door open and slam it shut behind you, the lock automatically engaging.

You wave at her through the crackled glass before running off down the hall before her men can close in.

She needed you, your knowledge, your skill set, your determination. She needed you to find Ellie, the girl she claims to have raised in honor of her friend, only to turn back on that promise and take her life. But  you had other people who wanted you. And after being alone for so long, that’s all that mattered. They are the only ones that mattered and you’d be damned if someone tried to keep you from returning to them. You would do anything to protect them, even take out an entire faction of self-righteous mercenaries.

Joel and Ellie both jump when the explosion echoes out, the plume of smoke that billows up into the morning sky as the smell of ash permeates the air. Even as far away as they are, deep suburbs of that surround the city, almost on the cusp of total wilderness they’re witness to it all. One of the tall buildings crashes loudly, the bottom floors caving in and it collapses in on itself. They can only assume it was the hospital that was marked on the map Joel had found but given over to you for your solo excursion into the depts of the city.

Brow furrowing, Joel watched as a wave of birds take to the air and flee, his attention focused on the erratic way they scatter in an attempt to escape the dark smoke pluming up endlessly. Movement out of the corner of his eye has him aiming the shotgun in his arms towards the source, but it’s too late. There’s a man and a young girl facing him, a gun aimed at him as Ellie scrambles to hide behind his frame.

They’re a mirror image of each other. A man shielding a young girl behind them with a gun cocked and ready to fire. But Joel can see the panic and hesitation in the man’s eyes, in his stance. He knows with just a glance that the man has been protected, has had people doing the shooting for him, keeping him safe, keeping him alive.

Ellie’s hand reached for the back of his jacket, gripping tight but he doesn’t dare take his eyes off the pair in front of him. But the man does, his glance behind him, landing on Ellie before he lowers his gun.

The girl behind him clings to him much the same way as Ellie does to Joel, even as the man holds his arms up gun above his head. It’s quiet in the street as he begins to slowly step back, making space between them. He sees Joel tense, the metal of the gun creaking in his grip as he keeps it aimed at the moving man.

They don’t exchange any words as they pivot, always facing each other even as the distance grows longer. Once they’re at the opposite end of the street, the man turns around an overgrown hedge that’s swallowed a picket fence lining the corner house and then they’re gone.

Neither of them knows what to say, the explosion and the pair of them too unique a set of events in your absence. Joel feels his stomach lurch at the thought of you being either trapped by Marlene or being in the vicinity of the explosion. His mind plays memories of each of your injuries:

The fall that you had taken in your haste to get them to safety after the explosion that started this whole journey, the way your head had bounced on the broken asphalt in a way that throbbed atop his head now. Forehead lighting up where his own injury scars the skin.

The way your voice echoed as a guttural, animalistic scream tore through your chest. Up in that house and too far away to do anything to help, the sight of you holding your arm tight to your chest, white bone peeking out from the fabric of your shirt and the bloody mess of your exposed skin.

The roars of an angry bear as it barrels towards him, Ellie tripping and you shoving her into his arms. The sight of you standing up to the great creature despite fighting off an infection.

The crack of ice that plunged you deep into freezing water, a man tangled with you as he tried to end your life. Joel frantically fighting off the last of their group and jumping in after you. The way it took forever to get you to wake up, your lips ice cold and your body shivering fiercely.

The way your voice was hoarse as you shouted out threats an swinging your machete at anything that came within five feet of you. Blood and spittle flying off of you with every move to stain the snow around you. The crazed and unhinged look in your eye when you finally honed in on him, his own state not the best.

No.

He dares to clench his eyes shut for a second and takes a deep breath, centering himself and forcing the thoughts back.

And then his memory plays each time your eyes found his after everything calmed down, how you would reach for him with such small, strong, capable hands. Time and time again, even after he failed time and time again to keep you safe.

That explosion was because of you, not something you would fall victim to. He believed that with everything in his soul.

He was still watching the far end of the street when the distant sound of tires squealing as they pivot meets his ears. The sound so rare now paired with the rev of an engine. And then he sees it, turning toward the other end of the street. A dark SUV, headlights off and windows down, with you in the driver’s seat.

The vehicle stops a few feet away, closer to the other curb lining the street. Despite the blood that stains your exposed arms and the dirt marring your face, your smile makes his heart skip a beat. You look beautiful and his chest swells with warmth where it had just been anxiety, your presence melting it away.

“Need a ride?”

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @furiousmushroom @sawymredfox @ayamenimthiriel @bookloverkat

@rosaaeles @littlemisspascal @oscarissac2099 @ghostwritesthings

@76bookworm76 @elli3williams @sarap-77 @christinamadsen @vivian-pascal

@dugiioh @narcissa-anastasia @jessthebaker @missladym1981 @snugglingbucky

dividers and banners provided by the lovely @/saradika-graphics and @/cafekitsune

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (13)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: For the rest of the parts of the story, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 8 000+

- Previous part: 12

- Next part: 14

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska @alyssa-dayne

The sun was setting over the vast expanse of Dorne as you and Arthur rode toward Starfall, the ancestral seat of House Dayne. The long journey had been grueling, but the sight of the pale stone walls of the castle rising against the desert landscape brought a sense of relief. Starfall, nestled near the shores of the Torrentine, shimmered in the fading light, the Sword of the Morning’s ancestral home looking like a beacon of safety amidst the chaos you had fled.

Arthur rode beside you, his gaze sharp and focused as always, but there was a heaviness in the air between you, a shared understanding of what you had left behind and what awaited you here. His hand, warm and steady, had gripped yours tightly for much of the journey, a silent promise that he would see you through this. But even Arthur, as confident and unwavering as he had been, knew the gravity of what was to come.

As the gates of Starfall opened before you, a small party emerged from the castle to greet you. At the forefront stood Ashara Dayne, her violet eyes wide with anticipation. Her dark hair, flowing freely over her shoulders, caught the last rays of the sun, and her expression—though composed—betrayed a mix of emotions as she saw you and Arthur approaching.

She had received the letter, of course. She had known they were coming. But seeing it unfold before her eyes—the dragon princess, you, and her brother, the famed Sword of the Morning, now a man branded a traitor to the crown—was something else entirely.

Behind her, several retainers of House Dayne stood, their expressions somber but respectful. The atmosphere was heavy with the weight of what was happening. Here, even in Dorne, word had spread like a storm of King Aerys' descent into insenity, of his obsession with his daughter, and of the dark ritual that had led to the hatching of a dragon—a miracle, some whispered. But others, even here, spoke of it with a shiver of unease. The way in which the dragon had been brought into the world—the burning of men, the wildfire—it cast a shadow over what should have been a wonder.

As you and Arthur dismounted, Ashara stepped forward, her eyes flickering between you and her brother. She was beautiful, as she always had been, but there was an intensity in her gaze that spoke of understanding and concern.

“Arthur,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of both affection and caution. Her eyes moved to you, and she gave a respectful nod. “Princess Y/N.”

You managed a faint smile, though you could feel the tension in your chest, the exhaustion of the journey and the enormity of what you had fled catching up to you. “Lady Ashara,” you replied, your voice quieter than usual.

Ashara’s eyes softened, and she glanced at her brother again, as if searching for something in his expression. “I received your letter,” she said, her voice careful. “But seeing you both here...”

Arthur, ever composed, stepped forward. “We had no choice,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with an unspoken weight. “The situation in King’s Landing has grown far worse than you know.”

Ashara sighed, her eyes darkening with concern. “It is all anyone can speak of, even here in Dorne. The king’s madness... his obsession with his daughter.” She glanced at you then, her expression softening. “The birth of the dragon. It’s seen as a miracle in some corners, but...” She trailed off, and the unspoken truth lingered in the air.

“But the manner of its birth,” she continued after a moment, “has unsettled many. The burning of men with wildfire... it casts a dark shadow, even on a miracle.”

You looked away, the memories of that ritual flashing through your mind, the heat of the wildfire, the sight of the men burning, feeling fires on you skin, the scent of their flesh still resides in your soul. It was something you could never forget, a nightmare that clung to you even now.

Arthur reached for your hand again, his fingers curling around yours gently. “We’re not here for miracles,” he said softly, his voice filled with the kind of tenderness he only ever used with you. “We’re here because the king’s obsession has reached its peak. Rhaegar... Rhaegar had no choice but to take action. And now, we must protect Y/N.”

Ashara’s face tightened as she heard her brother’s words, the weight of them settling over her. “Rhaegar has started a war,” she murmured, her eyes searching Arthur’s. “And you... you’ve broken your oath to the crown.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched, but his gaze remained steady. “I’ve broken no oath that matters. My loyalty is to her, to protecting her from a fate worse than any betrayal to the crown.”

There was a long pause, the silence filled with the heavy weight of what lay ahead. Ashara, torn between her own loyalty to her brother and the reality of what this all meant, finally nodded.

“I understand,” she said softly, her voice filled with sorrow and resolve. “Come inside. We will keep you safe here, for as long as we can.”

She turned and led the way toward the gates of Starfall, her retainers following closely behind. You and Arthur exchanged a glance, and for a moment, despite everything, there was a sense of relief. You had made it to Starfall. For now, you were safe.

But as you walked through the gates and entered the shadowed halls of the ancient castle, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

The halls of Starfall were cool and dim, a sharp contrast to the scorching Dornish sun outside. Ashara led you and Arthur through the shadowed corridors, her movements swift and graceful, though her face was etched with worry. Arthur remained close to you, his presence a steady comfort as your steps echoed through the ancient stone halls. Starfall’s very walls seemed to carry the weight of history, of long-forgotten battles and the legacy of House Dayne.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance at Arthur, his jaw tight, his hand brushing against yours in quiet reassurance. But just as you were about to speak, a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Well, well,” the voice drawled, smooth and unmistakable. “The princess of dragons graces us with her presence. It’s been too long since we’ve seen that pretty face.”

You stopped, your heart skipping a beat as you turned to find Prince Oberyn Martell leaning against one of the stone pillars, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. His lips curled into a slow smile, and he stepped forward, his gaze flicking between you and Arthur with a knowing look. He was dressed as casually as ever, but the power and confidence he exuded made the air around him feel charged.

“Oberyn,” you greeted with a small, tired smile, surprised to see him here. The last time you had seen him was at the festival of the Mother in King’s Landing, when the court had tried to match his sister, Elia, with Rhaegar. It felt like a lifetime ago now. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Oberyn’s smile widened, his eyes flicking over you, taking in your travel-worn appearance but with no less warmth. “And I wasn’t expecting to find the famed dragon princess on my doorstep, but here we are,” he said lightly, his voice teasing but not unkind. “You’ve certainly brought a bit of excitement to Dorne, though I suppose that’s no surprise for someone with dragon blood.”

You chuckled softly, despite everything, and offered a light jest, your words more out of habit than ease. “You flatter me, Prince Oberyn. Though I’m sure there’s plenty of excitement in Dorne without me.”

Oberyn’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but then his gaze shifted to Arthur, who had remained by your side, ever watchful. The prince’s expression turned more thoughtful, his smile turning into a smirk. “I must say, Arthur, you’re looking... particularly attentive,” he remarked, his tone dripping with suggestion. “And very close to the princess.”

Arthur straightened, his face calm but unreadable as always. “I’m protecting her, Oberyn,” he said, his voice steady. “That’s my duty.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his lips deepening. “Oh, I remember,” he said smoothly. “At the festival in King’s Landing, you and I spoke, and I noticed it then—the way you looked at her. The Sword of the Morning, in love with the dragon princess.” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “It seems I was right.”

Your heart skipped a beat, heat rising to your cheeks at Oberyn’s words. You glanced at Arthur, who remained composed, though there was a faint tension in his jaw. He didn’t deny it. And neither did you.

Before the moment could stretch on further, Ashara cleared her throat, giving the prince a sharp look. “Your Grace,” she said firmly. “This is not the time.”

Oberyn shrugged, though his smile remained. “Very well, Lady Ashara,” he said, though his gaze lingered on you and Arthur for a moment longer. Then, with a graceful step, he turned to face you more fully, his expression softening.

“You’re safe here, Princess,” Oberyn said, his tone turning serious. “Starfall is well-guarded, and if Aerys sends men to Dorne, we will respond. Dorne does not bow easily to the will of mad kings.”

You frowned, the weight of everything pressing down on you again. “Why are you protecting me?” you asked, the question escaping your lips before you could stop it. There was gratitude in your voice, but also confusion. “I don’t... I don’t understand why you’re taking such a risk.”

Oberyn smiled, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes—something sharp and calculating. “I have a passion for protecting damsels in distress,” he said with a smirk, though his voice was softer now. “But more than that... it’s the right thing to do.”

He paused, his gaze thoughtful as he considered his next words. “And perhaps,” he added, his tone more deliberate, “saving you could be beneficial to Dorne in the long run. Once Rhaegar secures the throne, there will be... opportunities for future alliances. A free princess, safe and sound, could open many doors.”

You felt a pang of unease at his words, a reminder of the political games that had always surrounded you. Even now, far from King’s Landing, you were still a piece on the board—a tool for others to use.

But more than that, Oberyn’s words stirred something deeper, something painful. You shifted uncomfortably, the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. No matter how deranged Aerys had become, he was still your father. Your blood. And despite everything, despite the fear and the horrors you had witnessed, you could not shake the love you still felt for the man he once was. The father who had once held you close, who had smiled at you with genuine affection before the madness consumed him.

“I... I understand,” you said quietly, your voice faltering slightly. “But it’s still... difficult. He’s still my father, no matter what he’s become. And all of this... it still feels alien to me.”

Oberyn’s expression softened, and for a moment, the playful, teasing prince was gone, replaced by someone who understood the weight of loss, the pain of family. “I don’t envy your position, Princess,” he said quietly. “But remember, you didn’t choose this. None of this is your fault.”

Arthur’s hand found yours again, a silent comfort, and you squeezed it gently, grateful for his steady presence.

Ashara stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder, her expression kind. “You’re safe here,” she repeated softly. “You have people who care for you.”

You nodded, though the knot in your chest remained. The love you still carried for your father, the man he had once been, warred with the reality of what he had become. And the uncertainty of the future hung over you like a dark cloud.

But here, in Starfall, surrounded by those who had chosen to protect you, you knew you were not alone.

The journey to Dragonstone had been long and weighed down with silance, the heavy skies mirroring the burden that hung over Rhaegar’s heart. The sea winds whipped around the island fortress, carrying the salt of the Narrow Sea, but they did little to cleanse the worries from his mind. He had successfully escorted his mother, Queen Rhaella, to safety with the aid of Varys' men, ensuring she was far from the madness of King’s Landing. Yet even here, in the ancient stronghold of House Targaryen, the shadows of his father’s madness loomed.

Rhaegar stood on the terrace overlooking the stormy sea, his silver hair blowing in the wind, his violet eyes dark with the weight of the world pressing upon him. His thoughts drifted to you—to the sister he had sent away with Ser Arthur Dayne, trusting him with your life. His heart ached at the thought of you, far from him, but safer in the hands of the man he trusted most. But the weight of keeping you hidden, even from his own mother, gnawed at him.

Behind him, the door to the chamber opened quietly, and his mother, Queen Rhaella, stepped out to join him. She was pale and fragile, her face lined with worry. The toll of years spent under Aerys’ madness was clear in her eyes, though she carried herself with the dignity of a queen.

"Rhaegar," she called softly, her voice filled with concern.

Rhaegar turned to face her, his expression softening as he saw the worry etched into her face. She was his mother, the woman who had endured more than anyone should ever have to. And now, as he stood on the precipice of war, he knew the pain he was causing her—the uncertainty, the fear for her children.

"Mother," Rhaegar said gently, stepping forward to take her hands in his. "You’re safe here, at Dragonstone. No harm will come to you."

Rhaella’s eyes searched his face, and though she nodded, her worry was not so easily dismissed. "But what of you?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "And your sister? Where is Y/N, Rhaegar? I don’t even know where she’s been taken. How can I be at peace when I don’t know if my children are safe?"

Her words hit Rhaegar with the force of a storm. He had expected this, had known his mother would ask. But now, standing before her, he could feel the weight of his decision bearing down on him. He could not tell her where you were. He couldn’t risk it. Not with his father’s insanity growing, not with Aerys' wrath so unpredictable. If she knew, and if Aerys ever turned his wrath on Rhaella again, she might suffer because of the knowledge.

"Y/N is safe," Rhaegar said softly, his voice steady but filled with the burden of what he withheld. "She’s with Ser Arthur. He will protect her."

Rhaella’s eyes flickered with relief, but also with a trace of doubt. "Arthur is a good man," she said, her voice still soft, "but why must I be kept in the dark about where she’s been taken? What danger is she in that you can’t share with me?"

Rhaegar exhaled slowly, his heart aching for the truth he couldn’t share. "The less you know, Mother, the safer you are," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Father’s instability... it’s growing worse. If he turns his attention to you again, if he seeks to punish you for what has happened... I can’t risk you being harmed because of knowledge you shouldn’t carry."

Rhaella’s face tightened with fear, her grip on Rhaegar’s hands tightening. "Your father..." she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "He won’t let this go, will he? He’ll come for her. For you."

Rhaegar nodded slowly, his expression grim. "He will. But I won’t let him take her. I won’t let him destroy us."

Tears welled in Rhaella’s eyes, but she blinked them back, her fingers gripping her son’s hands as though she could anchor herself to him. "I’ve already lost so much," she said, her voice trembling. "I can’t lose you, Rhaegar. I can’t lose Y/N. I’ve lost your father, the man he once was... but not you. Not my children."

Rhaegar’s throat tightened, and he pulled his mother into a gentle embrace, holding her close as the stormy winds whipped around them. "You won’t lose us," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I swear it. I will protect Y/N, and I will do everything in my power to protect you."

They stood there for a moment, mother and son, bound by shared pain and love, both knowing that the storm that had begun in King’s Landing was only just gathering strength.

After a long silence, Rhaella pulled back slightly, searching her son’s face. "What will you do now?" she asked softly.

Rhaegar’s eyes darkened as he looked out over the sea, his thoughts already turning to the war he knew was coming. "I will prepare," he said, his voice resolute. "The North is already moving. The Riverlands will follow. Father has ignited the flames of rebellion with his madness, and there’s no turning back now."

Rhaella’s hand trembled as she reached up to touch Rhaegar’s face, her eyes filled with sorrow. "Be careful, Rhaegar," she whispered. "I know your destiny, your dreams... but be careful. You and Y/N are all I have left."

Rhaegar nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of his mother’s love and fear. "I will," he promised.

The warm air of summer clung to the open field, the sun hanging high in the sky as Rhaegar Targaryen stood, watching the approaching banners of House Baratheon. The grass swayed gently in the breeze, but there was a sense of foreboding in the air that even the heat couldn’t dispel. Across the distance, Robert Baratheon rode forward with his men, the stag on a field of gold flying proudly behind him. The meeting was inevitable, a consequence of all that had transpired.

Rhaegar stood tall, his silver hair catching the light, his violet eyes focused ahead. Though stripped of his title as Prince of Dragonstone, branded a traitor by his father, none of that concerned him as much as the accusations leveled against him—the claim that he had stolen his own sister. The gravity of those words hung over him, even as he prepared to face Robert.

The two had not met since that fateful festival in King’s Landing, when the court had tried to match Elia Martell with Rhaegar. But now, they faced each other under very different circumstances.

As Robert and his men came to a halt, Rhaegar's thoughts momentarily drifted to you. You were safely hidden with Ser Arthur Dayne, far from the madness that had engulfed the realm. But that safety had come at a price, and now the consequences were unfolding before him.

Robert dismounted, his powerful frame towering over the men who stood behind him. His face was hard, his blue eyes filled with anger and accusation. His warhammer, which had already claimed many lives in this rebellion, hung at his side, a menacing reminder of the brute force he commanded.

"Rhaegar," Robert said, his voice carrying across the field like a growl. "Last time we stood together, we were in King’s Landing. Now look at what you’ve become."

Rhaegar remained calm, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword as he met Robert’s gaze. "Much has changed since then, Robert," he replied. "But we both know why we are here today."

Robert’s expression darkened as he took a step closer. "Aye, I know exactly why," he said, his voice thick with contempt. "You’re a traitor to the crown. You’ve turned your back on your own father, and you’ve dragged the realm into chaos. You’re no prince anymore—you’re just a thief."

The accusation hit like a blow, but Rhaegar had expected it. His hand tightened slightly on the hilt of his sword, though his face remained composed.

"I’m no thief, Robert," he said firmly. "I’ve protected my sister from a king who has lost his mind. My father is no longer the man he once was. His obsession with power, his madness, has poisoned the realm. I couldn’t let him drag Y/N into that madness."

Robert’s fists clenched, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "And you thought it was your right to take her away?" he spat, stepping closer. "To defy the crown? You think that makes you better than Aerys?"

Rhaegar stood his ground, his eyes never leaving Robert’s. "It wasn’t about defiance—it was about doing what was right. Y/N was never meant to be used as a toy in my father’s delusions. He wanted to take her as his wife, Robert. His own daughter. I couldn’t let that happen."

Robert’s face twisted in disgust, but his rage remained unchecked. "So you decided to start a war to protect her?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think that makes you some kind of hero? You think this rebellion is about saving your sister?"

Rhaegar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. "This isn’t about me," he said quietly. "It’s about protecting her from becoming another victim of my father’s madness. The man who sits on the Iron Throne will burn the realm to the ground if it means keeping his twisted grip on power."

Robert’s eyes narrowed, and he took another step closer, looming over Rhaegar. "You think you’re better than him? You think you can just claim her for yourself and call it protection?"

Rhaegar’s breath caught for a moment, but he forced himself to remain steady. He knew the truth of his actions—knew the purity of his intentions when it came to you. His love for you, his desire to keep you safe, had driven him to do things he never thought possible. But Robert’s insinuations cut deep.

"I love my sister," Rhaegar said, his voice low but filled with conviction. "But not in the way you think. I would die before I let Aerys destroy her, or destroy the realm. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to protect her from a fate worse than death."

Robert scoffed, shaking his head. "You’ve already brought death, Rhaegar," he said coldly. "You’ve dragged the realm into war, and now it’s going to destroy everything you think you’re protecting."

For a moment, the only sound was the distant rustling of the wind through the grass. The tension between them was shimmering, both men knowing that the words exchanged here were only the beginning.

Robert took a step back, his face hardening once more. "This isn’t going to end well for you, Rhaegar," he said, his voice quiet but full of menace. "You’ve made your choice. Now you’ll face the consequences."

Rhaegar met Robert’s gaze, his expression resolute. "The consequences have already begun, Robert," he said. "But they won’t end with my death. They’ll end with a mad king removed from the throne."

Robert’s lip curled, and without another word, he turned and strode back toward his men, his warhammer swinging heavily at his side.

As Robert’s men mounted their horses and prepared to leave, Rhaegar remained standing in the field, the wind brushing through his hair. The meeting was over, but the battle that lay ahead was only just beginning.

The throne room was suffused with an uneasy warmth, the late summer heat mixing with the heavy dread that clung to the walls of the Red Keep. Behind the Iron Throne, Terrax lay coiled in the shadows, the massive black dragon’s slow breaths audible in the otherwise silent hall. His golden eyes, half-lidded but ever watchful, glowed faintly in the low light. The courtiers and council members stood still, their attention split between the maddened king and the restless creature behind him, each movement of the dragon a reminder of the volatile situation they faced.

King Aerys II sat upon the Iron Throne, his silver hair wild, eyes blazing with anger. His thin frame seemed to tremble with barely contained fury, and the small council could feel it in the air, crackling like the heat of a fire about to blaze out of control. Lord Owen Merryweather, his face pale and drawn, stood at the center of the storm, the weight of the king’s rage fully upon him.

“You have failed me, Merryweather!” Aerys shouted, his voice sharp and cold. “The rebellion grows stronger, my enemies multiply, and my daughter—my daughter—remains out of reach! What good are you as Hand if you cannot stop even this?”

Behind the throne, Terrax shifted, his tail scraping against the stone floor with a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers through those gathered. The dragon’s presence had always unnerved them, and now, with the king’s madness growing unchecked, it felt as though the beast was an extension of Aerys' wild temper, ready to erupt at any moment.

Merryweather swallowed, sweat beading on his forehead. “Your Grace, I—"

“Silence!” Aerys barked, cutting him off. “You were meant to serve me, to keep order in my realm. Instead, you have allowed chaos to spread! You have let my son steal away my daughter, and you have done nothing to stop it!”

The entire council stood frozen, none daring to meet the king’s gaze for fear of drawing his ire. Even the smallest glance toward Terrax could betray fear or hesitation, which Aerys would certainly seize upon. The dragon’s breathing grew heavier, and the oppressive heat in the room seemed to intensify.

“You are no longer fit to serve,” Aerys continued, his voice lowering into something more menacing. “I strip you of your title as Hand of the King. You are banished from my sight and from this court. Leave now, before I decide to deal with you more harshly.”

Merryweather, ashen-faced, bowed low and backed away from the throne, his departure marked by the soft clinking of armor and murmurs from the court. The doors closed behind him with a resounding thud, leaving the room in a stifling silence.

The king’s eyes swept over the remaining council members, his gaze wild and dangerous. His fingers gripped the arms of the Iron Throne so tightly that the sharp blades beneath his hands dug into his skin, leaving thin trails of blood. But Aerys paid no mind to the pain—his thoughts were consumed by other matters, chief among them your absence.

“Jon Connington,” Aerys called, turning his attention to the man who now stood before him. “You will be my new Hand. Bring my enemies to their knees, bring my daughter back to me, or suffer the same fate as your predecessor.”

Jon Connington, calm and composed, bowed deeply. “I will not fail you, Your Grace,” he said in a measured tone. His words were confident, but the gravity of his new role was evident. He knew the dangers that lay ahead, both from within the court and beyond its walls.

As Connington took his place, Aerys’ gaze snapped to Varys, who had been standing silently at the edge of the room. The Master of Whisperers, ever composed, offered a slight bow, his hands hidden within the folds of his robes. But Aerys was in no mood for silence or patience.

“You!” Aerys hissed, his voice sharp and filled with venom. “You claim to know every secret in this kingdom, to have spies in every corner, yet you still have not found her! Where is Y/N?”

Varys, unmoved by the king’s outburst, responded in his usual soft, unflappable manner. “Your Grace, my little birds are searching every corner of Westeros. There are whispers, but—”

“Whispers?!” Aerys’ voice rose to a fever pitch, the madness in his eyes flaring. “I do not want whispers, Varys, I want my daughter! You will find her, or I will burn every spy of yours alive! Do you hear me?”

At the mention of burning, Terrax’s tail twitched again, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. The dragon, though bonded to you and not Aerys, sensed the turmoil in the room. His presence was a constant reminder of the thin line between power and destruction that Aerys walked so carelessly.

Varys bowed his head, his voice smooth and deferential. “Your Grace, I assure you, we are close. The princess will be found, and she will be returned to you.”

Aerys stared at Varys for a long moment, his breathing heavy and erratic. “You had better,” he muttered darkly. “Or I will feed you to the flames myself.”

As Varys bowed again and stepped back, Grand Maester Pycelle, standing nearby, cleared his throat nervously, hoping to ease the king’s temper. “Your Grace,” he began cautiously, “perhaps if we—”

“Quiet, you old fool!” Aerys snapped, turning his anger on Pycelle. “I have no use for your weak counsel! We are beyond diplomacy—this is a time for fire and blood!”

At the mention of fire, Wisdom Rossart stepped forward, his lips curling into a thin smile. “Wildfire, Your Grace,” he said, his voice eager. “With wildfire, we can cleanse your enemies from the earth. Rhaegar, the traitors, all of them can be burned away.”

Aerys' expression shifted, a gleam of dark satisfaction lighting his eyes. "Yes," he murmured, as though Rossart’s words had calmed his storm. "Wildfire. I will bathe them in flames, and they will know the wrath of the dragon."

Terrax’s head lifted slightly, his golden eyes gleaming as if in acknowledgment of the words. His massive body remained coiled behind the throne, a shadow of danger that made every man in the room acutely aware of their own mortality.

Ser Gerold Hightower stood silently, as stoic as ever, but even he could feel the weight of the king’s madness pressing down upon the room. His presence, once that of a steadfast protector, now seemed to waver as he witnessed Aerys descend further into darkness.

Aerys, seemingly appeased for the moment, sat back on the Iron Throne, his bloody fingers gripping the metal as he spoke in a low, dangerous tone. “Find her,” he commanded, his voice filled with malice. “Bring Y/N back to me, or you will all burn for your failures.”

The small council exchanged brief, uneasy glances before bowing and retreating from the hall. The tension in the air was almost unbearable as they filed out, leaving Aerys alone with his twisted thoughts and the ever-watchful dragon behind him.

The doors closed with a heavy thud, and Aerys remained seated, his mind racing with thoughts of betrayal, fire, and the daughter who had been taken from him.

The night was calm at Starfall, the vast Dornish skies speckled with stars, but inside the cool stone walls, your mind was anything but still. You lay curled in Arthur’s arms, his warmth against your back a comfort, yet sleep did not bring you peace. Instead, it dragged you into darkness—a darkness that twisted and churned with an ancient and foreboding sense of doom.

In the nightmare, you stood in the heart of a desolate, frozen wasteland. The air was heavy, and the sky above you was a bruised, sickly green, swirling with strange lights that seemed to whisper as they danced across the horizon. The world around you was coated in thick layers of ice and snow, a cold so deep it seeped into your bones, making your breath come out in ragged puffs of white.

There were figures in the distance—vague shapes moving across the horizon, their forms blending with the howling winds. The cold gnawed at your skin, yet you felt something far worse in the air: a creeping sense of dread, as if something ancient and evil was stirring beneath the ice.

"The Long Night," a voice whispered, soft and mocking. "It’s coming again, princess. It’s always coming. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it."

You turned, searching for the source of the voice, but found nothing. Only the endless expanse of ice and shadows, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The winds screamed around you, carrying with them whispers—fragments of words, lost promises, broken oaths. The cold grew sharper, more painful, until it felt like knives slicing through your skin.

“You will fall.”

The voice was clearer now, slithering through the winds like a serpent’s hiss. “You cannot escape what is coming. Not even with a dragon by your side.”

Suddenly, the ground beneath your feet cracked, and with a sharp jolt, you were falling—plunging into a chasm of ice and darkness. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, but the voice followed you, laughing softly in your ears.

“Do you hear it? The dead are coming for you, princess. They always have.”

The terror rose, thick and suffocating. You could feel the icy hands of the dead clawing at you, pulling you deeper into the frozen abyss, their empty eyes staring through you, their mouths twisted into grotesque smiles. The dead were all around you now, their bodies rising from the snow, their skeletal fingers grasping for you, dragging you down.

"Look how far you’ve fallen."

The voice was taunting, gloating, as you struggled to break free, but your limbs felt heavy, useless. You couldn’t escape. The cold was everywhere now, inside you, freezing your very soul.

"There is no escape, little dragon. You belong to the darkness."

And then, piercing through the nightmare, came a sound—a deep, thunderous roar that shook the very ground beneath your feet. The dead scattered, their twisted forms retreating into the shadows as the roar echoed through the icy wasteland. The sky above cracked with a brilliant light, and in the distance, you saw him—Terrax, your dragon, his golden eyes blazing as he cut through the storm with a fury that shattered the nightmare’s grip.

With a sharp gasp, you woke, your body trembling and drenched in sweat. The darkness of the dream still clung to you, the voice’s taunts lingering in your mind like a poisoned whisper. But the warmth of the real world was there to greet you. Arthur’s arms tightened around you protectively, his voice soft in your ear.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his tone filled with concern as he held you close. “You were dreaming again.”

You turned in his embrace, your breath still ragged from the fear that lingered in your chest. Your eyes met his, and the depth of his affection and worry was clear in the moonlight that filtered through the window. Arthur’s hand gently brushed your hair away from your face, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your temple.

“I’m here,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s all right. You’re safe with me.”

The warmth of his body against yours was grounding, pulling you away from the icy grip of the nightmare. You rested your forehead against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him, allowing his steady heartbeat to calm the storm still raging inside you.

“I saw it again,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “The Long Night... the dead...”

Arthur’s hand moved gently along your back, his touch a constant source of comfort. “It’s just a dream,” he said softly, though there was a weight in his voice, a worry that he couldn’t fully hide. “It’s not real.”

But even as he said it, you both knew that your dreams, your visions, were never just dreams. You had seen too much, felt too much for them to be dismissed so easily. The weight of your dragondreams always lingered, their warnings carried deep within your soul.

“And the voice,” you murmured, your fingers curling into his shirt. “It keeps taunting me, Arthur. It... it says things that feel too real.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, and he held you tighter, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. “You’re stronger than whatever that voice says,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “You’re stronger than the darkness, Y/N.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude and love for the man who had stood by your side through all of this madness. In his eyes, you found the safety and strength that the nightmare had tried to take from you. With him, you knew you could face anything, even the shadows that haunted your dreams.

Gently, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of the bond between you. Arthur responded with tenderness, his hand resting at the small of your back, holding you close as he deepened the kiss, his affection pouring into the simple act of being with you.

When you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and comforting against your skin. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the night. “And I will protect you from whatever comes.”

You nodded, your heart steadying in his arms, the terror of the dream fading as you found solace in his embrace. Terrax’s distant roar echoed faintly in your mind, a reminder that you were never truly alone.

As you lay back down, nestled safely against Arthur’s chest, his arms wrapped around you protectively, you knew that no matter how dark the dreams became, you had the strength to face them.

Because with Arthur—and with your dragon—you would never be lost to the darkness.

The soft light of dawn spilled through the open window of the solar, casting a warm glow on the smooth stone walls of Starfall. You sat by the window, looking out at the Torrentine River below, its waters gleaming in the early morning light. The sound of the river’s gentle rush echoed faintly, but the quiet peace of the moment did little to calm the storm that churned within you.

Ashara Dayne sat across from you, her long dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders, her violet eyes filled with understanding as she watched you. She was patient, allowing the silence to stretch as she waited for you to speak. You had asked to talk, but now that you were here, the weight of everything seemed too heavy to put into words.

Finally, you let out a breath, your voice quiet but laced with frustration. "I feel so helpless here, Ashara."

Ashara’s gaze remained steady, but she tilted her head slightly, encouraging you to continue.

“I can’t just sit here while Rhaegar fights this war alone,” you went on, your hands clenched in your lap. "He’s out there, risking everything, and I’m... I’m hiding here, waiting for it all to be over. It feels like I’m abandoning him. I can’t let him do this by himself."

Ashara's expression softened, and she leaned forward slightly, her tone gentle but firm. "You’re not abandoning him, Y/N. You’re protecting yourself, and Rhaegar wants you to be safe. That’s why he sent you here."

You shook your head, the frustration bubbling up again. "I know that’s what he wants, but it doesn’t feel right. I’m his sister—his blood. I should be out there, doing something. I should be helping him, not hiding away like some helpless... damsel."

Ashara’s lips curved into a small smile at your choice of words, but her eyes remained serious. "You’re far from helpless, and you know that."

You met her gaze, your mind racing. The nightmares had grown worse, and with each passing day, the weight of the war pressed heavier on your shoulders. Rhaegar had always been the one to protect you, the one to fight for you, but now… everything was different. Aerys’ wrath, the rebellion, the shifting loyalties across the realm—it felt like you were drowning in it all, powerless to change anything.

"I can’t let him fight for me," you murmured, almost to yourself. "Not alone."

Ashara was quiet for a moment, considering her next words. She leaned back slightly, folding her hands in her lap. "There are many ways to fight, Y/N. Not all battles are fought with swords and armor. Your presence here, alive, free—that is something Rhaegar is fighting for. He needs to know you’re safe. You being here isn’t just hiding away—it’s part of the larger plan to keep you away from your father’s madness."

Her words were logical, and you knew she was right in some ways. But it didn’t lessen the weight of your guilt, or the desire to act. "I understand that," you said quietly, "but I still need to do something."

Ashara gave you a thoughtful look, her violet eyes searching your face. "You have power, Y/N," she said softly. "More than you realize. You have your dragon, you have your lineage, and you have the strength that’s been passed down through the Targaryen line. When the time comes, you’ll know how to use that power."

You looked away, your eyes drifting back to the window. The wind stirred the curtains gently, carrying the scent of the river and the warmth of the sun. Ashara’s words lingered in your mind, but they didn’t dispel the ache in your chest, the need to do more than simply wait.

After a long silence, Ashara’s voice broke through your thoughts, her tone shifting slightly as she changed the subject. "Speaking of strength," she said, her lips curving into a knowing smile, "Arthur seems to have found something special with you."

You blinked, startled by the sudden change in topic. Turning back to her, you saw the warmth in her eyes, the subtle teasing behind her words. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your cheeks warm.

"Arthur..." you began, but words failed you for a moment. "Arthur has been... my anchor through all of this."

Ashara’s smile widened slightly. "I can see that. And I can see how deeply he cares for you. It’s not every day that the Sword of the Morning risks everything for a princess."

You felt a swell of affection as you thought of Arthur, his steady presence, the way he had held you through your nightmares, the way he had promised to protect you, no matter what. He had been your protector, your confidant, and now, something more.

"I don’t know what I’d do without him," you admitted softly. "He’s been there for me through everything, and... I love him."

Ashara raised an eyebrow, her smile turning playful. "Oh, you love him, do you?"

You laughed softly, feeling a bit of the tension leave your chest. "Yes, I do. It’s... it’s not something I ever expected, but it’s real."

Ashara’s gaze softened, and she leaned forward again, her voice quieter now. "Arthur is one of the finest men I’ve ever known. And he’s chosen you. That’s not something to take lightly."

You nodded, feeling the truth of her words settle in your heart. "I know. And I won’t."

There was a comfortable silence between you for a few moments, the bond between you and Ashara strengthened by shared understanding. She reached out, placing a hand on yours, her smile filled with sisterly warmth. 

"You have the strength you need, Y/N," she said softly. "And when the time comes, you’ll know what to do. But for now, let Arthur be your strength, too."

You squeezed her hand in return, the ache in your chest easing just slightly. Ashara was right—Arthur was your strength, just as much as you were his. You weren’t helpless, and you wouldn’t let Rhaegar face this war alone.

But for now, you would gather your strength, and when the time came, you would fight—however that battle would unfold.

The battlefield stretched before Rhaegar like a sea of metal and banners, the morning mist lifting to reveal the grim reality of war. The sun barely broke through the thick clouds overhead, casting a gray pallor over the land, as though the very sky was mourning what was to come. He could hear the clank of armor, the snorting of horses, and the murmur of men preparing themselves for the bloodshed that was about to unfold.

Rhaegar sat tall on his white stallion, his violet eyes scanning the ranks of his forces. His armor gleamed with silver and black, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned on his chest. Beside him stood the loyal bannermen of the Riverlands, the men of House Tully and their allies, their faces grim but determined. Further along the line, the northern forces were just beginning to arrive, banners of the direwolf of House Stark flapping in the wind, led by Eddard Stark’s forces marching south to support Rhaegar in defiance of King Aerys.

The wind carried the faint scent of blood and steel, and Rhaegar could feel the weight of his decisions pressing heavily upon his shoulders. His rebellion, ignited by the need to protect you and free Westeros from his father’s tyranny, had led to this moment. There was no turning back now.

Ahead, the forces of King Aerys were already arrayed on the field, their banners rippling in the wind—the crowned dragon of House Targaryen, the royal sigil of his father, flanked by the soldiers of the Crownlands and the Gold Cloaks of King’s Landing. The forces were led by those loyal to Aerys: Ser Jon Connington, now Hand of the King, and Ser Gerold Hightower, who had taken the field despite his growing unease about Aerys’ madness. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had brought with him some of the most fearsome knights, including Ser Jonothor Darry, and those who still believed in their king’s right to rule.

The tension in the air was palpable, the calm before the storm. Rhaegar knew that the battle would be fierce, and the stakes were higher than ever. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but his mind remained clear. This was no longer just about him or his sister. This was about the realm, about saving Westeros from the fire that Aerys threatened to unleash.

Rhaegar turned to one of his commanders, a grizzled man from the Riverlands, his face marked by years of battle. “The North has arrived to avenge its father and son,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Eddard Stark’s men will flank Aerys’ forces from the west. We hold the center and press forward when the moment comes.”

The commander nodded, his eyes flicking toward the northern banners. “The Starks have always been slow to move, but when they do, they move like a storm.”

Rhaegar gave a grim smile at that. “Then let us hope they bring the storm today.”

As he looked over the battlefield, his thoughts flickered to you—safe, for now, with Arthur Dayne at Starfall. The knowledge that you were out of Aerys’ reach gave him strength, but it also fueled the fire inside him. He couldn’t fail. He wouldn’t.

A sound like thunder broke through the murmur of the armies—horns blaring from the other side of the field. Aerys’ forces were moving. The distant figures of knights and foot soldiers began to march, their steel glinting in the dull light as they advanced. At the forefront, Rhaegar could see the royal banners, the sight of them stirring a mixture of anger and resolve within him.

Jon Connington rode at the head of the force, his armor bright, his expression set in determination. He had always been fiercely loyal to Aerys, and Rhaegar knew that Connington would fight until the last breath to uphold the king’s claim. But Rhaegar could see the uncertainty in the ranks behind him—the men who fought because they were sworn to, but perhaps not because they believed in their king.

Rhaegar glanced at his own commanders, giving a short nod. “Hold your ground until we have them where we need them.”

The battle lines were drawn, and the moment stretched out, tense and silent, before the storm of steel and blood began.

Suddenly, with a roar that seemed to shake the earth itself, the two forces collided. Men shouted, swords clashed, and the sound of steel on steel filled the air. Rhaegar spurred his horse forward, charging into the fray, his blade flashing in the sunlight as he cut down the first man who came at him.

The chaos of battle surrounded him—screams of the wounded, the clash of swords and shields, the stampede of horses as cavalry units smashed into the lines of infantry. The smell of blood was thick in the air, and Rhaegar’s heart raced as he fought, each blow driven by the knowledge that this battle could decide the fate of the realm.

He found himself facing a knight in gold-plated armor, one of Aerys’ personal guards. The knight swung his sword with a vicious cry, but Rhaegar parried the blow, his own blade flashing in retaliation. The force of the impact sent a shock through Rhaegar’s arm, but he pushed forward, his strikes precise and deadly. Within moments, the knight crumpled to the ground, his armor stained with blood.

Around him, the battle raged. The Riverlands forces, led by Lord Tully’s bannermen, were holding the line, but Aerys’ men were pressing hard. Rhaegar could see Jon Connington at the forefront, rallying his men, his sword flashing as he cut through the lines of northern soldiers who had joined the battle. Ser Gerold Hightower was there as well, his white cloak stained with blood as he fought with the cold precision of a seasoned warrior.

Amid the chaos, Rhaegar found a moment to breathe, his eyes scanning the battlefield for signs of the northern reinforcements. The men of the North were slow to move, but when they did, they came with a fury that was unmistakable. Eddard Stark’s forces, now fully engaged, were sweeping in from the west, flanking Aerys’ troops and cutting through their lines with brutal efficiency.

Rhaegar saw Eddard himself, his long sword in hand, moving through the chaos with deadly purpose. The two men’s eyes met briefly across the battlefield, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They were fighting for the same cause, though the stakes were personal for each of them.

But the battle was far from over.

As Rhaegar drove deeper into the heart of the fight, he caught sight of Jon Connington, who had dismounted and was now fighting on foot, his face set in determination. The two men locked eyes, and Rhaegar knew that this confrontation had been inevitable.

"Traitor!" Connington roared, his voice cutting through the chaos of the battle. "You’ve brought this ruin upon the realm!"

Rhaegar spurred his horse toward him, leaping down with a fluid motion, sword in hand. "No, Jon," Rhaegar called back, his voice cold and resolute. "It is Aerys who has brought ruin. He is no longer fit to rule."

Connington’s face twisted in fury as he charged, their swords meeting with a loud, ringing clash. The force of the blow reverberated through Rhaegar’s arms, but he held his ground. The fight was brutal, a dance of steel and fury, each man driven by his own sense of duty.

"You would destroy your own blood for your selfish rebellion?" Connington spat, swinging his blade with ferocious power.

"I fight to save my sister, to save the realm!" Rhaegar countered, parrying the blow and spinning to deliver a strike of his own.

Their blades clashed again and again, the fight raging around them as the two men battled for control of the field. Connington’s strikes were wild, fueled by anger, while Rhaegar’s movements were controlled, precise, as if every swing of his sword was driven by a higher purpose.

With a final, brutal thrust, Rhaegar found an opening, his sword sliding through Connington’s armor and sending the man to his knees. The Hand of the King gasped in pain, blood seeping through his mail, but his eyes burned with defiance even as he fell.

Rhaegar stood over him, his breath heavy, his sword dripping with blood. "Aerys is done, Jon," he said quietly. "The time of his reign is over."

Connington’s eyes darkened, and with his last breath, he spat at Rhaegar’s feet, refusing to yield even in death.

As Rhaegar turned back to the battlefield, he saw that the tide was shifting. The northern forces, bolstered by the Riverlands, were cutting through Aerys’ troops. The royal banners were falling, and the lines of the Crownlands were beginning to break.

The field was slick with blood, the cries of the wounded and dying filling the air, but through the chaos, Rhaegar could see victory on the horizon.

[snorklingfae]

Shades of Deception- Prologue

Dark!Joel Miller x naive!Fem reader

Synopsis: Amidst the ruins of a broken world, one survivor stands out from the rest - Joel Miller. With his sharp wit and unmatched ability to deceive, Joel has always managed to outmaneuver those around him. But when he meets y/n, an unsuspecting and trusting survivor, Joel sees an opportunity to take his game to the next level. As their relationship progresses, y/n unwittingly becomes entangled in Joel's web of lies and deceit, utterly unaware of the true extent of his cunning and manipulation. Will y/n break free from Joel's grasp before it's too late?

Notes: thinking of instead using the term y/n as it can get tedious to write but use Bambi instead as a nickname Joel uses.

Warnings: none yet more will be added in each chapter

Joel trudged wearily through the overgrown remnants of what was once a thriving city. The air hung heavy with the scent of decay, and the dilapidated buildings echoed his every footstep, reminding him of the world that had crumbled around him.

His senses were on high alert, scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. Survival had become his second nature in this unforgiving landscape.

One day, fate intervened as Joel was patrolling the area, and he saw a movement amidst the rubble of an abandoned storefront.

He slowly approached, weapon at the ready, prepared for any threat. But as he drew closer, he realized it wasn't a runner or clicker. It was a survivor, like himself, but far more vulnerable than he could have imagined.

She looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes, and her face was illuminated by a faint glimmer of hope that still flickered within her.

Despite the grim reality of their world, she radiated an aura of innocence and purity that Joel found both unsettling and strangely captivating.

As Joel observed her, a comparison sprang to mind, one that surprised even him. She reminded him of a character from a storybook, a creature from a world untouched by the darkness that now enveloped them—a fawn, fragile and trusting, with wide eyes that held a spark of curiosity and wonder.

Bambi, he thought to himself, though he doubted she would understand the reference in this harsh new reality.

"Are you bit?" Joel's gruff voice betrayed his concern as he approached cautiously.

"No, I swear," she replied, her voice trembling.

After a few seconds of debating, Joel sighed, "Are you alright?"

She nodded, offering him a tentative smile that tugged at something deep within Joel's hardened heart.

“I'm fine," she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just... scared."

Joel crouched beside her, his expression unreadable as he studied her carefully. He could see the fear in her eyes, and the uncertainty mirrored his inner turmoil.

Despite the danger that lurked around every corner, there was something about this girl that drew him in, a flicker of humanity amidst the chaos that consumed their world.

Without a word, Joel extended a hand to her, offering her comfort in a world devoid of kindness.

“Come on," he said gruffly, his tone softened by a hint of warmth that surprised even him. "You'll be safer with me."

And with that simple gesture, Joel's solitary journey took an unexpected turn, leading him down a path he never could have anticipated—a path that would intertwine his fate with hers in ways neither of them could have imagined.

As they set out together into the unknown, they would discover that sometimes, in the darkest of times, it was the tiniest glimmer of hope that could light the way forward.

Shades of deception tags

@orcasoul @paanchusblog

[hayatheauthor]

Ink And Venom: A Writer’s Guide To Poisonous Prose

Within the realm of storytelling, poison holds a certain allure—a dark, mysterious substance that can both captivate and terrify readers. In this guide, I will delve into the world of writing with poison, exploring its various facets, techniques, and implications. Whether you seek to add a touch of danger, heighten suspense, or create memorable villains, this guide will equip you with the knowledge you need to master the art of poisonous prose.

When to Use Poison in Your Story

When should you use poison in your story? Poison can be a powerful tool for creating suspense and intrigue. By introducing poison into your narrative, you can build tension and keep readers on the edge of their seats. Consider incorporating poison in the following situations:

A Murder Mystery: Poison adds an element of mystery, as the true cause of death may not be immediately apparent. It allows you to create a web of suspects, each with their own motives and opportunities.

Political Intrigue: Poison has a rich history in political assassinations and power struggles. It can heighten the stakes and create an atmosphere of paranoia and treachery.

Betrayal and Revenge: Poison can be a weapon of choice for characters seeking revenge or harboring deep-seated grudges. It symbolizes a hidden threat, striking when least expected.

Psychological Thrillers: Poison can serve as a metaphorical representation of internal conflicts or toxic relationships, adding psychological depth to your characters and their journeys.

By strategically incorporating poison into your story, you can create unforgettable moments that will keep your readers engaged and guessing.

Types of Poisons for Writers to Consider

As a writer, it's important to familiarize yourself with the various types of poisons available to your storytelling arsenal. Here are some common types of poisons to consider when crafting your narrative:

Plant-Based Poisons: Derived from various plants, these poisons can range from deadly nightshade (belladonna) to oleander. Research the properties and effects of different botanical poisons to create realistic and intriguing scenarios. In Agatha Christie's "Five Little Pigs," the deadly poison coniine from hemlock plays a crucial role in the murder mystery.

Toxic Metals: Poisons such as arsenic, mercury, and lead fall under this category. Their presence in the story can be subtle or overt, depending on the desired effect. These poisons often have accumulative effects, making them useful for long-term poisoning plots. In Alexandre Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo," the antagonist, Fernand Mondego, uses a slow-acting poison containing arsenic to bring about the demise of his enemies.

Chemical Compounds: This broad category encompasses a wide range of synthetic poisons, including cyanide, ricin, and strychnine. These substances can be potent, swift-acting, and offer opportunities for creative storytelling twists. In Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Adventure of the Devil's Foot," a poisoned powder containing the deadly plant toxin ricin plays a central role in Sherlock Holmes' investigation.

Venomous Creatures: Poisons derived from venomous creatures such as snakes, spiders, or exotic marine life introduce an element of danger and natural lethality into your narrative. Understanding the effects and characteristics of different venoms adds authenticity to your writing. In J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince," the venom of a basilisk becomes a crucial ingredient in creating antidotes and battling the Dark Arts.

Remember to research each poison thoroughly, ensuring accuracy in both their effects and potential antidotes, as this will lend credibility to your storytelling.

Common Side Effects and Symptoms of Poison

When writing about poison, it's important to understand the common side effects and symptoms associated with different toxins. This knowledge will help you craft realistic and believable scenarios. Here are some common side effects and symptoms of poisoning to consider:

Gastrointestinal Distress: Many poisons, especially those ingested orally, initially affect the digestive system. Symptoms may include nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, abdominal pain, and cramping.

Neurological Effects: Certain poisons can target the central nervous system, leading to a range of neurological symptoms. These may include dizziness, confusion, seizures, tremors, paralysis, or even loss of consciousness.

Cardiovascular Effects: Some poisons interfere with the heart and circulatory system, causing abnormal heart rhythms (arrhythmias), increased or decreased heart rate, high blood pressure, or a sudden drop in blood pressure.

Respiratory Distress: Certain poisons can affect breathing and lung function. Symptoms may include difficulty breathing, shortness of breath, coughing, or wheezing.

Organ Damage: Prolonged exposure to certain toxins can cause damage to specific organs such as the liver, kidneys, or lungs. This damage may manifest as organ failure, jaundice, or difficulty with normal bodily functions.

Skin and Eye Effects: Some poisons can have immediate effects on the skin or eyes upon contact. This may include irritation, redness, blistering, or even vision impairment.

Remember that the severity and timeline of symptoms can vary depending on the poison, dose, and individual characteristics. Conduct thorough research to ensure accuracy and realism in portraying the effects of poisoning in your writing.

Famous Poisons Through the Ages and How They Work

Throughout history, numerous poisons have gained infamy for their use in real-life incidents and their portrayal in literature. Understanding the famous poisons of the past can provide inspiration and context for your writing. Here are some notable examples:

Socrates' Hemlock: Hemlock, derived from the plant Conium maculatum, was famously used to execute the Greek philosopher Socrates. It acts as a neurotoxin, paralyzing the central nervous system and causing respiratory failure.

Arsenic: Arsenic, a toxic metalloid, has a dark history and was commonly used in poisoning cases. It was virtually tasteless and odourless, making it a popular choice for covert murders. Arsenic interferes with cellular respiration, leading to organ failure.

Curare: Curare is a plant-based poison used by indigenous peoples of South America for hunting. It works by blocking neuromuscular transmission, leading to muscle paralysis and respiratory arrest.

Cyanide: Cyanide compounds, such as potassium cyanide, are highly lethal and act rapidly. They disrupt cellular respiration by binding to enzymes crucial for energy production, causing cells to suffocate.

Ricin: Ricin is a potent toxin derived from castor beans. It inhibits protein synthesis within cells, leading to organ failure. It gained notoriety due to its use in real-life assassination attempts and its portrayal in literature.

Tetrodotoxin: Tetrodotoxin is a deadly poison found in certain marine creatures, such as pufferfish. It blocks sodium channels in nerve cells, leading to paralysis, respiratory failure, and potentially death.

By researching and understanding the mechanisms of these famous poisons, you can add authenticity and depth to your storytelling. Remember to weave their effects and characteristics into your narrative in a plausible and engaging manner.

How to Kill a Character with Poison

When it comes to killing a character with poison, careful planning and attention to detail are crucial. Here are some key considerations for crafting the perfect crime:

Motivation and Intent: Establish a compelling motive for the character administering the poison. This could be driven by revenge, jealousy, power, or other deep-seated emotions. The intent behind the act will shape the overall narrative and character development.

Research and Accuracy: Thoroughly research the chosen poison to understand its properties, effects, and dosages. Accuracy is essential for maintaining reader engagement and suspension of disbelief. Ensure that the chosen poison aligns with the character's access and knowledge.

Method of Administration: Determine how the poison will be administered. Common methods include lacing food or drink, injecting a solution, applying a poisonous substance to an object, or even using a poisoned weapon. Consider the character's opportunities, resources, and the desired level of subtlety or overt confrontation.

Timing and Dose: Consider the timing and dose of the poison. A well-timed dose can create suspense and unexpected twists. The dose should be lethal but plausible, taking into account factors such as body weight, individual tolerance, and potential mitigating factors (e.g., antidotes).

Covering Tracks: Craft a plan to cover the tracks of the poisoner. This may involve creating alibis, tampering with evidence, or diverting suspicion toward other characters. A well-executed cover-up adds layers of complexity and intrigue to the narrative.

Consequences and Repercussions: Explore the aftermath of the poisoning. How does the death impact other characters and the overall plot? Consider the emotional and psychological toll on those involved, as well as potential investigations or consequences faced by the poisoner.

Remember that portraying a realistic poisoning scenario requires a delicate balance between creativity and accuracy. Strive to captivate readers while maintaining plausibility within the world you have crafted.

Considering the Implications of Writing with Poison

While writing with poison can add intrigue and suspense to your story, it's essential to consider the ethical implications involved. Here are some key points to ponder:

Responsible Storytelling: As a writer, you have a responsibility to handle sensitive topics with care. Poisoning, especially when depicted in a realistic and detailed manner, can be distressing for some readers. Consider the potential impact on your audience and approach the subject matter responsibly.

Glorification vs. Realism: Strike a balance between creating an engaging narrative and avoiding the glorification of harmful acts. Portray the consequences and repercussions of poisonings to illustrate the gravity of such actions. Show the emotional toll on characters and explore the moral dilemmas they face.

Reader Sensibilities: Readers have varying thresholds for violence, graphic content, and triggering material. Be mindful of potential triggers related to poisoning, such as discussions of self-harm, suicide, or traumatic experiences. Offer appropriate content warnings or handle such themes with sensitivity.

Research and Accuracy: Thorough research is essential for accurate portrayal. Misinformation or sensationalized descriptions can perpetuate myths or misconceptions about poisons. Ensure that your writing is grounded in scientific understanding and consult reputable sources.

Character Empathy: Develop well-rounded characters with motivations that extend beyond their use of poison. By humanizing them and exploring their complexities, readers can empathize with their struggles, even if they engage in morally objectionable acts.

Raising Awareness and Education: Take the opportunity to raise awareness about the dangers of real-life poisonings. Provide information on prevention, identification, and response to actual poisoning incidents. Offer resources or references for readers seeking more information.

By navigating the ethical dimensions of writing with poison, you can create a compelling narrative while remaining sensitive to your readership and the broader impact of your work.

End Note 

From understanding when to use poison in your story to explore the various types of poisons and their effects, you now possess the knowledge to craft gripping tales of intrigue and suspense. 

(Note: This blog post is intended for informational purposes only and does not promote or condone harmful actions. Always prioritize the well-being and safety of others in your writing and real-life endeavours.)

I hope this blog on a writer’s guide to poisonous prose will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[knoepfl]

“Through the Looking Glass”

Characters:

Jervis Tetch (Mad Hatter) – A deranged and lonely man obsessed with Alice in Wonderland, using mind control to twist others into playing roles in his delusions.

Reader (You) – A new obsession for Jervis. He sees you as his perfect "Alice" and will do anything to keep you by his side.

Trigger Warnings:

Obsession and mental manipulation

Kidnapping and mind control themes

Unreliable perception of reality

Masterlist

Words: 1063

The narrow streets of Gotham were shrouded in a thick mist, moonlight filtering weakly through the haze. You knew it was dangerous to wander alone at night, but something had compelled you to move through the darkness, as if pulled by invisible strings.

And then, you’d found him—or maybe he’d found you.

You woke up in a room draped with tattered silk and moth-eaten velvet, the air heavy with the scent of stale tea and dusty books. A single flickering lamp cast uneven shadows across the mismatched furniture, giving everything a distorted, dreamlike quality.

“Ah, my dear!” a familiar, singsong voice echoed from the doorway. “You’ve finally arrived. The long wait is over—at last, Alice is home.”

You blinked groggily, disoriented, your head pounding as you tried to sit up. Across the room stood a slender man dressed in a patchwork suit, his wide-brimmed top hat tilted at a jaunty angle. His pale face stretched into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“W-Where am I?” you whispered, glancing around.

Jervis Tetch clasped his hands together, a delighted laugh bubbling from his lips. “Where you’re supposed to be, my dear—right here, with me! The Mad Hatter and his Alice, just as it’s meant to be. Isn’t it wonderful?”

You frowned, rubbing your temples, trying to piece together how you ended up here. You remembered… nothing. Just foggy images—his voice, warm and inviting, guiding you through the night. And now you were here, wherever here was.

“Let me go,” you said, heart racing. “I don’t belong here.”

Jervis’s smile faltered for only a second before snapping back into place, though the cheer in his eyes flickered with something far more dangerous. “No, no, no, my dear… you mustn’t say such silly things. Of course you belong here—you’re my Alice. And every Alice needs her Wonderland!”

He stepped closer, movements light and graceful, as though he were gliding through a dream. “The real world is so… dreadful, don’t you think? But here, oh… here, we can play and dance and drink tea forever.”

You tried to stand, but your legs wobbled beneath you. Jervis caught you before you could collapse, his hands strangely gentle. “Careful now,” he cooed, “you’ve had quite the journey. You must rest, my dear. There’s so much to do, so much to see—but first, you must adjust.”

His words sent a chill down your spine. “What did you do to me?”

Jervis tilted his head, as if pondering the question. “I only gave you what you needed. A way out, a way here. You see, the world is cruel, my sweet Alice. It breaks hearts, crushes dreams…” His voice dropped into a hushed whisper. “But not in Wonderland. Not here with me.”

You pulled back from him, your pulse thundering in your ears. “I’m not Alice. I don’t even know who you are!”

The corner of his mouth twitched, his expression twisting into something equal parts disappointment and frustration. “Ah, my dear… You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? But that’s quite all right. Memory can be such a troublesome thing. In time, it will come back.”

He crouched before you, tilting his head like a curious child. “You see, everyone needs a story, my dear. A role to play. And yours… oh, yours is the most important of all. You are Alice, and I—” He gave a grand, sweeping bow. “—am your humble Mad Hatter.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, every instinct screaming at you to run, but your limbs refused to obey. A strange, hazy warmth clouded your mind, as though a part of you were slipping deeper into his web with every passing second.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered, his voice soft and hypnotic. “The more you resist, the more it hurts. Just let go… and fall through the looking glass.”

Jervis took your hand gently, guiding you toward a small, cluttered table set with chipped porcelain cups and mismatched saucers. The teapot in the center let off a trail of steam, filling the room with the scent of chamomile and madness.

“Sit, sit!” he urged, practically vibrating with excitement. “We must have tea—oh, yes! A very merry un-birthday to you!”

You sank into the chair without meaning to, as though your body responded to his commands without your permission.

He poured tea with a flourish, eyes gleaming with manic joy. “Ah, isn’t this perfect? Just as it should be. No more lonely nights. No more searching. We’re together now, and we’ll never be apart.”

You stared into the swirling tea, mind racing as you tried to break free of the strange fog dulling your thoughts. “Please… let me go.”

Jervis paused, teapot still in hand, his expression darkening like a sudden storm. “Let you go?” His voice was soft, almost hurt. Then, slowly, it twisted into a low, bitter laugh. “Oh, Alice… You still don’t understand, do you? You’re already gone.”

He reached out, tracing a finger along the rim of your cup. “There is no escape from Wonderland, my dear. No way out, no way back. This is where you belong. With me.”

His hand drifted to your cheek, caressing it with unsettling tenderness. “We’ll be so happy here. I’ll keep you safe, my sweet Alice. No one will ever hurt you again.”

Tears stung your eyes as you fought against the haze, struggling to remember who you were before this nightmare began. But the memories were slippery, fading like smoke through your fingers.

Jervis’s gaze softened, and for a brief, haunting moment, you saw something vulnerable in his eyes—something desperate and broken, clinging to the only fantasy that gave his fractured mind meaning.

“Don’t cry, my dear,” he whispered, leaning closer. “You’re home now. And I’ll take care of you… always.”

His voice was a lullaby, drawing you deeper into the dream. The room seemed to spin, the edges of reality unraveling like threads pulled from a tapestry.

“You’ll see,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “In time, you’ll forget all about that dreadful world. And then, my dear Alice…” His lips curled into a soft, dreamy smile. “We’ll be together, forever and ever.”

And as the world faded around you, slipping into a haze of tea parties and riddles, you realized—maybe you were already too far gone to wake up.

Because in his Wonderland, the Mad Hatter always got his Alice...

[zapreportsblog]

In Love With The Same Cat

➥ summary : There’s no Spider-Man without the Black Cat just like there’s no Black Cat without Spider-Man. But what if we had a multiverse dimensional traveling jewelry stealing burglar Black Cat (try saying that seven times fast aye) that traveled across dimensions not only stealing the worlds finest jewels but also the hearts of four unlucky, or lucky depending on how you see it Spider-Man’s and Spider-Women’s hearts.

➥ chapter 1: The Daughter of Shadows

In the bustling city of Brightville, a young girl named (y/n) grew up in the enigmatic embrace of her father, Walter Hardy, a renowned and elusive cat burglar. From a tender age, (y/n) was immersed in a world of shadows and secrets, a life that few could comprehend. Under her father's watchful eye, she learned not only the art of thievery but also the invaluable lessons of confidence and seizing life's opportunities.

Walter Hardy was a figure shrouded in mystery, his exploits whispered in hushed tones among the criminal underworld. But to (y/n), he was simply her loving father—a man whose presence both comforted and challenged her. Despite the unconventional nature of their lives, Walter was determined to raise (y/n) to be a strong and confident individual, encouraging her to embrace the world with fearless determination.

From an early age, (y/n) became Walter's protégé, accompanying him on various heists and observing his every move with wide-eyed curiosity. The dark alleys and high-rise rooftops became her playground, where she learned the art of agility and the thrill of outsmarting the odds. Walter, recognizing her natural talent and thirst for knowledge, nurtured her abilities, teaching her the intricacies of the trade while instilling in her a strong moral compass.

One sunny afternoon, as (y/n) carefully observed her father's nimble maneuvers, he paused and turned to her with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "My dear (y/n)," he said, his voice laced with warmth and conviction, "life is a grand heist waiting to be seized. Do not fear the unknown, but rather embrace it with confidence. Only then can you truly discover the treasures hidden within."

With those words etched into her young heart, (y/n) embarked on a journey of self-discovery and resilience. She learned to navigate the intricate webs of deception and subterfuge, honing her skills in the art of illusion and misdirection. But more importantly, she learned to believe in herself—to trust her instincts and to never back down from a challenge.

Walter encouraged (y/n) to explore beyond the confines of their nocturnal escapades, exposing her to a multitude of experiences that would shape her worldview. They attended art exhibitions, where they marveled at the strokes of a master's brush, and visited bustling markets, where (y/n) haggled with vendors and embraced the vibrant tapestry of cultures. Through these experiences, Walter instilled in her the importance of a well-rounded education, cultivating her intellect and expanding her horizons.

But it was not just the thrill of adventure that defined their relationship. In the quiet moments, when the city slept and the moon bathed the world in its ethereal glow, (y/n) and Walter would sit beneath the starry sky, sharing stories of their past and dreaming of the future. It was in these stolen moments that (y/n) discovered the depth of her father's love—a love that transcended their clandestine activities and embraced the essence of family.

As the years passed, (y/n) grew into a confident young woman, her spirit untamed and her resolve unyielding. She possessed an uncanny ability to blend seamlessly into any situation, her nimble fingers and quick wit serving her well in the world her father had introduced her to. But it was her unwavering confidence that set her apart—a quality that Walter had nurtured from her earliest days.

With each heist they embarked upon, (y/n) faced challenges head-on, her unwavering confidence shining through the darkness that surrounded them. She reveled in the adrenaline rush, the thrill of outsmarting her adversaries, and the satisfaction of retrieving the treasured artifacts they sought. Through it all, she carried with her the lessons her father had imparted—the importance of self-belief and the courage to seize every opportunity that presented itself.

As (y/n) stood on the precipice of her own journey, she carried the legacy of her father's teachings within her heart. The world awaited her, full of untold adventures and uncharted territories. With Walter's lessons guiding her, she knew that she had the tools to carve her own path, to embrace the shadows and emerge victorious.

In the heart of Brightville, (y/n) stood as a testament to her father's unwavering belief in her potential. She was more than the daughter of a cat burglar; she was a force to be reckoned with—a beacon of confidence and resilience in a world that often sought to overshadow her. And as she prepared to step into the spotlight, she did so with the knowledge that she was the culmination of her father's love and guidance—a testament to the indomitable spirit that Walter Hardy had instilled within her.

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

Opal Plumstead by Jacqueline Wilson

Opal Plumstead might be plain, but she has always been fiercely intelligent. Yet her scholarship and dreams of university are snatched away when her father is sent to prison, and fourteen-year-old Opal must start work at the Fairy Glen sweet factory to support her family. She struggles to get along with her other workers, who think she’s snobby and stuck up. But Opal idolises Mrs Roberts, the factory’s beautiful, dignified owner. The best thing about Mrs Roberts? She’s a suffragette! Opal’s world is opened to Mrs Pankhurst, and the fight to give women the right to vote. And when Opal meets Morgan, Mrs Roberts’ handsome son, and heir to Fairy Glen- she believes she’s found her soulmate. But the First World War is about to begin, and will change Opal's life for ever.

The Lost Conspiracy by Frances Hardinge

On an island of sandy beaches, dense jungles, and slumbering volcanoes, colonists seek to apply archaic laws to a new land, bounty hunters stalk the living for the ashes of their funerary pyres, and a smiling tribe is despised by all as traitorous murderers. It is here, in the midst of ancient tensions and new calamity, that two sisters are caught in a deadly web of deceits.

Arilou is proclaimed a beautiful prophetess one of the island's precious oracles: a Lost. Hathin, her junior, is her nearly invisible attendant. But neither Arilou nor Hathin is exactly what she seems, and they live a lie that is carefully constructed and jealously guarded.

When the sisters are unknowingly drawn into a sinister, island-wide conspiracy, quiet, unobtrusive Hathin must journey beyond all she has ever known of her world and of herself in a desperate attempt to save them both. As the stakes mount and falsehoods unravel, she discovers that the only thing more dangerous than the secret she hides is the truth she must uncover.

The Ballad of Lucy Whipple by Karen Cushman

California doesn't suit Lucy Whipple—not the name, not the place. But moving out West to Lucky Diggins, California, was her mama's dream-come-true. And now her brother, Butte, and sisters, Prairie and Sierra, seem to be Westerners at heart, too. For Lucy, Lucky Diggins is hardly a town at all—just a bunch of ramshackle tents and tobacco-spitting miners. Even the gold her mama claimed was just lying around in the fields isn't panning out. Worst of all, there's no lending library! Dag diggety! So Lucy vows to be plain miserable until she can hightail it back East where she belongs. But Lucy California Morning Whipple may be in for a surprise--because home is a lot closer than she thinks...

Mister Max by Cynthia Voigt

Max Starling's theatrical father likes to say that at twelve a boy is independent. He also likes to boast (about his acting skills, his wife's acting skills, a fortune only his family knows is metaphorical), but more than anything he likes to have adventures. Max Starling's equally theatrical mother is not a boaster but she enjoys a good adventure as much as her husband. When these two disappear, what can sort-of-theatrical Max and his not-at-all theatrical grandmother do? They have to wait to find out something, anything, and to worry, and, in Max's case, to figure out how to earn a living at the same time as he maintains his independence.

MacDonald Hall by Gordon Korman

Bruno and Boots are always in trouble. So the Headmaster, aka "The Fish" decides it would be best to separate them. Bruno must now room with ghoulish Elmer Dimsdale, plus his plants, goldfish, and ants. And Boots is stuck with nerdy, preppy, paranoid George Wexford-Smyth III.

Of course, this means war. Because Bruno and Boots are determined to get their old room back, no matter what it takes.

And the skunk is only the beginning....

The Candy Shop War by Brandon Mull

What if there were a place where you could get magical candy? Moon rocks that made you feel weightless. Jawbreakers that made you unbreakable. Or candy that gave animals temporary human intelligence and communication skills. (Imagine what your pet would say!) Four young friends, Nate, Summer, Trevor, and Pigeon, are befriended by Belinda White, the owner of a new candy shop on Main Street. However, the gray-haired, grandmotherly Mrs. White is not an ordinary candy maker. Her confections have magical side effects. Purposefully, she invites the kids on a special mission to retrieve a hidden talisman under Mt. Diablo Elementary School. However, Mrs. White is not the only magician in town in search of the ancient artifact rumored to be a fountain of youth. She is aware that Mr. Stott, the not-so-ordinary ice cream truck driver, has a few tricks of his own.

Beacon Street Girls by Annie Bryant

Charlotte Ramsey is the new girl again. After causing the biggest cafeteria blunder in history, Charlotte's assigned lunch partners-the very stylish Katani, irrepressible Avery, and super-friendly Maeve-can't wait to dump her. Can it get any worse? Absolutely! Nobody is talking, and Katani wants out of the group. What a mess! Can the girls become true friends or will they remain worst enemies forever?

Rose by Holly Webb

The grand residence of the famous alchemist, Mr Fountain, is a world away from the dark orphanage Rose has left behind. For the house is positively overflowing with sparkling magic—she can feel it. And it’s not long before Rose realises that maybe, just maybe, she has a little bit of magic in her, too. . . .

A Traveler in Time by Alison Uttley

This unusual novel is set in rural Derbyshire in the old manor house, Thackers, where the Babington family and their servant, Cicely Taberner, lived when Elizabeth I was Queen of England. The descendants of the Taberners have farmed the land through the centuries, and to the Taberners of the present day comes Penelope, their great-niece, a sensitive, imaginative girl, who is aware of other layers of time. With her awakened vision she sees people of the past move in their daily tasks among those of the present, and behind the contented life of the household of Cicely and Barnabas Taberner she finds the old tragedy of Anthony Babington and his plot to save Mary, Queen of Scots, being re-enacted. The farm kitchen where Penelope sits with her great-aunt and great-uncle is the home of those others who once lived there. Their desires and fears, their courage and strength enter the girl's mind; their voices float up from the garden and she is caught up into their life. Time is annihilated, and she lives in the closing years of the sixteenth century remembering little of her modern life, until she returns from her traveling in time bearing the anxieties and dreams of the other world. The life of two widely separated times in history - the Elizabethan and the present - goes on simultaneously, each invisible to the other. And only Penelope can pierce the veil, sharing the tumultuous experiences of the Babington family three hundred years ago.

The Deptford Mice by Robin Jarvis

 In the sewers of Deptford, there lurks a dark presence that fills the tunnels with fear. The rats worship it in the blackness and name it "Jupiter, Lord of All." Into this twilight realm wanders a small and frightened mouse-the unwitting trigger of a chain of events that hurtles the Deptford mice into a world of heroic adventure and terror.

[kirby0strombolli]

Ghostface | Matt Sturniolo Part 8

'What's the matter Sidney? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

ghostface!matt x reader

Chapter 8 - The Night of terror.

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8

warnings: swearing, chasing, fighting...

a/n: PENULTIMATE CHAPTER!!!!

The night of terror.

It was some sort of repeating dream that had occurred every night.

A lucid dream.

But this was no false dream- no.

It was as if I wasn't in control of my own body, every step feeling like I'd disobeyed myself. Every breath that I took wasn't my doing.

Every time I had tried to convince myself that it wasn't real, there'd be a niggling sense of doubt, hiding, in the corners of my mind.

~

The setting was always the same; a mirror maze, eerie and disorienting. The walls were lined with countless mirrors, each one reflecting an endless corridor of twisted images.

Dim, flickering lights cast long, distorted shadows, and the air was cold, carrying a faint, metallic tang.

Everywhere I looked, there was a mirror.

My reflection stared back at me from every angle, eyes wide with the same fear I felt in my heart.

Then, without warning, a sharp crack appeared in one of the mirrors, spider-webbing across the surface and shattering the eerie silence.

The sound reverberated through the maze, jolting me from the dark depths of my 'dream,' bringing me back to the very real sense of pain throbbing in my chest.

To my horror, when I look down, there is a knife piercing the flesh of my chest. I cry out in pain as I attempt to grasp the hilt, trying desperately to stem the flow, but my body resists as my eyes lock on the intricate designs of the hilt of the knife.

A haunting vision of swirling spectral figures glares up at me, complete with the crest of the menacing Ghostface symbol. With a deep breath and a surge of determination, I pull the knife from my chest.

As soon as the blade was free, the world around me shifted violently.

Back to the mirror maze.

Back to the nightmare.

I was no longer in control, swept away by an unseen force.

Was this even real? Was it yet another nightmare, or the grim truth of real life?

I had been transported back to the heart of the mirror maze, the familiar terror gripping me once more.

The mirrors were intact again, the labyrinth stretching endlessly before me.

The whispers returned, louder and more insidious, echoing in my mind. I realized that the knife had not only wounded my flesh but had also bound me deeper into the nightmare.

I knew I had to find a way out, but every step felt like a journey deeper into the abyss. I stumbled through the maze, unsure of what set apart reality and nightmare.

Each step echoed with the doubt that I might never wake up, that I might be trapped in this hellish labyrinth forever.

Suddenly, I heard a muffled cry. My heart raced as I turned a corner and saw y/n.

Terror gripped me as I saw the spectral figure of Ghostface looming behind her, a hand pressed against her mouth to stifle her scream.

"Don't scream," he whispered, his voice chilling and hollow, echoing throughout the mirror maze. The sight of y/n's wide, terrified eyes galvanized me into action.

I had to save her, but how? My mind raced, searching for a solution in the chaos.

Then, a memory surfaced—a fleeting, half-remembered thought about how to kill a doppelganger.

The key was the mirrors. I needed to use the mirrors against him. Why hadn't I remembered?

With renewed determination, I lunged at Ghostface, forcing him away from y/n.

We struggled, our movements chaotic and violent, smashing into the mirrored walls. Each impact sent ripples through the reflections, distorting the images further.

In a desperate bid, I managed to shove Ghostface directly into one of the mirrors. The glass shattered on impact, and for a moment, he seemed to disintegrate, his form breaking apart into thousands of tiny fragments.

But he wasn't gone yet. The pieces of his reflection began to reassemble, pulling back together.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed a shard of broken mirror and held it up. As Ghostface reformed, I drove the shard into his chest.

The mirrors around us began to crack and shatter, the labyrinth itself breaking apart under the force of his demise.

His scream echoed through the maze, a sound of pure, otherworldly agony, as I am wrenched from the lifelike dream, my own scream fading in my throat, eyes flying open.

'Shit, I'm alive?' I rasp out, sitting up in the familiar kitchen of y/n's apartment, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

Next to me, I hear Y/n cough out what sounds like a laugh before turning to me and saying, "Probably…" before slumping down to the ground, her chest heaving as she overcomes a fit of giggles.

To my surprise, I find myself joining in, rolling over to her and enveloping her in a tight embrace, feeling her stomach heave with laughter as mine does, too.

As the laughter subsides, the halloween decorations catch my eye, strewn around the place.

"Fuck, still Halloween, huh?" Y/n smirks, glancing over to see what I'm looking at and catching sight of the Halloween decorations that still adorn the kitchen.

'Impossible.' I furrow my brows, the expression suddenly serious.

'What the shit actually just happened?', y/n asks, her voice full of panic now. I shake my head before getting to my feet, and helping her do the same.

Pulling her close, I hold her tightly as if the embrace alone could anchor us to this fleeting, perfect moment.

Our laughter slowly fades into a tender silence, and we bask in the warmth of each other's presence.

But then, the doorbell rings, its shrill chime slicing through the calm and jolting us back to reality.

The doorbell rings.

A chill runs through me as I recall the faint, ominous words: "Don't Leave The House, Don't Answer The Phone, Don't scream..."

The memory lingers, a whisper of dread that underscores the urgency of the moment.

"But most importantly," I remember with a shiver, "don't answer the door."

I dismiss my fears with a scoff as I glance again at y/n. Her face was a deathly white, eyes wide with a mix of anxiety and dread. Ignoring my surroundings, I stride toward the door, my hand lingering on the doorknob.

This was it.

It was going to be the police. We were going to be safe. I wasnt going to keep having these nightmares.

~

I am shocked when I open the door to see myself standing there, a twisted grin on my face. "Trick or treat, bitch," the doppelgänger sneers, holding a bloodied candy bag.

a/n: FINALE NEXT!!!

taglist: @lexisecretaccx @itssophiasstuff @junnniiieee07

[eldar-of-zemlya]

A few days ago, I realized that I’ve spent my last three birthdays in three different countries—each one a temporary home, but never quite the real home. And since today is my birthday, it feels like the right moment to share my story—a story about growing up queer in Russia, navigating an absurd system, escaping it, and constantly being on the run. It’s a long journey, but one that I hope will offer some insight as I reflect on where life has taken me so far.

Illustrated by yours truly.

I was born in Russia, in a small countryside town that sits right on the border between Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus. Like many families in this region, mine is a chaotic blend of Slavic identities, plus a bit of Tatar heritage on my father’s side.

We come from a long line of Orthodox priests who were repressed and executed by the KGB during Stalin’s regime. The only branch of our family that survived had to be constantly on the run, changing towns and professions to avoid persecution as the children of “enemies of the nation.” I guess that’s the family curse I’ve never been able to escape—always searching for a homeland and always running away from it.

My father was an artist and my mother a university professor. My father was so absent from my life that when my parents separated when I was five, it took me two weeks to notice he was gone. My first question wasn’t even about him—it was about our dog. “Mom, where is Julie?… And where is Dad?” After that, my mother had to return to work to provide for me, so I spent most of my early years at my grandmother’s house, left to my own devices.

In pre-school, I was obsessed with Michael Jackson, rewinding the same VHS of his music videos until it barely played anymore. In primary school, I had a bunch of Tokio Hotel’s songs burned onto a floppy disk by my mother’s colleague, who had access to the new wonder of the time—the World Wide Web. I’d wait eagerly for their music video to play on some random music channel, glued to the screen in our cramped, Soviet-era Khrushchyovka apartment. That’s when I stumbled upon something that started a chain reaction that, in hindsight, brought me to where I am now.

The lower third of the screen briefly flashed a title: “LM.C — Ghost†Heart (Japan).” At first, there was nothing particularly strange about the music video, except maybe that it was from Japan. But when the two “girls” began singing with a voice that was unmistakably male, I realized they weren’t girls at all. There was something captivating about how they embodied both masculinity and femininity so beautifully at the same time. I didn’t even know the word “androgynous” back then, but I instinctively recognized that the same thing that had drawn me to my previous interests was now pulling me toward them.

As soon as we finally got our first slow dial-up connection, I searched for LM.C. That’s when an entirely new world opened up to me—J-rock, Visual Kei, a genre of Japanese music that focused on extravagant stage costumes where musicians often wore dresses and makeup. I was immediately hooked.

And I wasn’t alone. There was a small but growing community of J-rock fans across Russia, even a few in my small town. Some were teens, others pre-teens like me, and even a few adults. We would gather on Lenin Square—the heart of our little town—dreaming and talking about Japan, anime, and J-rock. My mom often came with me to our local meet-ups—not just to show support, but for safety. We were what others called “non-formals”—subculture kids. Our high platform boots, chains, band shirts, and unconventional looks made us stand out in our post-Soviet town, often attracting unwanted attention. People would make snide comments, and the police would sometimes chase us off. Once, one of the guys in our group got ambushed by gopniks, and they ripped chunks of his long hair out of his scalp. Being different was dangerous in the Russian countryside.

I was always open about the bands I listened to, which earned me the label “the weird kid who listens to Japanese transvestites and watches cartoons for kids.” (Honestly, I was ahead of my time. Nowadays, kids get bullied if they don’t watch anime.) Through all of this, my mom was incredibly supportive. I would sew Visual Kei-inspired outfits from fabric scraps and even dyed my hair red once. That might seem normal now, but back then it made me the laughingstock of the whole school. Even the teachers thought I was strange and probably wished they could get me in trouble. But there was nothing they could do aside from making the occasional snarky comment about my looks. Our country didn’t enforce a school dress code, and I was at the top of my class, so they had no grounds to discipline me.

Naturally, discovering anime led me to yaoi and slash fanfiction. At the time, our country was still relatively free, and LGBT stories weren’t illegal yet—considered strange, disgusting, and perverted by some, but not illegal. Somehow, I could relate to the characters, even though I was a straight teenage girl, which was incredibly confusing. I wanted to be a man, have a male body, and yet I was also attracted to men. My confusion with gender and sexuality was overwhelming, and I was stuck in a linguistic bubble, trying to make sense of myself with whatever scraps of information I could find in Russian. I read about “tomboy,” “butch,” “femboy,” and even “fag hag,” but none of it quite fit. Then, one night, I stumbled across the Wikipedia entry for “trans man.” I’d heard of trans women from scandalous Russian talk shows and the occasional foreign film, but trans men? At that time, the Russian Wikipedia article on “trans man” was just a single, pathetic paragraph. I could hardly believe it was a real thing, but deep down, I knew this was the answer I’d been searching for.

People often ask trans individuals, “When did you realize?” But for me, there was no single moment. It was a process of piecing together feelings I’d never had the words for—kind of like that scene in The Man From Earth when John Oldman, a man who’s lived for 45,000 years, is asked by a therapist, “When did you realize you were a caveman?” and he responds, “When I heard the word ‘caveman.’”

As always, I turned to movies to understand myself better. I found a clunky Russian website called KinoPoisk (Film Search), typed “LGBT” into the search bar, and watched every movie that came up. That’s how I discovered Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Breakfast on Pluto, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, and many more. Seeing LGBT characters on screen—characters who felt what I felt—was everything to a lost, confused teenager in the Russian countryside.

Over time, my obsession shifted to TV series fandoms like Doctor Who, Torchwood, and Star Trek. And when Sherlock BBC came out, my mom joined me, and we both dove headfirst into fandom life. She also started reading fanfiction, and before long, she was writing it herself. After all, who better to write fanfiction than a middle-aged Russian literature professor who knew everything about storytelling?

Gradually, my fixation shifted from Japan to Great Britain, and my mom was right there with me. Despite not knowing a word of English, we watched everything we could find featuring our favorite British actors. It became our shared dream to visit England someday, but we didn’t have the money. My mom’s salary was $250 a month, and she was supporting me and our elderly grandmother, who had a pension of $80. But that didn’t stop us. I remember surviving on instant noodles and cheap yogurt for an entire year just to save up enough to travel to the West and see it for the first time.

In 2012, we finally made it happen. We signed up for a cheap bus tour that went through Europe—Poland, the Czech Republic, Germany, Belgium, France, and the UK. It was life-changing. We saw a completely different world, cozy old towns that Russian cities had lost in WWII bombings, and we saw freedom. The first time we flew to London on our own, we bought tickets to a theater play featuring Mark Gatiss. Who would’ve guessed that on that very day, David Tennant, Steven Moffat, and his wife, Sue Vertue, would also be there! I awkwardly approached David Tennant and, in broken English, told him, “You are my lovely Doctor” (I meant to say “favorite” but didn’t know the word back then).

We ended up returning to London every year, going to theater plays with Benedict Cumberbatch, Tom Hiddleston, Andrew Scott, Rupert Grint, and others. We stayed in cheap hostels and survived on McDonald’s, but we were living the dream.

As time went on, LGBT rights in Russia only got worse. Books, movies, and TV shows that even mentioned LGBT topics started getting blocked under the guise of protecting children from “LGBT propaganda.” But what these government suits failed to understand was that if I hadn’t discovered all those things as a confused teenager, I might have ended my life. When the repression began affecting fanfiction writers, we had to be cautious. One girl in our town was sentenced under the new law simply for having a photo of two guys kissing in her VK (Russian Facebook) photo album. My mom was a university professor and the sole provider for me, an underage kid. If it was discovered that she wrote slash, she could’ve lost her job, gone to prison, and I could’ve been taken away. It was terrifying. I watched our vibrant community being slowly choked out, and I knew it was now or never. I had to transition while it was still legally possible, and I could only do that if I moved to Moscow, where the only trans center in the country was located.

After graduating, I deliberately skipped one of the mandatory exams, which made it essentially impossible for me to get into any university in Russia. My mom, always understanding, accepted my decision, but the rest of the family was devastated. I was one of the best students in class, scoring 100/100 on my Russian and English final exams—something that seemed like science fiction (well, I learned my English from science fiction, so…). And here I was, with these grades, choosing not to apply to any university but instead to work in a shop.

Transitioning was expensive—around $1,500 for all the tests and evaluations—but I knew that if I stayed in the countryside, I’d be tempted to give up, settle down, and try to “fix” myself. As Dr. Frank-N-Furter taught me, “Don’t dream it, be it.”

As soon as I turned 18, I moved from the countryside to Moscow. To receive the official F64.0 diagnosis—“transsexualism”—I had to endure a grueling year-long process of psychiatric evaluations and tests, just so I could change my documents and flee the country. By then, I was already passing as a guy, which made job hunting infinitely more difficult. I tried toy stores, cosmetic stores, hotel cleaning… but no one wanted to risk being prosecuted for “LGBT propaganda” by hiring someone as gender-ambiguous as me. After endless rejections, I finally found a place that didn’t care whether you were gay, straight, or trans. That’s how I ended up working at a sex shop.

I could write a whole TV show based on that year of my life—armed robberies, kidnapping attempts, constant workplace drama, and a psychotic manager who was stealing from our salaries. None of us were even officially registered as employees. I’d work 24-hour shifts back-to-back, sometimes spending more than 48 hours at the shop, sleeping on the floor during the three-hour break we got at night. There were zero regulations, but despite everything, I made good money, and most importantly, I finally felt like I belonged.

Our team was a ragtag group of rebels—kids fresh out of high school or from poverty, who had come from all over Russia to the Capital, searching for a better life. What united us was a shared desire for freedom in a country that was becoming more and more totalitarian.

While working, I was constantly attending the “Center of Personalized Psychiatry,” where I felt like a guinea pig for doctors who knew nothing about gender identity issues. It seemed they had simply found a vacant spot to make money off devastated and depressed trans people. At the time, there wasn’t even an official document format that could be submitted to the government to allow a legal sex change. So, I had to jump through every hoop they put in front of me—filling out ridiculous questionnaires that asked whether I preferred pink or blue as a kid or if I played with dolls or cars. They explicitly told me to answer “how I thought they wanted me to answer” if I wanted to get approved for hormone therapy. So, for them, I liked blue, played with cars, and watched football and boxing.

When I finally got approved for hormone therapy, I ran into another obstacle: the financial burden of getting a prescription from the center for every testosterone shot. The prescription itself cost almost as much as the medication. Desperate, I turned to sketchy websites from “pharmacies” that constantly changed their URLs. That’s how I started getting testosterone through drop-offs, which we called “bookmarks.” I’d pay for someone to leave it under a bench or behind a tree. It was risky but much cheaper.

After enduring the year of evaluations, I finally received the long-awaited free-form paper from the center stating my diagnosis and the basis for changing my documents. But just as I was preparing to submit it, the government decided to overhaul the process. They introduced an official format for the document—good in theory but disastrous for my timing. Worse still, they added a new requirement: you had to have had top surgery before you could legally change your gender.

I was devastated. Top surgery had always been a dream of mine, but I was sure it would take years to save enough money—it cost $1,200. That’s when my mom stepped in and offered to cover it with her savings. I cried so much. I wanted the surgery, but I knew we didn’t have the money to spare.

At that time, my mom said something that has stuck with me ever since: “We never have money, but at least we have the life we want.”

So, I did it. But my happiness was overshadowed by guilt. I felt guilty for spending so much money, for leaving my job, and for being incapacitated during my recovery—unable to even help my mother around the house. By then, my mother had already started working at a university in Moscow, and after being able to provide for myself at 18, I suddenly felt like a burden. My mother, however, never saw me that way; she was incredibly happy for me. We agreed not to tell the rest of the family about my transition just yet.

Returning to my hometown in the countryside to change my documents was an experience in itself. I fully expected to be treated with hostility, but to my surprise, the civil workers made no comments. I later learned that I was the second person to transition in my town—the first female-to-male—but they acted professionally. The only comment came when I visited the citizen registry center, where old women, who had probably worked there since Soviet times, were running the show. My mother went with me for support. When I silently handed the new-format document to the elderly woman at the desk, she studied it carefully, then looked up at my mother and, smiling, said, “You have a boy now? Congratulations!”

This all happened during the summer. I was jobless, with new documents, and the next step in my plan was to flee to the West. Around that time, a friend sent me a random ad for a filmmaking program at Tallinn University in Estonia. I had never even heard of this tiny Baltic country before, but it was part of the EU, and the tuition was surprisingly affordable. I never pictured myself making films, but I knew I wanted to do something creative, so I applied the day before the deadline, not expecting much. To my shock, I soon received an invitation letter.

But there was still one more step—changing my foreign passport. In Russia, we have a national passport (in Cyrillic) and an international passport (in English), which allows travel abroad. To change the international passport, I needed a paper from the military conscription office, stating that I, as a newly-registered male, didn’t have to serve in the army and was free to leave for studies. Of course, I didn’t have such a paper, since I had never been registered for conscription in the first place.

This led me to our local conscription office. As soon as I explained the situation to the lady at the desk, she told me to stay quiet and led me to her boss. The military commander, sitting in his shabby countryside office under a portrait of Putin hung on a wall with peeling paint, was utterly confused.

“But I can’t issue him this paper because he was never registered as a conscript, which should’ve happened when he turned 15!”

“But he was a she when he was 15, sir…” his young secretary chimed in, causing the commander to spit in frustration and slam his fist on the table.

They were in a real bind. If I had transitioned from male to female, it would’ve been easy—they’d just throw my case out of the archive. But there were no regulations for how to handle female-to-male trans people.

“Okay, I think I have an idea of what we can do. When can you come back to my office?” asked the commander.

“Um, maybe tomorrow…” I hesitated.

“No ‘maybe’!” the commander shot me a stern look. “You’re a man now, so be specific.”

Suddenly feeling like James Bond, the commander deemed my case his secret mission. The next day, I returned to his office and was briefed on his plan: he was going to falsify my conscription record, making it look as if I had been a biological male my entire life, complete with medical exams and military training. He assigned one of his lackeys to follow me through the necessary medical evaluations, ensuring no one asked me to undress. The doctors, who were in on the plan, discreetly noted what they were supposed to.

Eventually, I was invited back to the commander’s office for the final round of evaluations. With the blinds pulled down and the door locked, I stood in the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of white-coated doctors—urologists, proctologists, allergists, you name it.

“Take off all your clothes,” the commander ordered.

“Well, I’ve seen a film or two that started like this…” I thought to myself.

“Now, spin around—slowly,” he continued.

And there I was, with my ass naked, turning in a circle like some Frankenstein’s monster as the doctors scribbled notes in their notebooks.

“Did everybody see everything?” the commander asked, and the doctors nodded quickly. “Okay, dismissed.”

In the end, I was issued a military ticket marking me as category “B”—not suitable for mandatory military service (probably due to having a cunt, according to their reports), but eligible for drafting in case of war or a military operation.

With that, I received my new international passport and was off to Estonia.

I was incredibly happy. Every day, I would go to the old town square just to sit there, gazing at the medieval towers and thinking, “I made it… I finally made it!” It was everything I had dreamed of and more. No one cared how anyone looked, LGBT people had no restrictions, and I saw same-sex couples walking hand in hand on the streets. This was the “Western dream” I had been chasing my whole life. Yet, something seemed off…

Over time, I started to notice a certain level of hostility from the locals when they found out I was Russian. That surprised me, especially given that Estonia had been part of the Soviet Union and still had a population that was about 30% Russian. Slowly, I came to realize the harsh reality—in the history books I studied at school, there was only one mention of Estonia: “1940—Estonia, Lithuania, and Latvia join the USSR.” One sentence in a history book, which meant nothing to me at the time, encapsulated this entire country’s national tragedy. They tolerated the remaining Russian population, but the deep-seated resentment was clear. However, they failed to understand one important thing—most of those Russians were also victims of the regime, just like the Estonians, Latvians, Lithuanians, Tatars, and countless others.

I vividly remember a moment when I was having a meeting with my new coworkers. After learning I was from Russia, one Estonian girl said, “My grandfather was repressed by Russians during Soviet times.”

“Mine too,” I replied, dumbfounded. She seemed confused. As I later found out, while our governments had their own agendas, their government had theirs. She was never taught that millions of ethnic Russians were also arrested alongside millions of national minorities.

This was something I had never anticipated. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t discriminated against because of my LGBT status, but because of my nationality.

I learned to live with it. I tried to adapt, not speaking Russian in public. Fortunately, my studies were in English, and my course was international, filled with people from all over the world—the U.S., Egypt, Germany, Nigeria, Latvia, Turkey… Honestly, the three years I spent studying film there were the best years of my life. Our professors were amazing, outgoing, incredibly creative, and they became our friends.

Yet, no one in my course, not even my closest friends, with whom I spent every day, knew that I was trans or the real reason I left Russia. They simply thought I was a biological male. After what I had been through in my own country, I still hesitated to share this part of myself, unsure of how they would react. It took a toll on my mental health, constantly coming up with stories to fill gaps in my history. Eventually, it became too much, and three years into our studies, I told everything to my four closest friends. They were surprised, to say the least, but endlessly supportive. I can’t even begin to describe how much I love them for that.

For my graduation film, I made a documentary—something I never imagined I would be interested in. Initially, I had ambitions to become a fiction director, but once I discovered that documentaries weren’t all just talking heads and British-accented voiceovers, I became captivated by them.

My graduation documentary was about my family—specifically, about my grandmother. My family, aside from my mother, still didn’t know I had transitioned. It had been four years at that point. I had a beard, a deep voice, and yet they still didn’t know. Every time I called them, I would try to make my voice sound more feminine (the story was that I got sick, lost my voice, and it permanently damaged my vocal cords). I love my family, and it’s precisely because I love them that I do this. I don’t want them to be ashamed or ostracized from their community. They live simple, rural lives. When my grandmother was born, Stalin was still alive. She had survived famine, unemployment, and disease, so she would never be able to understand this whole “transgender thing.”

The documentary did really good, with this idea, I got to attend pitching with BBC, Al Jazeera, CBC, Vice and many more industry giants. There were so many promises from big film festivals, so many opportunities. By the time I had graduated and was working a well-paid job, I was hoping to settle down in Estonia after four years of living there. Despite the country’s mixed reception towards me, I loved the place. It finally felt like home. A small, cozy home where I knew everything and everyone, with both personal and professional connections. I was learning Estonian, aiming to get citizenship, and dreaming of the future—the entire European Union would be open to me.

And then, on the 24th of February 2022, the war started. I can’t begin to describe what I felt—fear, grief, confusion. It’s too dark of a topic to delve into.

While I was scared and cried every day for my friends in Ukraine and my family on the Russian border, the war began to affect me directly, as a Russian living in the West. Deals I had with film festivals fell through because they didn’t want to seem like "Russia sympathizers" by screening a documentary directed by a Russian. The fact that my film was about the struggles of LGBT people in Russia, and clearly anti-regime, didn’t matter.

One of my friends was spat on while on the tram for speaking Russian to her mother on the phone. Another was refused entry to a thrift store because she was Russian. A close friend of mine, a well-known Russian-Estonian actor, was assaulted in a café while speaking Russian with his girlfriend. A man approached him, demanding that he kneel and beg for forgiveness for “starting the war in Ukraine.” When my friend, in perfect Estonian (he came from a mixed family with an Estonian father and Russian mother), reminded him of the Estonian constitution and its protection of freedoms, the man scoffed and said, “All Russians should have been deported from the very beginning.”

And it seemed like the government shared his beliefs. First, my residence permit was terminated due to my Russian citizenship. When I applied for a worker visa instead, I was handed a notice saying, “You are denied an Estonian visa for the reason of posing a danger to international relations, inner security, and the health of the Estonian population.” It felt like they thought I was carrying some sort of “Putin virus.” And this happened right after my documentary had been featured in the national competition at a local film festival, where I was representing Estonia...

It was the 27th of December 2022. I was given three days to leave the country—to sort out everything from the past four years, my entire life there.

It was then that I fully realized how fragile safety and belonging can be when they rest on the whims of politics and nationality. The dream I had spent years building crumbled in days. I was lost. I had no idea what to do. I couldn’t return to Russia—especially not after making such a personal documentary. The new laws there equated "LGBT movement" with extremist organizations. It wasn’t even safe for me to visit a doctor as a trans person. If they supported the regime, they could easily report me to the police, and I’d be arrested simply for having the body I have. Worse, I could be sent to the war—ironically, I was still marked as a biological male in Russian military records.

With no options left, I packed a tiny suitcase with essential items, left the rest of my belongings with friends, and bought a one-way ticket to Serbia—one of the few countries that still had visa-free entry for Russians. After the war began and the regime tightened its grip, Serbia had become a haven for hundreds of thousands of young Russians fleeing.

I met the new year of 2023 alone, in a strange country, watching fireworks from the balcony of a tractor driver named Stefan, who had rented me his Airbnb in the Belgrade suburbs.

Serbia turned out to be a completely different world compared to my experience in Estonia. I was still hesitant to reveal that I was Russian, but to my surprise, when I did, people mostly hugged me and invited me for a glass of rakija. Serbia has a long history with Russia—we were “brother nations,” and the Russian Empire had helped Serbia a lot in the past. That sentiment carried into how the locals saw Russians. Now, with so many of us in trouble and seeking refuge, they welcomed us with open arms.

The country itself wasn’t prosperous; it reminded me of the Russia of my childhood—shabby, torn apart, politically charged. I loved the people, and they seemed to love me back, but I knew I couldn’t stay. There were still many conservatives, and when I asked a bartender at a local underground gay bar about the situation for LGBT people, he laughed and said in broken English, “Like Russia, but small better.”

My plan was to apply for a German freelancer visa—I was making some money from video editing and color grading on the side, and I had a solid portfolio. I knew political asylum wasn’t an option. When the war began, I had tried to apply for asylum in Estonia, only to be told, “Have you been stabbed for being trans in Russia? No? Then call us back when you are.”

In Serbia, Russians were allowed a 30-day visa-free entry, so I joined what fellow expats called a “visa-run.” Every 30 days, someone would drive a packed minivan to the Bosnian border. We’d cross, stay in Bosnia for 15 minutes, smoke, and listen to stories of fellow Russians who had escaped. Then we’d return to Serbia, and our stay would reset. The local police knew about it and didn’t care—nothing illegal about it. I remember one time when we arrived during the border patrol’s lunch break. A young lady leaned out of the control booth, sandwich in hand, and asked, “Visa run?” When we nodded, she smiled and said she’d finish her tea before stamping our passports.

I lived like this for a year and a half in Serbia. It was nearly impossible to find a job without knowing Serbian, so I picked up small freelance editing gigs. Meanwhile, I was on a long waiting list for a German visa. Serbia had become a temporary stop for many Russians, especially LGBT people, trying to find a way into the EU.

However, after what I experienced in Estonia, my rose-colored glasses were off. I no longer viewed the West as a utopia. Every country has its problems, and there’s no true freedom anywhere in the world. Sadly, I had to learn this the hard way.

Throughout that year in Serbia, not much happened. I was extremely depressed and isolated, unsure of where my life was headed. So, I turned to what comforted me most—movies. I fell back into Star Trek. There’s something about its retro-futurism that helped me cope—I could lose myself either in the future or the past and forget about the present. I also started drawing again. I used to draw when I was a teenager and active in fandoms, but it had never really worked out for me. I still remember the first time I posted my art online—the first comment I got was a bunch of crying-laughing emojis.

Drawing helped me escape. Even while I was posting K/S smut, there were times when I had no money for food and was late on rent, all while my hometown was being bombed almost daily by Ukrainian forces. Immersing myself in the fandom helped me cope with the harshness of reality.

I had almost resigned myself to the idea that I would never be able to enter the West again. But then, one fateful day, I received the email I’d been waiting for—I was asked to pick up my visa. I cried and laughed; I couldn’t believe it.

The move to Germany was difficult. It’s a huge bureaucratic country, but I made it. My story isn’t finished yet—I’m still waiting for my residence permit, and God, I hope I get it. I know a bit of German, and I feel safe here, so I hope to settle down for good. For now, I work on my small business and draw K/S fan art on the side, finding solace in the creative space I’ve carved for myself. I’ve spent years running, surviving, and rebuilding. Where fate will take me next—I can’t be sure. But I know that whatever comes, I’ll face it as I always have—one step ahead, always moving forward.

[open-hearth-rpg]

Campaign Playbooks: Great RPG Mechanics #RPGMechanics: Week Six

I’m getting ready tonight to do the first session of Girl By Moonlight. It’s a Forged in the Dark game with a wide premise– ranging from Magical Girl to Paprika to Evangelion-inspired stories. We’re doing On a Sea of Stars, the one most influenced by mecha, teens, and tragedy. Girl By Moonlight is one of two recent systems which take Forged in the Dark’s Crew mechanics and change them into a tool to redefine the game collaboratively. 

The other one, and the one I’ve already run, is Vergence. This is a FitD game heavily influenced by the Chronicles of Amber. It mixes things up in some interesting ways. For example, it has a trio of factions rather than the binary two courts of Zelanzy’s original novels. That smart move offers players a more complex web of interactions. In particular I dig that each faction has its own set of playbooks highlighting their themes. 

Vergence also takes a nod from the earlier Amber RPG (which I’ve also run). In that game you had two modes of play: a standard campaign and a Throne War. The latter had its own set of special rules, aimed at playing out a tighter series or even a one-shot with different play goals. Vergence also allows for several different modes of play, each with a strong sense of structure and purpose: 

The Dark Conspiracy: An unknown enemy has chosen to act directly and violently against the PCs and all they hold dear.

The Expedition: The PCs are part of a journey of exploration to a forbidden world.

The Game of Houses: The PCs undertake a series of missions to support a chosen Vergence faction.

The Masked Ball: The PCs will attend a Royal Masked Ball and try to accomplish various goals without ruining their reputations.

The Pursuit: The PCs are chasing a vile enemy through the Umbra. What happens if they catch up?

The Siege: The PCs are trapped in a city under siege. They must fight, escape, or go over to the other side.

The different campaign frames have distinct usual lengths. For example if you want a one-shot, you would do The Pursuit. For a longer campaign (4-10) sessions, you might pick Masked Ball, Expedition, or Seige. If you’re looking for an ongoing, episodic campaign you would pick Game of Houses. 

Each of these campaigns, called Challenges,  has its own playbook, the equivalent of the crew book from Blades. Each challenge offers guidance for setting up relationships, possible starting upgrades, and choices of special abilities. They also have a set of unique milestones and other details. There’s some overlap between the Challenges but they feel nicely distinct. It does a great job of setting expectations right away. In our play-through we dug the mechanic, but wanted a little more. 

Girl By Moonlight provides that more– with the different campaign structures at the heart of play. Each of the four series presented has a distinct “series playbook” set up quite differently from one another. For example On a Sea of Stars has both the Flagship the characters are travelling on and the mecha, Engines, they are using as a the campaigns framework. I especially like how asymmetrical these playbooks are. They feel like pieces from distinct and different games. They’re a great tool to shape play.

It would be interesting to see more games offer these kinds of tools– in combination with a CATS document. For example, I love the campaign frames from Thirsty Sword Lesbians, probably more than I dig TSL itself. It would be really interesting to have some richer worksheets and choices which could be made to add to the collaboration and mechanically vary play. There’s a little bit of that in the recent Codex of Worlds for Monster of the Week.

[untoldreader]

Shadows of Betrayal

Melinda May x Reader

Chapter 2

The chill in the air sends a shiver down my spine as I walk alone through the dimly lit streets. Anxiety tightens its grip on my heart, a premonition of the darkness that looms ahead. Little do I know that fate has chosen this night to forever alter the course of my life.

A sudden noise startles me, and before I can react, a cloth is pressed against my mouth. The world swirls into a haze of confusion as darkness claims my consciousness.

When I awaken, disoriented and groggy, the surroundings are unfamiliar. Cold metal presses against my back, and the acrid smell of dampness fills the air. Panic surges through my veins like a wild river, realizing that I have become a prisoner in a place unknown.

A voice cuts through the silence, its tone laced with malice. "Welcome to your new reality, my dear. You are now a guest of Hydra."

Hydra—an organization synonymous with malevolence and destruction. Images of their sinister deeds flash through my mind, tales of manipulation and control that have plagued the world. How did I become entangled in their web?

Days turn into weeks as I find myself subjected to grueling training sessions designed to break my spirit and mold me into a weapon of their choosing. They strip away my identity, reducing me to a mere pawn in their twisted game. The cruelty of my captors knows no bounds, their methods calculated to inflict both physical and psychological pain.

But amidst the darkness, a glimmer of resistance flickers within me. The memory of who I once was, the strength and resilience that defined me, refuses to be extinguished. I vow to fight, to reclaim my freedom, even if it means playing the part of a compliant captive.

As time stretches on, I become adept at concealing my true intentions, disguising my growing resolve beneath a facade of compliance. I observe my captors, studying their weaknesses, searching for an opportunity to strike back. The knowledge that I am not alone in this struggle fuels my determination. There are others, like me, trapped within Hydra's clutches. Together, we form a fragile alliance, sharing whispered stories of hope and survival in the dead of night.

In the shadows, we plan our escape, meticulously laying the groundwork for our liberation. We know the risks, the dangers that lie ahead, but the thirst for freedom outweighs the fear that threatens to consume us.

And so, as the night of our daring escape finally arrives, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead. It's a moment of reckoning, where the strength of my spirit will be tested against the might of Hydra.

As we slip through the labyrinthine corridors, avoiding the watchful eyes of our captors, each step carries the weight of our collective determination. The taste of freedom is within reach, and we refuse to let it slip away.

But Hydra's grip is tenacious, their reach extending far and wide. The path to our liberation is fraught with peril and sacrifice. We navigate treacherous obstacles, engage in fierce battles, and endure unimaginable hardships. Our bodies ache, and our spirits waver, but the flame of hope burns bright within us, guiding us through the darkest of nights.

And so, with hearts aflame and a burning desire for justice, we press forward, fueling our resolve with the memories of all we have lost. For we are no longer mere captives; we have become warriors, united in our quest to dismantle the very organization that sought to break us.

The journey ahead is arduous, and the shadows of betrayal linger. But together, we stand, ready to defy the forces that sought to extinguish our light. United by our shared purpose, we march forward, prepared to face whatever challenges may come our way, determined to reclaim the lives that were stolen from us.

≈========================≈

May's Masterlist Next >

[suzannahnatters]

I Re-Read Tolkien's "Lay of Leithian" For the First Time in Like 15 Years And It's Still My Favourite Poem In the Whole Wide World: Selected Ravings

CANTO I mostly scene setting, but it's so fun to get more worldbuilding details on Doriath. Also this poetry is just gorgeous

CANTO II thou shalt to the moonless mists of hell descend and seek thy Eilinel AUGH

A bunch of details are different in this early version (Gorlim seeking out the Enemy, and being taken to Morgoth not Sauron) but the one that gets me most is Gorlim sneaking away from the phantom without making himself known because he doesn't want her to be hurt T_T

LOTR Orcs are cockneys. Lay of Leithian Orcs have clearly been to university

CANTO III OH HERE'S WHY LUTHIEN HAS SLEEP MAGIC!!!!! Because her mother Melian was associated with Lorien in Valinor, the Vala of dreams and visions, who in Line 439 of the Lay Tolkien calls "the Lord of Sleep"

Okay this is amazing: There after but an hour, him seems, he finds her where she lies and dreams, pale Melian with her dark hair upon a bed of leaves. Beware! There slumber and a sleep is twined! He touched her tresses and his mind was drowned in the forgetful deep, and dark the years rolled o'er his sleep MESS WITH THE ENCHANTRESS AT YOUR PERIL

And now his heart was healed and slain With a new life and with new pain

They enchant each other T_T when he calls "Tinuviel!" there's magic in it

CANTO IV the deathless in his dying shared feels faintly redolent of the Gospel

CANTO V TEXTILE MAGIC Rapunzel joins the list of stories Tolkien looked at, sniffed, and said "I can do better"

CANTO VI We find out why Sauron (here, Thu) is called The Necromancer:

In glamoury that necromancer held his hosts of phantoms and of wandering ghosts, of misbegotten or spell-wronged monsters that about him thronged, working his bidding dark and vile: the werewolves of the Wizard's Isle.

CANTO VII I love SO MUCH the fact that in this version what gives them away to Sauron is the fact that they won't blaspheme the gods and declare Morgoth the king of all earthly kings

CANTO VIII I think it's super important to note that this begins with an absolutely gorgeous passage describing the Bestest Boi, and also there's this beautiful beautiful little Sir Orfeo reference that lives in my head rent free:

Hark! afar in Nargothrond, far over Sirion and beyond, there are dim cries and horns blowing, and barking hounds through the trees going.

Lúthien's meeting with Huan:

Huan alone that she ever met she never in enchantment set nor bound with spells. RIP to you Beren

CANTO IX this whole canto is unbeLIEVably epic, possibly my favourite in the whole Lay, but my favourite part is Sauron hearing the song from the bridge and saying

A! little Lúthien! What brought the foolish fly to web unsought? ee hee hee hee

CANTO X Tolkien just really wants you to know that these guys are Beyond It:

Thereafter never hound was whelped would follow horn of Celegorm or Curufin.

It's interesting that Tolkien at this stage had Beren telling Lúthien to stay in Doriath waiting for his return specifically because Sauron had informed him that Morgoth was keen to capture her. It's like he realised that with all of Lúthien's evident capabilities he needed to give Beren a convincing reason to leave her behind lol

CANTO XI Lúthien catching Beren in the middle of his dramatic farewell will never not crack me up but in this version she tells him off for not putting his trust in her might so weak and then when he asks where's the hound he left to guard her she tells him how much wiser and kinder Huan is than him at which point Beren demands to know why she doesn't just marry the dog

The description of them putting on the werewolf and vampire disguises, and their journey to the gates of Thangorodrim, is fanTAStically creepy and epic and also, I'm surprised to note, HIGHLY reminiscent of the hobbits' trek into Mordor.

CANTO XII this bit about how Carcharoth has not yet come

disastrous, ravening, from the gates of Angband

has STRONG Voluspa echoes -

Loud bays Garm before Gaping-Hel; the bond shall be broken, the Wolf run free

CANTO XIII I love these descriptions of Angband (even Morgoth has tree themed decor) and I love EVEN MORE the fact that when Lúthien flies into the hall a Dark Lord, all his Balrogs and a ton of werewolves suddenly feel the Valar walking over their graves -

A nameless doubt, a shapeless fear had entered in their caverns drear, and grew, and towered above them cowed, hearing in heart the trumpets loud of gods forgotten.

She stood revealed in hell. (chewing glass)

CANTO XIV (fragment) I am going to haunt Tolkien in the afterlife for leaving it off here.