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whoretan · 1 month ago

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ARK 45 | 03

Summary: One misstep spirals into chaos. An "audition," a quiet dinner—and suddenly, you’re in the lion's den, with secrets unraveling faster than you can catch your breath.

WC: 11.4k

Play me while you read.

Pairing: Club Owner/Mafia!Jungkook, Hitman!Reader (ft. Jimin)

tags: um, this is long af, shit is getting INTEEEENSE, everyone is up to no good, does this bitch have a degradation kink?

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 (ur here)

Your heels click against the marble floor, each step echoing like a gunshot in your skull. The security guard barely glances up as you flash your ID, probably because you look like death warmed over.

You'd spent an hour in the shower trying to scrub away the feeling of Jimin's hands, his mouth against your skin. The memory burns through your mind like acid, making your stomach clench.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding that feels too cheerful for your current state of mind. You step inside, jabbing the button for the executive floor harder than what was necessary. Your reflection stares back at you from the mirrored walls, and you note with grim satisfaction that at least the bruises on your cheeks have faded to a dull pink. The ones on your shoulders, hidden beneath your crisp white blouse, are a different story.

The massive oak doors leading to Jimin's office loom at the end of the hallway like sentries. You force yourself to look away, focusing instead on the mundane task of settling into your desk and powering up your computer.

Your phone vibrates in your purse, making you jump. Unknown number. Odd. You consider letting it go to voicemail, but something makes you answer.

"Hello?"

"Joanna Webb?" A smooth female voice asks. Your stomach drops at the fake name. No fucking way. "This is Jessica from ARK 45. Mr. Jeon would like you to come in for a second interview tonight at 11."

Your throat goes dry. Jimin's office doors seem to mock you from down the hall, holding secrets you'd rather forget.

"Miss Webb?" The woman prompts. "Are you there?"

"Yes," you hear yourself say. "I'll be there."

You end the call, fingers trembling slightly as you lower the phone. The familiar ding of your email draws your attention to the screen.

Dear Park Incorporate, This is the Goutman Courier Services, regarding Shipment 401928 to the Terrero region has been successfully delivered.

The blood in your veins turns to ice. Jungkook's shipments. The very thing that started this whole mess.

You stand from your desk, legs unsteady. The walk to Jimin's office feels like a death march. Each step brings you closer to facing him, to pretending last night never happened while discussing business that could— probably will— get you both killed.

Your knuckles rap against the solid wood before you can lose your nerve.

"Come in."

Jimin's voice carries through the door, professional and detached. As if he hadn't left bruises on your skin just hours ago. As if you weren't still feeling the ghost of his touch with every breath.

You turn the handle, stepping into the lion's den.

The first thing you notice is the sound– rain beating against the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the back wall of his office. The second is the scent of his cologne, stronger now, mixing with the rich leather of his chair and something else. Coffee, maybe. Black, no sugar, like always.

Jimin doesn't look up from the stack of papers on his desk. His shoulders are rigid beneath his tailored suit jacket, an unusual tension in his normally fluid posture. A strand of black hair falls across his forehead as he signs something with careful precision.

"You received an email," you say, voice steady despite the way your pulse quickens when his pen stills. "Goutman Courier Services. The shipment to Terrero was delivered."

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Still, he doesn't look up. "Close the door."

You turn, giving him your back as you push the heavy door shut. The soft click of the latch feels too loud in the quiet office. When you face him again, his eyes are fixed on the papers before him, but his pen hasn't moved.

"Anything else?" he asks, tone professionally distant. As if he hadn't left marks all over your body mere hours ago. As if you couldn't still feel the ghost of his fingers wrapped around your throat.

Thunder rolls outside, making the windows tremble. You take a measured step forward, heels sinking into the plush carpet. "ARK 45 called. They want me to come in tonight."

Now he looks up. His dark eyes find yours, and for a moment, that careful mask of indifference slips. Something hungry flashes across his features before he can catch it, gone so quickly you might have imagined it.

"Interesting." He leans back in his chair, finally abandoning the pretense of working. His fingers drum once against the leather armrest – the only tell that he's affected at all. "What time?"

"Eleven."

His gaze drifts to your neck, lingering just behind your ear. A slight furrow appears between his brows. "You missed one."

Heat crawls up your spine as his meaning registers. The hickey. You resist the urge to touch the spot, to cover it like a guilty teenager. Instead, you maintain eye contact, watching as his pupils dilate slightly.

"I'll take care of it," you say, voice low. Professional. Even as your skin burns under his scrutiny.

He nods once, sharp and dismissive. "That's all."

You turn to leave, focusing on keeping your steps measured, unhurried. The weight of his stare follows you across the room like a physical touch. Just as your fingers brush the door handle, his voice stops you.

"And ___?"

You pause, not turning around. "Yes?"

A beat of silence, filled only by the steady drumming of rain. Then, so quiet you almost miss it: "Be careful."

The words settle between your shoulder blades like a blade.

The handle feels like ice beneath your palm as you pull the door shut behind you. Your heels click against the marble with each step back to your desk, mind racing behind your carefully blank expression.

Be careful.

The words replay in your mind as you sink into your chair. Coming from Jimin, they may as well be a death sentence. He doesn't tell you to be careful– not when you're tracking targets, not when you're disposing of bodies, not even when you're playing with fire in the form of Richard Ricci's empire.

Why would Jungkook want you back?

The question pulses through your mind as you stare unseeing at your computer screen. He'd made it crystal clear what he thought of you. Called you a whore before walking away like you were nothing more than a mild inconvenience in his night.

But he'd known who you were.

He'd known, and he'd still let you grind against him, his hands guiding your hips like he owned them. Like he wasn't fully aware that those same hips had been positioned over his father's body weeks before.

Rain continues to pour outside your window, the sky growing darker as evening approaches. You spend the rest of the day moving through the motions of being a secretary, all while your mind dissects every possible angle. Every potential trap. Every way this could end with you in a body bag.

Your reflection catches in one of ARK 45's tinted windows as you approach. The black dress hugs every curve, falling just below your knees, the off-shoulder neckline exposing enough skin to be enticing without looking desperate.

You'd curled your hair, letting it fall in waves behind your shoulders, and painted your lips the exact shade of red that coats the bottoms of your Louboutins.

The neon sign bleeds red through the rain, and the bouncer simply nods, same from before, pulls the door open without a word. No clipboard. No questions.

They're expecting you.

The main floor of ARK 45 pulses with a different energy tonight. Gone are the typical strobe lights and pounding bass, replaced by something deeper, darker. The air is thick with expensive cologne, cigar smoke, and worn leather- the scent of old money and even older sins.

Red velvet drapes frame the main stage, and crystal chandeliers cast shadows that dance across the walls like wandering spirits. The usual poles have vanished, leaving an expanded platform dotted with vintage microphones and elaborate props.

Men in tailored suits crowd the tables, drinking amber liquid from crystal glasses while their eyes follow the girls who weave between tables in elaborate costumes - corsets dripping with jewels, feathers that trail behind them like oil spills.

"This way," the hostess says, leading you toward one of the elevated booths that line the upper level.

A voice like honey and smoke fills the space, drawing your attention to the stage. A woman in a black corset trails her fingers down the microphone stand, her red lips forming words that make the men below her lean forward in their seats. The backing track builds slowly, promising something sinful.

"You must be the new girl."

You turn to find a woman leaning against the railing beside you. Her costume- if you can call it that - consists mainly of strategically placed crystals and black lace. A snake tattoo winds up her thigh, disappearing beneath the lace.

"I'm Angelina," she says, eyes scanning you with the kind of attention usually reserved for identifying weaknesses. Her gaze lingers on your shoes, your dress, calculating something behind her practiced smile. "Haven't seen you around before."

You take her offered hand. "Joanna."

"Hmm." She tilts her head, studying you like a cat who's found something interesting to play with. "Private booth on your first night? That's... unusual."

The word carries weight, a warning wrapped in curiosity. On stage, the singer's voice builds to a crescendo, and Angelina's smile sharpens.

"Enjoy the show, honey. And remember,” she leans in close enough that her breath tickles your ear, "not everyone survives their first night here."

You watch Angelina sashay away, cataloging every detail with the same precision you use before a kill. The slight favor of her left leg when she walks- old injury, probably a torn ACL. The way her eyes dart periodically to the VIP section as if she's waiting for someone's attention. The calculated swing of her hips doesn't match the nervousness in her fingers as they tap against her thigh.

She's scared of something. Or someone.

The realization brings a familiar thrill to your spine, the same one you'd felt watching John squirm in his chair. People are always so easy to read when they're afraid. Like now, watching the way Angelina keeps glancing over her shoulder, the slight tremor in her practiced smile.

You could break her in half without smudging your lipstick.

The thought brings a smile to your face as the hostess gestures to the booth. You slide into the plush leather seat, letting the elevation give you a better vantage point of the club. The strategic positioning isn't lost on you- perfect view of the stage, but your back exposed to the door.

The opening notes of "Fever" fill the air as the curtains part. Three dancers emerge, their movements liquid and practiced. You force yourself to appear engaged even as your mind dissects every possible exit route. Two through the main floor, one through the kitchen if you cut through the service corridor, and, if things get really ugly, the large windows could work with enough momentum.

The leather seat dips beside you.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show."

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. You don't need to turn to know who's joined you, his presence alone sets every instinct on high alert. But you do turn because that's what an innocent wannabe dancer would do.

Jungkook lounges against the leather like he was born to it, one arm draped across the back of the seat. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kill. His dark eyes find yours, and his lips curve into that same arrogant smile that had haunted you all day.

"I always keep my appointments, Mr. Jeon."

The lights from the stage catch on his Patek Philippe watch, the kind that costs more than most people make in a year. His black suit is perfectly tailored, each line custom cut to his frame, making him look like sin personified. The fabric shifts like liquid shadow as he moves, revealing the crisp white shirt beneath. His hair is slicked back tonight, showcasing the sharp angle of his jaw, the dangerous curve of his lips.

A heavy silver ring adorns his right hand as he signals for service, the same hand that had gripped your hips days ago. You notice there's an engraving on it, but can't make out the details in the dim lighting.

"Champagne," he tells the server without taking his eyes off you. "The Armand de Brignac."

His voice carries that same arrogant lilt from before, but there's something else there now. Something predatory lurking beneath the polished surface. You've heard that tone before, in your own voice, right before you go for the kill.

"Expensive taste," you comment, watching his reaction. Testing.

His lips quirk upward, and he shifts slightly closer. The movement is subtle, calculated. Like a snake coiling before it strikes. "I only invest in things that interest me."

On stage, the dancers move through their routine, all glitter and grace. But you're hyperaware of every micro-expression that crosses Jungkook's face. The slight tightening around his eyes when he smiles. The controlled way he breathes. The steady rhythm of his thumb taps against his knee.

He's studying you just as intently.

"Tell me about your dance experience," he says, accepting two crystal flutes from the returning server. The champagne glows golden in the low light as he hands you a glass. "You seem... experienced in movement."

Your fingers brush his as you take the glass, and you swear you feel him tense for a fraction of a second. "I'm versatile," you reply, matching his tone. "I adapt to whatever the situation requires."

Something dark flashes behind his eyes. He takes a slow sip of champagne, and you watch his throat work as he swallows. When he lowers the glass, his tongue darts out to catch a stray drop on his bottom lip.

"Adaptability is crucial in this line of work." His gaze drops to your neck, lingering on the spot where you'd covered the hickey. "Things can get... intense here. Not everyone can handle the pressure."

The implications hover in the air between you, sharp as razor wire. Below, the music swells to a crescendo, but all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears as he leans closer.

"Are you sure you can handle it, Joanna?"

The way he says your fake name makes your skin crawl. Like he's savoring some private joke.

You meet his gaze over the rim of your glass, letting the champagne sit untouched. "I've handled more intense situations than you could imagine, Mr. Jeon."

The corner of his mouth twitches. He shifts again, angling his body toward yours, and the expensive fabric of his suit brushes against your bare shoulder. The contact sends electricity racing down your spine.

"Have you?" His eyes are impossibly dark in the low light. "Tell me about them."

On stage, one of the dancers lets out a sultry laugh that echoes through the club. Jungkook doesn't even blink. His attention is laser-focused on you, waiting for your next move like this is all some elaborate game of chess.

"My last position was..." you pause, watching his ring catch the light as his fingers tighten infinitesimally around his glass, "particularly demanding. The kind of job that keeps you up at night."

His smile grows wider, showing teeth. "I can imagine. But that's what I appreciate in my employees— dedication. The willingness to do whatever it takes."

The music shifts to something slower, heavier with bass. Jungkook's knee brushes yours under the table, and this time it doesn't feel accidental.

"Even if it means getting your hands dirty?" you ask, the words escaping before you can stop them.

Something flashes in his eyes, triumph, maybe. Or hunger. He leans in close enough that you can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Especially then," he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. "Though I have to admit, you don't strike me as someone afraid of a little mess."

Your heart pounds against your ribs as he reaches across you, arm brushing your collarbone as he sets his empty glass on the table. The movement brings his lips close to your ear.

"Tell me, Joanna," your false name drips from his tongue like honey-coated poison, "what exactly are you willing to do for this position?"

The question hangs between you like a blade. You turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze at close range. This close, you can see flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the faint scar above his eyebrow. Can count his individual lashes.

"Whatever's necessary," you breathe, watching his pupils dilate. "I'm very... thorough in my work."

His exhale ghosts across your lips. "Are you?" One hand slides from the back of the booth to rest on your bare shoulder, fingers tracing patterns that feel like threats. "Even when it gets messy?"

The touch burns through your skin, but you hold still. Like facing down a predator. "The messier the better, Mr. Jeon."

His grip tightens fractionally on your shoulder. "Call me Jungkook."

On stage, the music builds to something primal, all bass and breathy moans. The dancer's silhouette writhes against the backdrop of red velvet. But in your booth, time seems to stop, crystallizing around the dangerous game you're playing.

"You know," his thumb brushes your collarbone, "I had someone look into your background."

Your pulse skips, but you don't flinch. Can't flinch. "Find anything interesting?"

His laugh is low, dark. The kind of sound that promises violence. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing before six months ago." His fingers trail up to the spot behind your ear where Jimin's mark had been. "It's like you appeared out of thin air."

"Maybe I did."

"Or maybe," he leans impossibly closer, lips brushing your ear, "you're very good at covering your tracks."

Heat pools in your stomach, warring with the ice in your veins. Every instinct screams to put distance between you, to run. But you're trapped between his body and the leather seat, his cologne filling your lungs with each breath.

"Tell me, Jungkook," you turn your head, letting your lips brush his jaw as you speak, "do you always investigate your dancers so thoroughly?"

His other hand finds your knee beneath the table, fingers splaying across bare skin. "Only the interesting ones." His grip tightens, thumb stroking slow circles that make your breath catch. "Only the ones with secrets."

You feel his smile against your temple. "And you, Joanna? You seem like you're full of them."

His thumb continues its torturous path along your knee, each circle drawing slightly higher. The touch burns through your skin like a brand, setting every nerve ending alight. You can't remember the last time someone made you feel this unraveled, this desperate to maintain control while your body betrays every attempt at composure.

"So many secrets," he murmurs against your skin, and you can feel his smile widening. His cologne fills your lungs with each shortened breath, making your head spin. Or maybe that's from the heat of his palm sliding higher up your thigh, fingers splaying possessively across bare skin.

The rational part of your brain screams that this is dangerous, that you're losing control of the situation. But your treacherous body leans into his heat like a moth to flame. Your eyes flutter shut as his other hand traces patterns on your shoulder that feel like ownership, like promises of violence wrapped in silk.

His breath fans across your neck, lips barely grazing your pulse point. "I wonder what other surprises you're hiding."

A small sound escapes your throat- half gasp, half surrender. Your fingers grip the leather seat beneath you, nails digging in deep enough to leave crescents in the expensive material. The music from the stage feels distant, muffled under the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Then. A shift.

The pressure of his fingers lessens incrementally. His breath moves away from your neck, the loss of heat making you suppress a shiver. When you force your eyes open, he's leaning back slightly, watching you with dark satisfaction.

"Tell me something," he says, voice dropping lower as his hand stills on your thigh. "Do you always get this... affected during job interviews?"

The question cuts through the haze like ice water. You watch as he withdraws completely, each movement deliberate and controlled. He straightens his perfect suit jacket, adjusts the heavy silver ring on his finger. All trace of intimacy bleeds from his expression, replaced by cool professionalism, except his eyes. His eyes still burn with dark amusement at your flushed state, at the way your chest still rises and falls too quickly.

"Well," he says, tone shifting to something lighter, almost casual. But there's a edge underneath, sharp as a razor. "I think you'll make an excellent addition to ARK 45."

You force your breathing to steady, trying to ignore how your skin still tingles where he touched you. How your body aches at the sudden loss of contact. His calculated withdrawal feels like another form of torture, knowing he can affect you this way and simply choose to stop, like flipping a switch.

"The position is yours, if you want it." Each word is crisp, businesslike. But the slight quirk of his lips betrays his satisfaction at your struggle to compose yourself. "You'll start tomorrow night. Eight sharp."

The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth grows wider as he watches you process this shift. This is what he wanted: to prove he could unmake you with a touch, then sit there looking perfectly composed while you try to piece yourself back together.

His eyes gleam in the low light, and the message is clear: he owns this game.

"I should check on the other girls." He glances at his Patek Philippe, the gesture unnecessarily theatrical. "Busy night."

You watch him stand, every movement fluid and precise. Like a predator who's finished playing with his food for now. The leather of his shoes catches the stage lights as he steps back from the booth, giving him just enough space to button his suit jacket with practiced ease.

"Oh, and Joanna?" The fake name rolls off his tongue like a threat wrapped in velvet. "Wear red tomorrow. It suits you."

His eyes drift pointedly to your lips, then lower, and the weight of his gaze feels like a physical touch. You know he's remembering the other night - you in that red dress, grinding against him to The Weeknd while he played along with your charade.

He turns without waiting for a response, without a second glance. Like you're already forgotten. The dismissal stings more than it should.

The leather seat still holds his warmth, a ghost of his presence that makes your skin prickle. Through the crowd below, you catch glimpses of him, the broad line of his shoulders, the predatory grace in his movements. Bodies part for him instinctively, and you notice how the other dancers' eyes follow his movement, some with hunger, others with barely concealed fear. Even Angelina straightens her spine when he passes.

He stops at the bar, and even from here, you can see how the bartender's hands shake slightly as she pours his drink. Everyone in his orbit seems to vibrate at a different frequency. Like planets circling a black hole, both drawn to and terrified of getting too close.

You press your own trembling fingers against the cool glass table, watching condensation gather beneath your skin. Your thigh still burns where he touched you, each point of contact a silent reminder of how easily he'd played you.

You're supposed to be better than this. You've tortured men twice his size without breaking a sweat. Have ended lives with the same hands that are now unsteady against the table's surface. The Viper doesn't get rattled by pretty boys in expensive suits.

Except Jungkook isn't just a pretty boy, is he?

The way he'd touched you, like he knew exactly how it would affect you. How he'd pulled back at the precise moment you started to lose control. Each word, each gesture calculated for maximum impact.

Wear red tomorrow.

Your lip catches between your teeth as you watch him disappear into his office. The entire interaction plays on loop in your mind: his fingers on your skin, that dangerous smile, the sudden shift to cool professionalism. Like a choreographed dance where you'd somehow missed half the steps.

On stage, the dancers transition into something slower, more sensual. The spotlight catches on their jewels, sending fractured light across the walls like broken glass. Like the shattered pieces of your usually impeccable composure.

What kind of game is he really playing?

The champagne bubbles mock you from their crystal prison, and you resist the urge to knock the glass over. To create some small chaos in his perfectly controlled world. Instead, you dig your nails deeper into your palms, using the sharp pain to center yourself.

Two can play at whatever this is. Tomorrow night, you'll be ready for him.

At least, you hope.

The untouched champagne mocks you as you finally push yourself up from the booth. Your legs feel steadier now, the trembling in your hands replaced by something more familiar: determination. Tomorrow, you'll be ready for whatever game Jungkook's playing. Tonight, you just need to get the fuck out of here.

The music thrums through your bones as you navigate the upper level, each step carefully measured in your Louboutins. The red soles flash with every movement, reminding you of his parting words.

Wear red tomorrow.

Your heel catches on the last step down from the VIP section when a solid wall of expensive fabric collides with you. The sound of glass shattering cuts through the music, followed by a string of creative expletives.

"What the fuck?"

You steady yourself against the railing, taking in the man before you. Honey-blonde hair, sharp features twisted in fury, and a white button-down now soaked through with what smells like top-shelf whiskey. The liquid darkens the fabric, making it cling to what's clearly an expertly muscled frame.

"Watch where you're fucking walking," he snarls, accent thick with anger. His eyes flash dangerously as he assesses the damage to his clothes.

Something hot and familiar rises in your chest. The same feeling you get right before you make someone bleed. Your body shifts automatically, weight transferring to the balls of your feet. You catalog his weaknesses with practiced ease - the slight favor of his left side, the exposed tendons in his neck, the way his anger makes him drop his guard.

Three moves. That's all it would take to put him on his knees. Heel to instep, elbow to throat, knee to solar plexus. You can almost taste the violence, feel the satisfying crunch of cartilage beneath your hands.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going," you snap back, straightening to your full height. "Or is spatial awareness not a requirement for whatever it is you do here?"

His eyes narrow, jaw clenching. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Your fingers curl into a fist, nails biting crescents into your palm. The urge to hurt him pulses through your veins like poison. You imagine grabbing the broken glass at his feet, showing him exactly who you are by opening his throat right here on the club floor.

He notices your stance, the predatory stillness that's overtaken your body, and his lips curve into something cruel. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Try it."

You're moving before you can think better of it, body coiling like a spring. The distance between you closes to inches, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath, see the moment his eyes widen as he realizes his mistake in challenging you.

But then you catch it— movement in your peripheral vision. In the VIP section above, Jungkook lounges against the railing, watching the scene unfold with undisguised amusement. His dark eyes meet yours, and that familiar smirk plays at his lips.

The reminder of where you are, who you're supposed to be, hits like cold water.

You force your body to relax, untangling yourself from the knife's edge of violence. The smile you plaster on feels like broken glass in your mouth. "I'm so sorry about your shirt. Send me the cleaning bill?"

The blonde's eyebrows shoot up at your sudden shift in demeanor. He opens his mouth to respond, but Jungkook's voice cuts through the tension.

"Taehyung." Just the one word, but it carries weight. A warning, maybe. Or a command.

Taehyung's posture changes instantly, though the anger still simmers in his eyes. "We're not done," he mutters, low enough that only you can hear.

You watch him stalk toward the VIP section, those expensive shoes crushing broken glass beneath them. When you glance back up, Jungkook is still watching you. His grin widens like you've just confirmed something he suspected.

Like you've just played right into his hands.

The broken glass crunches beneath your heels as you turn away, forcing yourself to maintain an easy stride despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You can feel Jungkook's eyes following your movement, heavy as a physical touch. But you don't look back. Won't give him the satisfaction.

The main floor feels suffocating now, with too many bodies, and too much perfume mixed with smoke and expensive liquor. Your skin prickles with awareness, hyperconscious of how many of these faces might report back to him. How many are watching your exit, cataloging every micro-expression?

The cool night air hits your face like salvation when you finally push through the entrance doors. Rain still falls in sheets, casting halos around the street lights and turning the sidewalk into a mirror of neon reflections. Your hair will be ruined, but you welcome the excuse to duck your head as you navigate to your car.

It's only when you're safely behind the wheel, rain drumming against the roof, that you let out the breath you've been holding. Your hands shake slightly as you pull out your phone, droplets of water falling from your hair onto the screen.

You stare at Jimin's contact for a long moment before typing:

Need to meet. Now.

The response comes before you can even set the phone down. One word, like a command:

Côte.

Of fucking course. Trust Jimin to pick the most pretentious restaurant in the city after the night you've had. The kind of place where the waiters look down their noses if you can't pronounce 'bouillabaisse' with the proper French inflection. Where they serve portions that wouldn't satisfy a toddler and charge more than your monthly ammunition budget for the privilege.

He's probably already there, sipping some overpriced wine and charming the staff with his perfect pronunciation while you sit here in rain-soaked designer wear, still trembling with the urge to break Taehyung's pretty face.

You start the engine, watching rain cascade down the windshield. In the rearview mirror, ARK 45's red glow bleeds into the night like an open wound.

Time to find out just how deep this one goes.

Côte buzzes with the quiet murmur of New York's elite, the soft clink of crystal, the whisper of expensive fabric, the gentle scrape of silver against bone china. Every table draped in pristine white cloth, every surface reflecting the warm glow of crystal chandeliers.

Jimin sits at a table dead center in the dining room, positioned like a king holding court. His suit is different from this morning, a black Tom Ford that probably costs more than a car. The rosary still hangs at his throat, catching light with each breath.

He doesn't look up from his wine when you approach, just gestures to the chair across from him with two fingers. The movement is elegant, casual. Terrifying.

"You're late," he says, voice pitched just loud enough to carry across the table. A waiter materializes beside you, pulling out your chair with practiced efficiency.

"Traffic." You slip into the seat, hyperaware of the other diners. A couple to your left celebrating an anniversary. Business meeting three tables over. Everyone within earshot of whatever game Jimin wants to play.

His eyes finally meet yours as he sets down his wine glass. "How was your evening?"

The question sounds innocent enough, but his gaze is sharp as a blade. Testing.

"Productive." You accept the wine list from the hovering waiter, not bothering to open it. "My interview went well."

"Wonderful." He smiles, the kind that makes people think of angels instead of demons. "The Château Latour, François. The 1982, I think."

The waiter's eyes widen slightly at the casual mention of a wine that costs more than he makes in a month. "Excellent choice, monsieur."

Jimin waits until François retreats before speaking again. "And the entertainment? Up to standard?"

You think of Jungkook's hands on your skin, of Taehyung's fury, of the violence you'd barely contained. "Exceptional. Though I had a small wardrobe malfunction."

His finger traces the rim of his glass, the motion hypnotic. Deliberate. "Nothing that can't be fixed, I hope?"

"No permanent damage." You hold his stare, refusing to look away first. "Though I might need to adjust my approach."

"Hmm." The sound is noncommittal, but his eyes darken fractionally. "The clientele can be... demanding. Particularly the regulars."

François returns with the wine, going through the elaborate ritual of presentation and pouring. Jimin maintains perfect posture, the picture of refined wealth, while you fight the urge to drain your glass in one go.

"I noticed," you say once the waiter disappears again. "One seemed particularly interested in my qualifications."

Jimin's lips curve slightly. "Natural talent tends to draw attention."

"The foie gras to start," Jimin tells François without consulting the menu. "For both of us." His eyes never leave your face, studying every micro-expression like he's reading a book written in your skin. "And perhaps you could tell me more about these... qualifications they found so fascinating."

You watch him take another sip of wine, the motion deliberately slow. The crystal catches the light, sending prisms across the white tablecloth between you. "Standard interview questions. Experience, availability, flexibility."

"Flexibility," he repeats, setting down his glass with precise care. "Essential in any new position."

A couple at the next table laughs at something, the sound jarring against the tension coiling between you and Jimin. He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on either side of his place setting. The position looks casual, but you recognize the predatory intent behind it.

"And the dress code?" His voice drops lower, intimate. "Did they have any specific requirements?"

Heat crawls up your neck as you remember Jungkook's parting words. Wear red tomorrow. "They seem to have strong opinions about color."

"Red, perhaps?" The corner of his mouth twitches. "It does suit you. Particularly when it's fresh."

Your wine glass freezes halfway to your lips. The double meaning hits like a slap, red like the dress he'd given you, red like the blood you spill for him. You force yourself to take a measured sip instead of throwing the contents in his perfect face.

"They also seemed interested in my... previous work experience."

"Did they?" Something dangerous flashes behind his eyes. "And how deep did that conversation go?"

François appears with the foie gras, arranging the plates with flourish. Jimin sits back, that angelic smile returning as he thanks the waiter in perfect French. But the moment François retreats, his expression shifts back to something hungrier.

"Every detail," he says softly, cutting into the foie gras with surgical precision. "I want to know every detail of how interested they were."

You mirror his movements, cutting into your own foie gras with deliberate care. "The owner took a particular interest."

"Did he?" Jimin's voice remains light, conversational, but his knuckles whiten slightly around his fork. "How hands-on of him."

The foie gras turns to ash in your mouth as you remember Jungkook's fingers on your thigh, that calculated intimacy. Jimin watches you swallow, his dark eyes catching every tell you're trying to hide.

"Very." You take another sip of wine to wash away the memory. "He has an interesting approach to personnel management."

The businessman three tables over laughs too loudly at something his companion says. Jimin doesn't even blink, his focus razor-sharp on your face. "I imagine he does. Did he share his management philosophy?"

Your thigh burns with phantom heat where Jungkook had touched you. Where Jimin had marked you the night before. "He believes in testing boundaries."

"Testing?" His tongue catches the word like it's something sweet. "Or crossing them?"

A waiter passes too close to your table, and you wait until the footsteps fade before responding. "Both, I think."

Jimin sets down his fork with careful precision, the small clink against fine china somehow ominous. "And did you let him?"

The question hangs between you like a blade. You know he's not really asking about Jungkook's tests, not entirely. The marks he left on your skin throb beneath your dress, a reminder of boundaries already crossed.

"I played my part," you say carefully, watching his eyes darken. "Though there was a small... incident with one of his associates."

His eyebrow raises a fraction. "Oh?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"I'm sure." He reaches for the wine bottle, refilling your glass with practiced ease. The motion brings him closer, and his cologne mingles with the rich scent of the food. "Though handling things isn't always the wisest course of action, is it?"

"Depends on the situation," you say, watching him settle back into his chair. "Some things require a... delicate touch."

"Ah yes." His smile is razor-sharp. "And you're known for your delicacy. Like a bull in a china shop." His eyes flick to something over your shoulder. "Speaking of which, François? We'll take the lamb. Rare."

The waiter appears to clear your plates, and Jimin's expression shifts seamlessly into practiced charm. The transition is terrifying, the way he can slip between masks like trying on clothes.

"Though I have to admit," he continues once François disappears, "I'm curious about this associate. The one you handled so delicately."

You think of Taehyung's fury, the whiskey soaking his shirt. The way Jungkook had watched it all unfold like it was a show put on for his entertainment. "Just a minor misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding." He tastes the word like the wine, letting it roll over his tongue. "The way a hurricane is a minor weather event?"

Heat crawls up your neck. "He started it."

"What are you, twelve?" But there's something almost fond in his mockery. It vanishes as quickly as it appears, replaced by that calculating stare. "Tell me, did our friend upstairs seem amused by your little display?"

The memory of Jungkook's knowing smirk makes your stomach clench. "Extremely."

"Mm." Jimin's fingers drum once against the stem of his wine glass. "How fascinating. The mighty Viper, reduced to bar room brawls and schoolyard excuses."

Your nails dig into your palm beneath the table. "Would you prefer I'd killed him instead? Made a scene? Blown my cover on the first—"

The word dies in your throat as Jimin's eyebrow arches a fraction. The subtle movement is more effective than a slap, reminding you of the couples dining nearby, the waiters hovering within earshot. Your voice had risen just enough to draw a curious glance from the businessman two tables over.

"What I prefer," Jimin says, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "is precision. Control." His smile remains perfectly pleasant, but his eyes promise consequences. "Perhaps we should discuss your methods of subtlety instead? Besides attempting to assault his inner circle?"

The weight of his stare makes you reach for your wine glass, needing something to do with your hands. Something besides imagining how satisfying it would be to wipe that controlled expression off his face.

"Well?" He leans back slightly as François approaches with the lamb, switching seamlessly into the role of gracious diner. "Merci, François. C'est parfait."

The meat on your plate is exactly as he ordered, blood red in the center. You wonder if he's trying to make a point.

"The owner," you say once François retreats, keeping your voice carefully modulated. "He had questions about my background."

"I'm sure he did." Jimin cuts into his lamb with surgical precision. "And did our thorough friend find what he was looking for?"

The memory of Jungkook's words echoes in your mind: It's like you appeared out of thin air. "He seemed... satisfied with the interview."

"Satisfied enough to hire you, apparently." Something dangerous flashes behind his eyes. "Though I have to wonder what kind of performance earned such a quick decision."

The double meaning in his words makes your chest tight. You watch him take a deliberately slow bite of lamb, the crystal chandelier above casting shadows across his features that make him look almost demonic.

"I maintained my cover," you say carefully. "Like you asked."

His laugh is soft, barely a breath. "Did you? Because from what I hear, you gave quite the... private audition."

Your wine glass freezes halfway to your lips. How does he—

"I do love," he continues, dabbing his mouth with his napkin, "how dedicated you are to your roles. Tell me, did he request the same song as last time? Or did you choose something new for the occasion?"

Your fingers tighten around the crystal stem until you're half afraid it might shatter. Around you, the restaurant continues its elegant dance of clinking silverware and murmured conversations, oblivious to the way your world tilts on its axis.

"Don't look so shocked," Jimin says, cutting another piece of lamb with meticulous care. "Did you really think I wouldn't have eyes in his club? That I wouldn't hear about my secretary grinding against New York's most eligible bachelor to The Weeknd?"

Heat crawls up your neck, but you force yourself to maintain eye contact. "You sent me in there to get information."

"Information." He lets the word hang between you, sharp as a blade. "Is that what you were getting when he had his hands on your hips? When you were putting on a show for him in that pretty red dress I bought you?"

A waiter passes too close to your table, and you both pause, masks of polite dinner conversation sliding seamlessly into place. But the moment he's gone, Jimin's eyes turn predatory again.

"Tell me," he says, voice dropping lower, "did you enjoy it? Playing dress up for him? Letting him touch what's mine?"

The possession in his tone makes your stomach flip. You think of last night, of his hands on your skin, his teeth in your shoulder. Of how quickly he'd switched to cold professionalism this morning.

"What I am," you say carefully, "is whatever you need me to be for the job. Isn't that what you pay me for?"

His smile is all teeth. "Oh, sweetheart. I pay you to kill people. Everything else?" He takes a slow sip of wine, eyes never leaving yours. "That's just you getting carried away with your performance."

"Getting carried away?" The words taste like battery acid on your tongue. "Like last night, you mean? Was that part of the job too?"

His expression doesn't change, but something dark flashes behind his eyes. "Careful."

"Why?" You lean forward slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid someone might overhear how you bent your secretary over your windows? Or is it only a problem when Jungkook's the one touching me?"

François materializes at your elbow with dessert menus, and Jimin's face shifts into that perfect smile. "The crème brûlée, I think. Two." He waits until the waiter disappears before continuing, "You're playing a very dangerous game right now."

"I learned from the best." You watch his jaw tick at your tone. "Tell me something— did you plan it? Send me to his club in that dress, knowing what would happen?"

"And what exactly happened?" His fingers trace the base of his wine glass, the motion hypnotic and threatening all at once. "Besides you spreading your legs for the man who's trying to kill us both?"

"You're one to talk about spreading—"

"I own you." The words are soft, precise, but they hit like a physical blow. "Every breath, every move, every drop of blood you spill— it's all mine. Or did you forget that while you were auditioning for your new position?"

The businessman at the next table signals for his check. A woman laughs somewhere behind you. The normal sounds of the restaurant feel surreal against the electricity crackling between you and Jimin.

"How could I forget?" You smile, sweet as arsenic. "You make sure to remind me every time you send me to kill someone. Every time you dress me up like a doll and point me at your enemies. Tell me, is that what last night was? Another reminder of ownership?"

His pupils dilate slightly. "Would you like another one?"

The crème brûlée arrives in pristine white ramekins, the caramelized sugar gleaming like amber in the low light. You watch Jimin crack through the surface with his spoon, the sound sharp as breaking bones.

"You haven't answered my question." His voice is velvet-soft, lethal. "Would you like another reminder of who you belong to?"

"Here?" You gesture subtly to your surroundings with your own spoon. "In front of all these nice people? How scandalous, Mr. Park."

His eyes flash at your mocking tone. "You didn't seem concerned about scandal when you were putting on a show in Jungkook's office. Tell me, did he make you beg for the job? Or did you offer that up freely?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you."

"Jealousy?" He laughs, the sound cutting through you like glass. "Why would I be jealous of him playing with what's already mine?"

Your spoon clinks against the ramekin harder than necessary. "Is that what I am? Your toy?"

"No, sweetheart." He leans forward, close enough that his breath fans across your face. "You're my weapon. And weapons don't get to choose where they're aimed."

"But they can misfire." The words slip out before you can stop them, sharp and dangerous in the space between you.

His smile grows slowly, predatory. "Is that a threat?"

"A reminder." You meet his gaze steadily. "Since you're so fond of those."

Something shifts in his expression, a crack in that perfect control. His hand moves under the table, and suddenly his fingers are wrapping around your knee, right where Jungkook had touched you hours before.

"Careful," he says again, but this time it sounds like a promise. His grip tightens just shy of painful. "You're forgetting yourself."

"Am I?" You don't pull away from his touch, even as his fingers slide higher. "Or am I just reminding you that weapons can cut both ways?"

"You know what I think?" Jimin reaches for the wine bottle between you, his movements liquid and precise. "A good vintage is all about control."

He stands slightly, leaning across the table to refill your glass. The motion brings him close enough that his cologne mingles with the wine's bouquet, close enough that you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Too much pressure," he continues, angling the bottle with practiced ease, "and everything spills over."

The elderly couple at the next table glances over with polite interest, and Jimin's smile widens. He turns to them, bottle still poised above your glass.

"The '82 Latour," he says conversationally, like he isn't in the middle of threatening you. "Have you tried it? The tannins can be quite... overwhelming if not handled properly."

The woman practically preens under his attention. "Oh, how lovely. Richard, didn't we have that at the Bennett's last summer?"

"Indeed." Jimin's hand is perfectly steady as he finishes pouring your wine. "Though personally, I find it's best to let it breathe. Some things require patience to reach their full potential." His eyes lock with yours as he settles back into his seat. "Wouldn't you agree?"

You take a deliberate sip of wine to avoid responding, watching him over the rim of your glass. The elderly couple continues to eye him appreciatively, completely unaware of the game he's playing.

"The key," he says, loud enough for them to hear, "is knowing exactly how much pressure to apply." His fingers drum once against the stem of his own glass. "Too little, and you waste its potential. Too much..." He trails off, smile sharpening. "Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?"

The elderly woman - who introduces herself as Margaret, practically glows under his attention. Her husband Richard nods along, completely taken in by Jimin's performance. You watch him work, recognizing this for what it is - another form of torture, drawn out in public where you can't do anything but sit and take it.

"Take my colleague here," he says, gesturing to you with his wine glass. "She has quite the... refined palate. Always willing to try new things."

Your fingers tighten around your own glass as Margaret turns her interest your way. "Oh, how wonderful! Are you in the wine business as well?"

"She's my secretary," Jimin answers before you can speak. "Though she's recently taken on some additional responsibilities. Haven't you, darling?"

The endearment drips like poison from his lips. You force a smile, playing your part in his little show. "I like to stay busy."

"She's being modest." Jimin swirls the wine in his glass, watching the light play through the dark liquid. "She's quite talented at... handling delicate situations. In fact, she has a new position starting tomorrow night."

Richard perks up at this. "Congratulations! Where will you be working?"

Your mouth goes dry as Jimin's eyes meet yours over the rim of his glass. He's really going to do this, discuss your cover job at a strip club with this sweet elderly couple in the middle of Côte.

"A very exclusive establishment," Jimin answers smoothly. "Members only. The owner is quite particular about his employees." His smile sharpens. "Especially the ones who perform."

Margaret claps her hands together. "Oh, how exciting! Is it that lovely new theater in Manhattan? Richard, what's it called? The one with the red lights?"

You nearly choke on your wine.

"Not quite," Jimin says, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Though there are certainly theatrical elements involved. The costumes alone are quite memorable."

Your heel connects with his shin under the table— hard. His only reaction is a slight tightening around his eyes, but you feel a savage satisfaction at the contact.

"Speaking of memorable," he continues, not missing a beat, "you simply must try this vintage. François?" He signals the waiter with two fingers. "Please bring our friends here a taste of the Latour. On me."

Margaret tries to protest, but Jimin waves her off with practiced charm. "I insist. After all, some pleasures are best shared, wouldn't you agree?" This last part he directs at you, voice laden with meaning.

François arrives with fresh glasses, and you're forced to watch as Jimin guides the couple through the proper tasting technique. His voice is hypnotic as he describes the notes of black fruit, the hint of tobacco, the way it opens up on the palate.

"The true art," he tells them, "is in the finish. The way it lingers." His eyes find yours again. "Some things are designed to leave a lasting impression."

You think of the bruises hidden beneath your dress, of the marks he'd left on your skin. Of how he's marking you again now, in a completely different way.

"Of course," he adds, "not everyone appreciates such refinement. Some prefer their pleasures more immediate. Raw." He takes another slow sip. "But those tend to leave a bitter aftertaste."

The threat in his words is clear. Jungkook is beneath you. Beneath us.

"More wine?" He's already reaching for the bottle again, standing slightly to lean across the table. The motion brings his face close to yours, and his next words are pitched low enough that only you can hear them. "Since you seem so thirsty tonight."

Your pulse jumps at his proximity, at the dangerous edge in his voice that their audience can't detect. Margaret and Richard are too busy savoring their wine to notice the way Jimin's hand trembles slightly as he pours, the only sign that his perfect control might be slipping.

"Tell me," he says, loud enough for the table to hear again, "what do you think of the finish? Does it satisfy your particular tastes?"

The conversation is cut short with a ring erupting from Jimin’s suit pocket.

Namjoon's call lasts exactly thirty-seven seconds. You count them, watching Jimin's face remain perfectly composed as he listens. Only the slight whitening of his knuckles around the phone betrays anything amiss.

"When?" A pause. "I see."

He ends the call with the same precision he uses to end lives, clean, efficient, and final. The elderly couple barely notices when he signals François, too engrossed in their wine to catch the predatory shift in his movements.

As the valet brings his Bentley around, rain starting to fall in earnest now, he tells you Jiwon is missing. One of his most trusted men— gone. At the snap of a finger. This will be an issue for tomorrow.

You're already stepping toward your car when his voice cuts through the humid air.

"Get in."

Two words, soft as a bullet before it's fired.

The leather seat is cold against your back as you slide in beside him. He doesn't speak, doesn't even look at you as he pulls away from the curb. The engine purrs beneath you as he takes the first corner too fast, tires squealing against wet asphalt.

You watch him from the corner of your eye, cataloging each micro-expression like you would a mark before a kill. His jaw clenches and unclenches in a rhythm that matches the windshield wipers. The tendons in his neck stand out like rope under skin. His breathing comes slightly too quick, slightly too shallow.

A red light bathes the interior in crimson. He runs it.

Then another.

The city blurs past in streams of neon and shadow. You count his breaths, twenty-three too fast, fifteen too shallow. His fingers adjust on the steering wheel every forty-five seconds, like he's trying to maintain that last thread of control.

The elevator to his penthouse opens with a soft ding that feels too cheerful for the electricity crackling beneath his skin. An elderly woman with a small dog gets in on the thirty-fourth floor. You watch Jimin's mask slide seamlessly into place, perfect smile, perfect posture, perfect lie.

"Evening, Mrs. Chen."

His voice doesn't waver. Doesn't betray how his left hand trembles slightly at his side, how the muscle in his jaw jumps arrhythmically. The woman chatters about building maintenance as you climb higher, oblivious to the bomb ticking beside her.

Nintey-six floors have never felt so long.

The moment his door closes behind you, something shifts in the air. You can feel it - that last thread of control starting to fray. He stands perfectly still in the center of his living room, staring at nothing. At everything.

The first crack appears when he loosens his tie. The motion isn't smooth like usual - it's jerky, aggressive. He tears the silk from his throat like it's choking him.

Then his suit jacket. The fabric whispers against his shirt as he shrugs it off, letting it fall to the marble floor. You've never seen him treat clothing so carelessly.

His chest rises and falls too quickly now, each breath slightly more ragged than the last. You watch him rake fingers through his perfectly styled hair, destroying hours of careful grooming in seconds.

The lamp goes first.

The Tiffany piece you'd admired that night against his windows becomes a constellation of crystal across marble. The sound of its destruction seems to awaken something in him - something primitive and raw that's been lurking beneath his perfect surface.

You don't move when he disappears into his office. Don't flinch when he emerges with a baseball bat that looks wrong in his manicured hands. Just analyze the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders as he takes the first swing.

The glass coffee table explodes.

Then his flat screen, expensive and pristine like everything else in his life. The screen spiders with cracks before sparks fly from its dying circuits.

The grand piano becomes kindling under his methodical swings. Each string snaps with a discordant scream, like the instrument is dying. The sound mingles with his ragged breathing, creating a symphony of destruction.

His aim never wavers. Even in this, he maintains a terrible precision. The bat connects with his drink cart, sending bottles of thousand-dollar liquor cascading across marble. The scent of alcohol fills the air, bourbon and scotch and wine mixing with the ozone smell of destroyed electronics.

You catalog every detail with professional detachment. The way his white shirt darkens with sweat. How his perfectly pressed slacks tear slightly at the knee as he kicks through the wreckage. The precise angle of each swing, like he's conducting an orchestra of chaos.

When he finally stops, chest heaving and surrounded by destruction, you understand. This isn't about Jiwon disappearing. This isn't about business or territory or power.

This is about control slipping through his fingers like water.

Like you, dancing in Jungkook's office.

"He knew," Jimin says finally, voice raw. The bat clatters to the floor beside what used to be a Versace vase. "He fucking knew about Jiwon. About the ports. About—"

He cuts off, running shaking fingers through his ruined hair. You step carefully through the wreckage, glass crunching beneath your heels. He doesn't move as you approach, just stares at the devastation he's created like he's seeing it for the first time.

"This isn't about Jiwon," you say quietly.

His laugh is ugly, sharp enough to cut. "No." His eyes finally meet yours, and they're black holes in his too-pale face. "No it fucking isn't."

Liquor seeps into the hem of your dress as you stand in the wreckage, watching him piece himself back together. His chest still heaves with each breath, shirt clinging to his frame with sweat and effort. The perfectly styled hair you'd watched him ruin now falls across his forehead in damp strands.

He looks wild. Dangerous. More like the man who marks your skin than the one who signs your checks.

"You should go." The words come out rough, like they've been dragged across broken glass.

You don't move. Can't move. Something tells you this moment matters, that walking away now would shift something irreparable between you.

His eyes snap to yours, dark and feral. "I said—"

"No."

The word hangs in the air between you, sharp as the crystal shards beneath your feet. You watch his jaw clench, watch the muscle jump beneath skin that's too pale.

"You don't give the orders here." But his voice wavers slightly, betraying the cracks in his armor.

"Then give me one." You take another step closer, glass crunching beneath your heels. "Tell me what you need."

His laugh is all edges. "What I need?" He runs a hand through his ruined hair again, the gesture almost violent. "I need Jungkook's head on a fucking platter. I need to know how deep his reach goes. I need—"

He cuts off, throat working as he swallows whatever confession was about to spill out.

You're close enough now to smell his cologne mixed with sweat and spilled alcohol. Close enough to see the barely contained tremors in his hands, the wild pulse at his throat.

"Tell me." Your voice comes out softer than intended. "Tell me what you need."

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment you think he might grab you. Might press you against the wall and fuck you right here among the wreckage of his perfect life. Instead, he does something worse.

"Kill her."

The words slip out like a caress, barely above a whisper. You watch his face transform. the wild thing in his eyes crystallizing into something colder, more familiar.

"Miranda?" Your voice remains steady even as your pulse quickens. "She's not involved in this."

"Developing a conscience?" His smile is perfectly crafted to cut. "How disappointing. You've gotten too comfortable behind that desk, haven't you? Started believing your own cover story?"

The air feels thick, heavy with spilled alcohol and the ozone scent of destroyed electronics. A bead of sweat trails down your spine, making your dress cling uncomfortably.

"You're upset," you say carefully, watching his eyes darken at the observation.

"No, darling." He steps closer, glass crunching beneath his feet. "I'm just remembering what you really are. What I made you to be." His perfectly pressed shirt clings to his chest, dark with sweat. "A weapon. Nothing more."

"This isn't about me."

"Isn't it?" His breath comes quicker now, shallow. "You walk around my building like you belong there. Playing secretary, playing normal." He runs a hand through his ruined hair. "Have you forgotten what those hands are for? What you are?"

Heat prickles at the back of your neck. "I know exactly what I am."

"Do you?" He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne mixed with sweat and rage. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone who's forgotten their purpose. Who's started thinking they're more than just a tool."

"And you look scared."

The words hit like a physical blow. His chest stills mid-breath, eyes going dark as pitch.

"What did you say?"

A drop of sweat rolls down your temple. The air crackles between you, heavy with violence and something else. Something rawer.

"You're terrified," you press on, even as your pulse races. "Jungkook's in your head and you can't stand it. So you're here, breaking your own things, trying to break me too."

"Get out." His voice drops to something dangerous, something barely controlled.

"No."

"Get. Out." Each word comes with a step forward, backing you against the wall. "Before I remind you exactly what you are. What you're for."

You hold his stare, even as your heart threatens to break through your ribs. "You mean before you remind yourself that you're losing control?"

His hand slams into the wall beside your head, making you flinch. His breathing comes in harsh pants now, chest heaving with barely contained violence.

"Leave," he grits out, voice raw. "Now. Before I do something we'll both regret."

You can feel the heat radiating off him, see the muscle jumping in his jaw. The perfect mask has cracked completely, leaving something wild and desperate in its wake.

Around you, his perfect life lies in ruins.

So you go, leaving him alone in his destroyed kingdom, both of you pretending not to notice how his hands shake as you walk away.

The elevator descends in artificial silence, only the subtle whir of machinery accompanying your reflection in the mirrored walls. Your hair slightly mussed, lipstick somehow still perfect. Like the confrontation upstairs was just a nightmare your body hasn't woken from yet.

Forty-seven floors to ground level. You count each one, using the numbers to steady your pulse. To push down the urge to go back up there and show him exactly what his weapon can do.

The lobby stretches before you in shadow and marble, empty except for the night security guard who barely glances up from his crossword. Your heels mark time against the floor, each step echoing your thundering heartbeat - too fast, too hard, everything threatening to spill over.

Night air hits your face when you exit the building, carrying the metallic tang of recent rain. The city spreads before you in sharp contrasts - neon bleeding across wet pavement, shadows pooling between towers of steel and glass. You inhale slowly, tasting ozone and exhaust and that particular Manhattan mixture of ambition and decay.

Bass thuds from an upscale bar ahead, all crystal chandeliers visible through floor-to-ceiling windows. You catalog the exits reflexively, the cameras, the blind spots. Old habits.

"Well, look what we have here."

The voice slides through the darkness like oil. Taehyung leans against a sleek black Mercedes, all dangerous grace in expensive clothes. His white button-down is rolled to his elbows, exposing ink that maps stories across his skin.

You catalog his stance with professional detachment, the same way you'd studied John strapped to that chair. Weight slightly forward, shoulders loose, that same arrogant tilt to his head that says he has no idea what's coming.

"Not tonight." You move to pass him, but he shifts, blocking your path.

"What's wrong, sugar?" Smoke curls from his mouth as he speaks. "ARK not hiring tonight? Or did they finally realize what kind of trash they were letting through the door?"

Fuuuuuuck it.

The first hit is pure precision, heel of your palm to his solar plexus, angled up and in. Just like you'd done to that businessman in Dubai last year. The cigarette falls from his lips as he doubles over, giving you the perfect angle to bring your knee up into his face.

The crunch of cartilage under your kneecap sends electricity down your spine. It's different from torture, faster, rawer. No time to savor each break and tear. But there's something beautiful in this too, in letting the violence flow through you like water.

He swings wild, trained but sloppy. You duck under his arm, noting how his stance betrays formal training. Boxing maybe, some Muay Thai. Everything too clean, too structured. Not like you, you were taught to end things.

Your elbow finds his kidney with surgical precision. The same spot you'd pushed the knife into that politician in Seoul. His grunt of pain is poetry, the way he tries to protect his side leaving his throat exposed for another strike.

The Mercedes alarm wails as you slam him against it, but you're already moving, letting momentum carry you both into the shadows of the alley beside the bar. This is what you're good at, making violence look like a dance, like something beautiful instead of brutal.

He tries to grab you, to use his size advantage, but you're already inside his guard. Your knee finds his liver, your elbow his temple. Each point of impact chosen with the same care you use when selecting knives for a job.

Your dress rides up as you move, but you don't care. This is what you are, not the secretary in designer clothes, not the dancer in red. This is your true face, painted in someone else's blood.

When he finally drops, you follow him down. One hand fists in his honey-blonde hair while the other draws back. His face is a masterpiece of destruction, nose crushed, lip split, eye already swelling shut. The kind of methodical damage that comes from years of practice.

You lean in close, letting him smell the Chanel on your breath mixed with his own blood. "Next time you decide to threaten me," your voice drops to barely above a whisper, "make sure you're ready for what comes after."

You leave him there, crumpled among garbage bags and broken glass. Your knuckles throb as you smooth your dress, check your reflection in a darkened window. A single drop of blood mars your cheek, you wipe it away with your thumb, watching it disappear into your skin like all evidence of violence eventually does.

The city swallows you back into its rhythm, the pulse of music from nearby clubs, the whisper of tires on wet asphalt, the steady beat of your heels against concrete. You rejoin the flow of normal people living their normal lives, carrying your savage satisfaction like a secret beneath your skin.

This is what you are. What you're for.

And for once, that doesn't feel like a curse.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #ark 45 #jungkook bts #jungkook au #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader smut #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #jimin #bts jimin #bts fanfic #bts x reader

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revelboo · 1 month ago

Note

Do you mind writing an Optimus Prime part 2? Whenever 😄 inspiration finds you.

Sure! Also, I just accidentally found out that a single post can’t have over 100 links in it by accident with my Masterlist... Guess I get to par that down to the first chapters of everything and add actual previous/next links to the individual posts to navigate within a storyline.

And I’ve had a few people speculating about it and tried to make it a bit clearer now on the masterlist: the IDW stuff is all one big continuity with Lost Light and the random kink snippets clearly separated as alternate takes/AUs now.

Gravity pt 2

Optimus x Reader

• “You’re going to give them a heart attack when they come to if you don’t stop looming like that,” Ratchet mutters and Optimus looks up trying to decide if his old friend is joking. Given the frown, Ratchet’s serious and he’s not sure what to make of that. He’d known humans were fragile, but your heart can just stop? From fear? “They’re a little banged up, but fine,” Ratchet adds as Optimus stretches out a servo to touch your still form and then hesitates. You’re just so tiny, he’s not sure he can touch you without breaking you. “Who are you giving this one to?”

• Like it’s a forgone conclusion he’ll pawn watching over you on someone else. Someone less busy, less weighed down with duty. “It’s my responsibility,” he says, watching your chest rise and fall. You’ve been out since he caught you and so very still. He keeps his optics on you so he doesn’t have to see Ratchet’s expression. Because this is his responsibility and his guilt. He knows it’s not fair to trap you on the Ark, but keeping the surviving Autobots safe is his priority. And the other humans seem fine. Mostly.

• “Bumblebee would take them,” Ratchet offers, a hand touching his arm. “I think he’d be glad of the company.” Shaking his head, Optimus carefully curls his servos around your limp form and lifts you. Hears Ratchet venting tiredly behind him as he walks out and carries you through the halls to his quarters. Trailbreaker and Hound both turning to look when he walks by, curious. Maybe it’s been a mistake to try to keep his people far from humans. Maybe not. Sideswipe probably won’t be the last to abuse his rules, but he’s not ready to trust the humans to not betray them yet. He can’t.

• Your head is ringing, sinuses burning as you stiffly shift and your body complains about it. Why do you feel like one big bruise? There’s a blanket wrapped around you, but whatever you’re laying on isn’t that soft. Something presses so gently between your shoulder blades that it’s a ghost of a touch then slides down your spine. Repeats the stroke. Lifting your head, you squint up at a huge face staring down at you and everything slams back into focus. The Jeep that wasn’t a Jeep. The wreck. Giant, alien robots. One of which is holding you in one hand while it runs a huge finger down your spine again and again. You start shaking. That petting stopping when it notices.

• You’re awake. And not screaming. That has to be good thing, but remembering Ratchet’s warning, he rumbles and presses a servo carefully over your heart. It’s not stopped, but it is racing. A little, warm hand lands on his servo, your eyes wide in fear as you just tremble. And he understands, you have to realize how tiny you are compared to him, how easily you can be hurt. “You’re going to be okay, little one. I have you,” he says, optics snared on that tiny hand on his. And he knows he’ll protect you just like his Autobots. Be sword or shield for you, whatever you need. You’re his to care for now, that trembling fear hurting him to see.

• That rumbly, deep voice sings in your bones where you’re touching him, because that voice erased any doubts. Blue eyes is definitely a he. And as crazy as it is, you believe him despite the fear. There’s an earnestness in that voice that’s almost a promise of safety. Wonder mingles with the fear still thrumming through you as you stare at those pretty glowing eyes and think that they look unbelievably kind. The thought almost immediately followed with the certainty that you probably have a concussion.

#optimus prime x reader #idw optimus prime #transformers x reader

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tinydefector · 30 days ago

Text

Mirage Rut cycle

Gen 1 Mirage x human reader

Rut cycle masterlist

Fanfic masterlist

Word count:1.6k

Warnings: smut, Nsfw, Valveplug, oral, thigh fucking.

Woooo finally finished!!!

_________________

Mirage couldn't help but smirk to himself as he ghosted after the oblivious human. Their sweet scent had beckoned him like a siren's song since he had re-entered the base, and his stealth systems ensured they remained none the wiser. A little fun couldn't hurt during such a tense ceasefire, could it? He synched softly as they wandered the halls, taking inventory of damages while he admired.

When a turn brought them to a dead end of the ark, he shimmered back into view, blocking their path with a predatory gleam in his optics. "Well little mouse got you" Mirage purred.

"All alone at last. Whatever shall we do?" His field pulsed with not so subtle heat, but the smile gracing his face has them smiling back at the mech. They laugh loudly as Mirage scoops them up Into his arms. "Omg you menace you could have given me a heart attack!" They shake their head before resting it against his plating.

Mirage snorted softly in amusement at their reaction. " It's not my fault if you organics are so jumpy," he replied loftily, a soft buzz leaving his frame. He gazed down at them comfortably cradled in his arms.

Their hands pressed to his plating left oily smudges, and he ‘tsk’ in mock disapproval. "Such a messy little thing. Perhaps you require...a thorough cleaning," he purred, plating heating as his optics flicker down the halls wondering how quickly he could have them back at his room.

Not waiting for a reply he sauntered off to his suite, plans already forming to enjoy his time with his little lover during his cycle, and Mirage always did so enjoy "deep cleaning".

They chuckle and lean into his touch. "Getting all worked up, are you handsome?" they tease softly, pressing a kiss to faceplate. The sweet scent of their hormones have his plating clamming up. He desperately wanted them.

Mirage chuckled, nuzzling the human with care. "This ceasefire has put us all on edge, but… I seem to have the best little distraction," he murmured. Gently lifting them onto the berth once the door shuts.

"Mmm, need a little release?" They hum while smooching him again, he can feel their scent rubbing onto his plating as they tease him. Mirage's engine revved eagerly at the playful teasing. "Minx," he chuckled, nuzzling them gently in return. "You know exactly how to get me going.”

Sliding a finger under their chin, Mirage gazed upon their smiling face with care, the playful banter between them bringing a sense of lightness to the moment. "You're trouble, you know that?"

"You like that I'm trouble, you flaunt me around in front of Smokescreen all the time, playing with fire. now that your in rut and cons are at base, be a shame if one of these seekers got their claws on your little human " they teased, knowing they had him hook line and sinker. He wouldn't let anyone else touch or have them and even less now that he was rutting.

"Ah, always stirring the pot, aren't you?" Mirage quipped, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. The human's words hit a nerve, a mix of amusement and a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone. "Maybe I might just let Smokie have you, or Sunstreaker " he retorted, his optics glinting mischievously as he played along with the banter.

The sweet intoxicating scent of his little lover has Mirage nearly growling in want. "Ohhh possessive?" They tease him while pulling his faceplate towards them so they can kiss him, they drag their fingers down the side of his faceplate playing with the different plates.

"Better hurry if you don't want others to come crawling looking for me because they can smell me," they playfully urged, knowing the effect their scent had on him. "I think I can handle a little competition," he quipped, Despite the teasing, Mirage couldn't deny the possessive streak that ran through him.

The idea of others vying for his lover's attention only fueled his determination to keep them close, "Christ Raj I can literally smell the Ozone seeping off your plating, I didn't realise you were that horny" they state. Mirage's optics darkened with desire as he gazed at his lover, their scent intoxicating him beyond reason. "You have no idea how much I'm holding back" he growled, his voice laced with need and longing.

Mirage leaned in, capturing their lips in a fierce, possessive kiss. They let out a surprised squeal as his lips and glossa trace over their throat and shoulder, their hands shooting out to cup his face as he crawls onto his berth above them. "Think I have a pretty good idea, can feel your spike pressed against me, horny bot" they coo as Mirage grinds against them.

"Oh, you think you have a pretty good idea just from that, do you?" he teased. They whine loudly while trying to hook a leg over his hip. "Raj.. you going to keep rutting against me Or actually fuck me?" They inquire, nails digging into his plating lightly scratching his paint.

"Oh, you're in quite the mood today, aren't you?. Frag you smell like you're in heat" he teased, the hunger in his optics unmatched as he stares down at them. With a low growl of need, Mirage leaned in, capturing their lips in a searing kiss.

"Mm my sweet little thing all wound up for me" he whispered huskily, his voice dripping with desire. A breathless moan leaves them as Mirage's servos move to begin undressing them, their skin prickles under his touch as goose bumps littler their body. They yelp when his cold servos grip their hips. "God your hands are cold!" His lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in closer, his voice laced with amusement and desire. "Just trying to cool you down a bit, can't have you overheating on me" he quipped, his touch sending shivers down their spine

His lips trace down their chest, glossa leaving a trail of lubricant in its wake as he tastes the hormones and pheromones. It has him leaning down closer to them, spike gliding against their stomach and thighs. Each moan and gasp from them only spurred Mirage on. With them guiding his every movement, Mirage couldn't help but let out a series of teasing whispers, his voice dripping with desire.

"Well, aren't you a delicious treat," Mirage purred, "Guiding me along, are we? I must say, you have quite the talent for leading me astray," he continued, his tone light and playful. They laugh only to moan again as he makes his way further down their body, lifting their hips as he cups his mouth around them teasing his glossa between their thighs.

Mirage's voice was a velvet whisper against their skin, mischief flicking in his optics as he smirks against their thigh. "Well, well, what do we have here?" His tone playful, his gaze meeting theirs as he slowly presses his glossa into them. "I do believe you're enjoying this, aren't you?" he teased.

They arch into each thrust of his glossa. With one servo firmly gripping their hips, Mirage's other servo ventured down to stroke his spike, the transfluid leaking from him leaves a light pink trail across their skin and the berth. a wave of pleasure washed over them, their moans mingling with Mirage's hungry growls.

With each stroke and caress, Mirage manorvers their body to press his face closer between their legs. "Fuck Mirage, please stop teasing" they huff out only to moan again as the mech thrust him glossa back into them, making them squirm against his hold as their hips arch and buck into each movement.

Mirage's smirk widened at their plea, " someone's getting impatient, I do love it when you beg," he teased, his glossa expertly gliding against their sensitive skin, tracing over their sex making them buck against him again. another whimper leaves them as he sucks a mark into their skin.

He slowly drags himself away from them, licking his lips as he trails his digits down their body, chuckling to himself before he cages them in. His other servo continues to work his spike, transfluid leaking out onto their nude body as he kisses up their chest. The trail of his digits down their body sent shivers of anticipation through them, their thighs spreading wider for him.

"You taste so good," Mirage's tone was filled with hunger and need. They whine again, arms grabbing his helm as they guide him. The slick sensation of his transfluid leaves a tingling sensation in its wake as he presses his spike between their thighs.

Mirage presses down against them, doing his best not to put too much weight on them as he picks up his pace. The sensation of their skin has him venting heavily, face pressed into their sweaty skin as he inhales their scent. It's enough to make Mirage choke out a cry when he finally overloads.

Mirage's engine hitched as they whined, their arms grabbing his helm in a desperate plea for more. He coating them in a bright pink fluid As he continues to move against them. Pressing kisses to their skin as he comes down from his high of an overcharged build up due to his rut.

they both gasped for breath, the air thick with the scent of their body and frame, sweat and coolant mixing together. They both lay there before they started to giggle. Only to squirm and fight back as Mirage's digits ran across their transfluid covered body. Taking what he could and slowly pressing it between their thighs. "Mirage!" They shout while wiggling trying to get away.

"Such a feisty one, aren't you?" He hums while continuing to press his digits into them. “That's its sweetspark. Primus you look good like this. Might have to lock us in for a bit because your working my systems up again” he rumbles while pulling them to rest against his chassis.

_______________________

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#transformers #transformers idw #mtmte #transformers x human #transformers x reader #valveplug #transformers generation one #gen 1 #g1 tf #mirage x reader #mirage transformers #transformers mirage #mirage #mirage gen 1

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soap-ify · 1 year ago

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simon can't be with you anymore.

cw gn!reader , angst , hurt / no comfort, simon doesn't know what he's doing.

notes streets said that it's angstmas !! didn't know that it existed until recently. anyways, since i'm having the worst week of my life, i'm gonna ruin it for simon too.

maybe simon was being stupid.

he probably was. not that he could think of any other options besides leaving you.

his work was too dangerous, and the next deployment was probably going to be his last. especially after the recent briefing he went to where the captain spoke about the upcoming mission — a highly risky one. in fact, even the most skilled like ‘ghost’ was bound to either get severely injured or just die. probably the latter. especially since he wouldn’t be with the rest of the taskforce 141 in the fucking warzone.

just a sacrifice for the better of the world, yeah? even though a part of him didn’t want to. fuck the world. you meant so much more to him. but he had chosen this job right. he had agreed to the mission.

and after all, he never considered himself deserving of you, deserving of this relationship he had with you. he knew he was somewhat of a distant boyfriend — barely opening up about his own feelings or past. at least he had shown you his face. you didn’t deserve someone as dangerous as him, someone so… damaged.

he didn’t want to die knowing that you’d be waiting home, all sad and lonely. he didn’t want to leave you like that, but at the same time, he didn’t want to stay and just watch this sweet bubble you two were in shatter. in both ways, he had to leave you. he had to somehow make this less painful, to make it easier for you to move on.

god, he was an asshole. he knew he was. he spent the week just distancing himself from you, responding to your words with nods and grunts while barely reciprocating to your affectionate touches. his heart was breaking more and more everyday, noticing the pained look in your eyes.

he couldn’t keep doing this for much longer. eventually, he had to end this, and he did.

“we can’t be together.”

his words hit you like a brick. literally on a random friday evening. not so random now, it seemed.

“what do you mean, si…?” your voice got quieter with each word, uncertainty towards your own state of mind flooding inside you while a lump formed in your throat, restraining you from properly even speaking out. your eyes stared at him in pure confusion and heart, noticing how he was cladded in his uniform, how he wore that damn skull mask balaclava — building up those walls again that you had managed to break so easily with your love.

simon hated this. he didn’t want to see you so confused and defeated. he had to stop himself mentally from doing something irrational. he was doing this for you, for your own good. though hearing you call him ‘si’ seemed to somewhat crack his composure.

“look, we can’t be together. s’too dangerous. too risky for you. you never know when i might die.” soon, but he held himself from saying that. you didn’t need to know about his deployment, not at all.

“w-why so sudden?” your voice cracked as you tried to properly make sense of his words, emotions taking off your being while you tried to hold in the tears that had begun to sting your eyes.

too dangerous, too risky — maybe somewhere in your heart, you had known that a day like this would come. simon riley was too careful about safety, too dedicated to his work while simultaneously being madly in love. suddenly, all of his sudden distant behavior made sense, and you felt somewhat stupid. stupid for, well, everything.

he was the plague that had infected you, and now he needed to leave so you could heal.

but you never thought of him like that. he was your rock, the anchor that held you from slipping away into loneliness that had always somehow stuck with you throughout your life, a sting that only simon could soothe. it was simon who would craddle you in his arks every night, it was simon who would listen to your rambles. it was simon who your heart was so willing to give love to.

and now he was going to leave.

simon had expected you to scream, to somehow target your anger and frustrations at him. he wanted you to yell at him, he deserved it.

but you didn’t. you sniffled, beads of tears beginning to roll down your cheeks as you took a wobbly step back, too exhausted to fight back or anything.

you didn’t blame simon. how could you? even now, you couldn’t find a flaw in him. too in love? maybe.

as silence filled the living room of the apartment you used to share with him, he slowly picked up his duffel bag and sighed, trying to keep his brown eyes cold and unfeeling, to make it look like he didn’t feel remorseful, to hide his heart was threatening to tear out of his own skin.

“i’ll always love you, simon…”

you said after a few seconds, causing his head to turn over to look back at you — your eyes teary and puffy while your cheeks were streaked with tears, his hands aching to wipe them away. your voice was weak, reluctantly defeated. you know that there was no point in stopping him.

i’ll always love you too, he mentally thought, though never said.

"one final kiss...?" simon froze at your request, knowing that if he were to look at your face any longer, he'd actually stay. he sighed and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead before pulling away, brown eyes hardening up.

he gave you a final nod and exited the apartment from the front door, leaving you alone all over again, your heart torn in pieces as you fell down on your knees, shattering into pieces that no one was going to bother picking up now. only simon could, but he was gone.

simon riley had died three months after that, and you never found out. for you, ge had just disappeared, leaving no traces behind.

just a memory that you were afraid you’d forget eventually, forget his touch and his voice, forget his face — just a memory that was going to bury itself no matter how hard you may try.

#i don't know what i am doing #literally writing everything EXCEPT the simon oneshot i am actually supposed to be writing #evilly ruins simon's life.#teared up while writing this #WHO GETS THE REFERENCE HERE !!#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #call of duty #rurufic

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project-sonadow · 1 year ago

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Shooting Star

Before… everything, Shadow lived on the ARK his whole life. Almost everyone else got to come and go as they pleased. The professor and his scientists frequently traveled down to the planet below, either to conduct more research or to explain the results of their project to the military commanders funding Shadow’s very existence. The GUN personnel aboard the ARK, who stared at Shadow with fear and hostility, always left after a couple weeks, to be replaced by new, bright-eyed recruits who didn’t know a thing about the truth of the project.

But there was one person who was with him, always.

“Shadow, what do you think it’s like on earth?” Maria asked.

“The professor said his life’s work was dedicated to all of those who live down there. He once told that the reason for his existence was making people happy through the power of science.”

It was a line Gerald had fed to him, to give to his granddaughter, naive by the circumstances of her life. There was only one person Gerald dedicated his life to, and only one that he wanted to make happy. But it was a lie Shadow was never going to contradict, especially when he owed his creation to Gerald, and his few moments of companionship to Maria.

“Shadow…”

They were looking out the windows on the ARK, at the black of space dotted all over by light from stars which could be long dead by now. The planet was below them, always below them, a vibrant mix of white and blue and green, brighter than anything on the ARK itself, constructed of sharp edges and dull shades of gray. The two of them were only on the ARK to keep Maria alive, so Shadow could be used to save her life, but neither of them were happy here.

And if Maria wasn’t happy, wasn’t able to live her life, then Shadow’s purpose, his reason for existence…

“Maria… I just don’t know anything anymore. I often wonder why I was created. What my purpose is, for being here. Maybe if I go down there, I will find the answers. Maybe…”

His voice trailed off, and Maria looked at him with sad eyes. It was one of her better days, one where she was able to stand, and talk without gasping for air, but she still looked like a frail, washed out ghost under the harsh lights of the colony.

“Maria…”

And so they remained there, stuck between the planet below and the stars above.

---

When he first met the other hedgehog, Shadow was unimpressed. He had known GUN was going to find some way to justify his existence to the world at large, but he had assumed it would be the GUN Commander, or someone who had been at GUN for over 50 years.

Instead, they had found a hedgehog, similar to him in appearance but different in every other way.

Right now, that hedgehog was glaring up at him, green eyes narrowed in misdirected fury. The destroyed Big Foot crunched underneath Shadow’s shoes, evidence of how weak GUN was, unable to capture even an inferior version of him.

Shadow should have left. He had done his job by stealing a Chaos Emerald, and decimating as much of GUN’s forces as he could in one night. He had a job to do, and he had to get to the ARK. From there, Gerald’s grandson could unwittingly take care of the rest of the plan, if he was half as competent as his grandfather had been.

And yet, he stayed. He blamed his own curiosity- this was the hedgehog GUN had elected to blame for Shadow’s misdeeds, the one who Gerald’s grandson had mistaken him for. Surely there was something special about him.

“What?” the hedgehog said, clearly confused at Shadow’s appearance, and he smirked, holding the Chaos Emerald up high for the hedgehog to see.

“It all starts with this… a jewel containing the ultimate power…”

“That’s the… Chaos Emerald!” the hedgehog said, and Shadow saw a mixture of surprise and rage cross his face. “Now I know what’s going on! The military has mistaken me for the likes of you. So… where do you think you’re going with that Emerald?!”

Shadow said nothing, and simply glared down at the other hedgehog. It would be foolish to charge an unknown opponent directly, especially one with one of the most powerful items on the planet, and yet the hedgehog looked like he was about to do just that, ears pinned back against his head in fury and disgust.

“Say something! You fake hedgehog!”

Shadow didn’t bother to meet his attack head-on, simply tossing the Chaos Emerald up into the air and catching it again. He felt the power of the Emerald pulsing in his hand, bending and malleable to Shadow’s will- “Chaos Control!”

Shadow had planned to simply warp to the opposite building, hitting the hedgehog on the way, maybe hard enough to keep him out of any of Shadow’s plans. But even under the effects of Chaos Control, with the world slowed down to a stop around him- Shadow saw the other hedgehog’s eyes widen minutely, and then his feet skidded on the pavement. Slow, but still just fast enough to change course, to avoid Shadow entirely.

Shadow blinked, and then he was on the opposite roof. The other hedgehog wheeled around, alarm and surprise on his face, before he started speaking to himself again. “Wow… he’s fast! Hey, it’s not his speed, he must be using the Chaos Emerald to warp!”

So, he was able to figure out Chaos Control from only seeing it used once. But that didn’t mean much of anything at all, at least not by itself.

Shadow curiosity- and annoyance- was piqued. He had hoped to be able to eliminate the other in a single encounter. But their time together was already coming to an end. Shadow could see the human’s forces, military and police alike, approaching. What a shame, to not be able to get rid of the blue pest.

“My name is Shadow. I’m the world’s ultimate lifeform. There’s no time for games… farewell!”

It was easy enough to teleport all the way to the Space Colony ARK with just one Emerald, and the last he saw of the hedgehog was him flinching back, a hand going up to cover his eyes, and then he vanished from sight entirely, replaced by familiar halls that Shadow had already come to hate.

Shadow, still tossing the Emerald into the air, closed his eyes and considered the hedgehog for a second.

Fast. Strong enough to destroy a GUN mech entirely and be unharmed by the encounter. Smart enough to figure out Chaos Control without using it himself. But also stupid, to charge into a fight without knowing a thing about his enemy’s capabilities, and capable of being overwhelmed by strong emotion like a fool.

Special. But nothing too special. Nothing like Shadow himself.

---

Shadow hoped he wouldn’t encounter the other hedgehog again, that he would just remain locked in GUN’s deepest, darkest cell until Shadow was able to fulfill Maria’s wish. Sadly, the humans were incompetent at everything, so it wasn’t too long into Shadow’s next excursion down to the planet’s surface before there was another chance encounter.

“Hey, that’s…”

“That blue hedgehog again, of all places…”

“I found you, faker!”

“Faker? I think you’re the fake hedgehog around here. You’re comparing yourself to me… ha! You’re not even good enough to be my fake!”

“I’ll make you eat those words!”

Shadow had been intending to end it quickly. Gerald’s grandson had promised to destroy the entire island, so all Shadow had to do was kill the other hedgehog quickly, or find a way to cripple him and leave him here, to die in the explosion. Shadow was the Ultimate Lifeform. The other hedgehog was nobody.

And yet…

They ended up glaring at each other from across the clearing, both bruised and battered, but neither able to win. Emerald eyes were just as sharp as ever as they glared at Shadow, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the Chaos Emeralds as he stared into them.

Shadow could see that the other hedgehog was exhausted, sweat matting his fur, and panting for air. But Shadow felt even more breathless, more out of practice and weak.

It infuriated him.

It was the beeping from the communicator that distracted both of them. “Shadow! What are you doing? Hurry and get back here right now before the island blows up with you on it!” The other hedgehog’s eyes widened, predictably. “Blows up?”

Had Shadow really wasted this much time with a single hedgehog? He jumped back, and didn’t spare another glance at the hedgehog as he fled. But next time, he swore that he would crush him.

Somehow, Shadow knew he wouldn’t be lucky enough for him to die before then.

---

As it turned out, Shadow was wrong. The explosion lit up the entirety of space, and Shadow, in the same place where he had stood with Maria once, stared at it with nothing but contempt.

“I guess he was just a regular hedgehog, after all.”

---

But even after that, things continued to go wrong. Rouge’s betrayal, the truth about the project designed to create the Ultimate Lifeform- Shadow felt off balance, unsteady, even before he found his way to the one of the many long hallways leading to the Eclipse Cannon and found a ghost waiting for him.

“You never cease to surprise me, blue hedgehog. I thought that the capsule you were in exploded in space.”

The hedgehog grinned at him, and it stoked a fire somewhere deep in Shadow. “You know, what can I say… I die hard! You actually saved me, you know.”

Shadow glanced down at the Chaos Emerald the other held. The fake Chaos Emerald. “It was a Chaos Emerald, wasn’t it? But, there’s no way you could have activated the Chaos Control using an Emerald that’s fake.”

They started running, and Shadow kept up with the blue hedgehog’s pace easily as they ran down the hallway, but glancing down at their feet- the other was wearing ordinary shoes, and Shadow was wearing air shoes, designed specifically to allow him to travel at high speeds. Shadow grit his teeth. “So, there’s more to you than just looking like me. What are you anyway?”

“What you see is what you get! Just a guy that loves adventure! I’m Sonic the Hedgehog!”

Sonic. A regular name for a regular hedgehog. “I see. But you know, I can’t let you live. Your adventuring days are coming to an end!”

They fought, in space, above the planet and below the stars. And Shadow…

Shadow lost.

---

They didn’t see each other again. Not until Eggman won, and Gerald’s plan was complete, his message played across the entire earth so all of humanity would know what was coming for them, how their arrogance and cruelty had sealed their fate decades ago.

And Shadow… thought it was over. Until another hedgehog, this one small and frail and foolish, reached out to him in desperation and hope and an earnest, true love for the planet Shadow hated and all the people on it.

Shadow had thought he would meet with resistance, and suspicion. Instead, Sonic was just confused, and happy, that Shadow was helping.

“Leave this one to me!”

“Shadow, what are you doing?”

“I’ll take care of this, while you run to get the Chaos Emeralds!”

Sonic grinned at those words, and nodded, grabbing his friend by the hand and running around the Biolizard.

The Biolizard itself, supposedly another ultimate lifeform, the prototype of Shadow himself, was so much easier to defeat than one small hedgehog had ever been.

But much like Sonic, it refused to give up, even on the brink of defeat.

The Biolizard vanished- teleported- in a flash of light, and then the shaking of the colony resumed, so harsh and sudden that Shadow almost fell over. Gerald’s grandson spoke to them over the communicators in the ARK, informing them of what it had done, and Shadow- Shadow didn’t know what to do. They had all thrown everything they had at it, and yet-

“Sonic!” the echidna yelled, dragging Shadow out of his thoughts, and he turned to see the two of them, engaged in what looked like a silent argument. Sonic’s eyes glanced between the echidna, the Master Emerald, the Chaos Emeralds- and then Shadow.

Shadow wasn’t entirely sure how he knew what Sonic intended to do, but he just did. It was unlike anything he ever felt before- an eerie calmness, and a sudden surge of confidence that they would win.

Sonic took Shadow by the hand, and led him up to the very top of the altar, where Chaos Energy burned and crackled, where the Chaos Emeralds formed a circle around the two of them. He met Sonic’s eyes once before he closed his own, unable to bear the trust that he saw in them.

He had no idea this was even possible, but it came to him naturally anyway. Chaos Energy flowed through the two of them, and when Shadow opened his eyes he met ruby red on the other side, flickering like fire.

“Come on!” Super Sonic said, a grin of pure excitement on his face. “Let’s go save the world!”

---

The Finalhazard, fitting for a creation of Gerald Robotnik, refused to go down without a fight. And Shadow, despite feeling more powerful than he had ever been, was burning through his power fast. Far too fast for this fight, despite the rings he and Sonic intermittently collected.

And Sonic was beginning to notice.

“Shadow! Your power’s getting weaker! Hey, are you okay?”

Shadow grunted, and tried to focus on the fight.

“Shadow, at this rate, your super form won’t last! Get back to the Colony!”

Shadow landed a hit on the Biolizard, barely damaging it.

“Continuous use of your Super form will cause you to disappear! Get back to the Colony!”

The Finalhazard hit Shadow, sending him directly into Sonic, blasting them both back into space. When they both righted themselves, Shadow took a moment to glare at Sonic. Only a moment, they didn’t have any other time to spare- but Sonic seemed to understand, and gave him a small smile.

The fight didn’t get any easier from there, but things became more bearable when he and Sonic were working in sync, landing blow after blow on the seemingly-invincible creature. The ARK continued to get closer to the planet, and their communicators both crackled, the people on the other side first yelling advice, then warnings, and then pleas for them both to retreat to the ARK. Neither of them listened.

And even when the Finalhazard was finally beginning to weaken, its attacks desperate and wild, Shadow could tell that he and Sonic were on their last legs, burning through the last of the energy. He grit his teeth, preparing for the final attack, and glanced over at Sonic.

Sonic looked fine. His fur sparkled like gold, his eyes like burning rubies. The grin on his face was back, and even from a distance, the way he dodged each of the Finalhazard’s attacks, the backdrop of space behind him- he looked like a shooting star. He looked beautiful.

Sonic…

His light grew brighter, almost blinding Shadow, as he shot towards the Finalhazard.

I think I’ve discovered what the Ultimate Lifeform is…

The Finalhazard screamed, lashing out with all its might, lasers and bombs and flailing limbs. It was all worthless.

It might be you!

Super Sonic collided with the side of Finalhazard, landing the finishing blow, and Shadow didn’t watch as it died. He just kept his eyes on Sonic, even when he knew the other wasn’t looking at him.

Eventually, though, even someone like Sonic needed help, and as Shadow saw him struggle to stop the falling Colony he flew forward, joining Sonic. A Chaos Control of this size and power was something Shadow had never attempted and he knew Sonic hadn’t either, but somehow, he knew that they could pull it off together.

Even if he was almost out of time.

The instant he knew the world was safe- that he had fulfilled Maria’s promise- Shadow felt the last of his power leave him, and he plummeted towards the earth. It didn’t take even a second for Sonic to fly after him, attempting to catch him. Shadow knew it was useless, but he held out his hand anyway, hoping against reality that Sonic would be able to create another miracle.

He wasn’t. Sonic’s fingers snagged against his inhibitor ring, pulling it off Shadow’s hand, and he continued falling, with the expression on Sonic’s face seared into his mind. He closed his eyes, and tried to forget the anguish on it.

“Maria… this is what you wanted, right? This is my promise I made to you.”

Shadow fell, and Sonic remained far above him, a star he could never catch up to.

#fanfiction #sonadow #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #our first fic woag.......#long post #project writes

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murdercide626 · 3 months ago

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Thoughts on the Sonic 3 trailer:

First of all, HOLY S***!! This trailer was frikkin amazing!! :D

Shadow looks so badass, and just from the three lines we hear from him in the trailer I can tell Keanu is gonna be great in the movie!

I'm also glad to see that they won't be shying away from the darker elements of Shadow's origin.This movie is definitely gonna make me cry I know it...

Also, Eggman finally has his chubby gut! lol

Speaking of, it seems that Eggman and Stone aren't the ones to awaken Shadow as they seem unaware of the situation until Sonic goes to them asking for help. I can see why they changed it because if Eggman was teaming up with Shadow, like in SA2, it would probably feel a bit too similar to the plot of the second movie, with Eggman's partnership with Knuckles. So it's interesting that it seems that Shadow could be working alone in this version of the story. Actually, that brings up another aspect...

WTF!! GERALD IS STILL ALIVE???

This is definitely an interesting turn, and it brings up so many questions! The most obvious question is HOW?? Well, some people think that Gerald might have been changed to being Eggman's father rather than grandfather to justify him still being around. But maybe he is still Eggman's grandfather but he was in suspended animation for all these years, like Shadow. Or maybe he's a ghost or hallucination? Or maybe it's time travel, who knows! XD Eggman called him "pappap" which could mean either father or grandfather, depending on who you ask.

So, if that really is Gerald "in the saggy flesh" could that mean that he's actively manipulating Shadow into destroying the world, or is he going to be somehow instrumental in stopping him? I'm really interested to see what direction they go with this!

Also, it looks like the Ark has been changed up and is significantly smaller. I wonder if this shot is showing it going up to space?

And in this shot that appears to show Tails flying from the Ark, you can see some sort of attachments on the front that resemble Eggman's, or rather Gerald's, mustache.

I love this Japanese Chuck E. Cheese-like place called the "Chao Garden". lol

Also, hello Shadow 2005 game reference!

Eggman actually getting to hug Gerald is something I never expected to see, but damn is it wholesome! ^^

Omg, this drawing Sonic made!! My heart!

And I really dig Eggman's new mobile base that resembles a giant crab! lol

Nice Akira reference!

Anyway, I'm starting to ramble, so I'll just end this by saying that I am so effing excited for this movie! Just a few more months! I can't frikkin wait to see it! :D

And this time I'm gonna try to avoid any more trailers or spoilers, but we'll see how that goes... lol

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pinkcreamypeach · 6 days ago

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Sonic x shadow Generations Takeover

My thoughts/Feelings

Huge ahh word dump

1. Shadow and Amy going to Hot Honey and Sabrina concerts just makes perfect sense. I like to headcanon him as someone who enjoys heavy metal, but also has a soft spot for pop music. Maybe he even listens to blonde singers with blue eyes because they remind him of Maria? Shadow might be a gothic hedgehog, but deep down, he’s a softie. It’s adorable when he hangs out with Amy; no wonder people ship them! And him actually agreeing to go shopping with Sonic? That’s too precious. The race to the shoe store is just hilarious. Also, Shadow being weirded out by monkeys not wearing pants is an amusing little detail.

2. Shadow actually enjoys spending time with Big the Cat, which is such a surprise! I can totally picture Shadow smiling on their fishing trips together. Black Doom sending Shadow to Radical Highway to hurt him makes sense for the character, but of course, Shadow is stronger. Shadow and Sonic’s horrible drawing skills are hilarious, too. I like to think Silver is the best artist out of the three, and I love how Shadow respects both Silver and Tails, even though he’d probably dropkick an 8-year-old if they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

3. Did Maria train with Shadow too? I wonder if she was working on physical therapy or strengthening her immune system. I’m curious. The two of them playing chess together is such a wholesome thought, especially since Gerald taught Shadow how to play. The Ark family really holds a special place in my heart. Shadow being a bookworm makes sense as well—Maria and Shadow probably spent a lot of time reading on the Ark. Since Maria is a Robotnik, and so is Shadow technically, he had to stay sharp and always think strategically.

4. Sonic and Shadow’s first experience with becoming Super is a fun dynamic. Sonic had an easier time due to his hyperactivity, while Shadow found it easy to transform but needed to focus to keep it under control. It really reflects their personalities. Maria would be so happy seeing Shadow and Abraham actually communicate and get along. Even though their phone call was awkward, they don’t hate each other.

5. Shadow doesn’t mind Cubot, but he finds Orbot’s unnaturally spherical shape pretty irritating. Shadow is definitely a black coffee person, while Sonic is more of a latte guy—perfect match! Shadow acting like he doesn’t believe in ghosts, despite constantly dealing with the ghosts of his past, is kind of ironic. Sonic can never quite scare Shadow, no matter how hard he tries with his cheap jumpscares. Shadow’s love for Doom Morph and Sonic’s jealousy over it is just hilarious, especially when Shadow flexes.

6. Shadow finds lovely Mexico City and probably a special fondness for Latinas. He also values proper education and time management, which would make him a pretty strict parent if he ever had kids. Sonic actually gets a compliment from Shadow at one point, even if it’s about his blackhead—it’s adorable!

#sonic x shadow generations #sonic fandom #Sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #creamypeach writings #sonic x shadow Generations Takeover #sonic tiktok takeover #sonic takeover

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byz-was-here · 4 months ago

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Because no one asked,

Here's how I would do a transformers series:

1) emphasize the disguise

They're robots in disguise. Its in the tagline. Make the bots and cons fight each other while trying not to be noticed.

Why would world conquering deceptions stoop to hiding from puny organics?

Easy. Skew the matchup. If its 8 billion nuclear armed monkeys vs 5-10 alien robots, even ol megsy ain't gonna take those odds.

The Autobots have an even easier reasoning: follow the prime directive.

2) Shipwreck everyone

Why can't the bots/cons just call for reinforcements?

They crash landed. That's why. Everyone's in stasis or injured. Callback to G1 where they spent 4 million years in sleep mode under a volcano. Maybe not *that* long but it would explain why no one noticed two alien starships smacking into the planet. No one was around to see it. Macguffin event happens, a couple bots and cons wake up, and they realize that a wholeass civilization popped up during their nap.

3) Civilian autobots

Why did they come to earth?

As is usually the go to answer: Cybertron's f*cked. Solution: Autobots dig out a *really* old and obscure planetary survey, find a decent enough planet, Optimus takes a bunch of scientists and engineers on a colony ship and they go off to found New Cybertron. Survey said the place was uninhabited, so it's free real estate. (Humans were probably still debating whether or not coming down from the trees and walking on 2 legs was a good idea when the Cybertronian scouts did the survey)

Soundwave does his soundwave thing, finds out, Megatron loads up a warship, and they shoot each other down on prehistoric earth. Meanwhile, a caveman named grug figures out mr fire is your friend.

Point is, you've got one side that's a bunch of scientists, engineers, and other civilians (The Autobots)

And the other that's almost all elite combat troops (the Decepticons)

But, because of the first two issues, the cons can't take advantage of it. Otherwise they alert the Humans and someone with an itchy trigger finger drops a thermonuclear warhead on the stranded nemesis.

And if a human does discover the Autobots? Imo a civilian is more likely to break the rules and play nice than a trained soldier.

4) nobody wants to stay here

The Autobots originally planned to colonize earth, sure. That was before they got shot down, locked into stasis for who knows how long, and woke up to see an entire sapient civilization spring up from nowhere during their nap.

Optimus is Optimus, so it's plan B: freedom is the right of sentient beings, so we fix the ark and found new Cybertron somewhere else. Ideally, the human race won't realize they were ever here.

The Deceptions only care about crushing the Autobots and getting off this corrosive rock. Unless they can call home and summon an armada, it's just not *worth it* to pick a fight with humanity.

6) things I'd like to see

-Skyfire/Jetfire

Jetfire being one of the scouts, getting frozen in a callback to G1, and being found and thawed by some human scientists. He's just living his best life in a hidden lab, and only mildly worried about why Cybertron isn't answering his calls. Oh hey Starscream! When did you get the tattoo? (It's a bad breakup)

-Swindle

Our dystopian capitalist nightmare is Swindle's daydream paradise. He absolutely loves earth. #1 fan. He probably makes connections to the mob. Good times.

-Nightbird

Local mechanized AI (or ghost in the shell cyborg) has an emotional crisis, joins the deceptions. Beats up any Cons that disrespect her. No notes.

-Dinobots

"Wheeljack, why do our new security drones look like...that?"

"So there's this earth movie called "Jurassic Park"..."

Later:

"Wheeljack?"

"Yes optimus?"

"What happened to the sparks that we had in stasis?"

***Tyrannosaurs roar*** Me Grimlock Smash! (Panicked Decepticon screaming)

"Never mind, I think I figured it out."

-one sane adult human

Obvs theres a couple teens who pal around with the Autobots. There should be at least ONE adult in their early 20s as part of the group who's forced, however unwilling, to be the sole voice of reason. Aka: "I'M NOT TELLING YOUR PARENTS YOU GOT SQUISHED SNEAKING INTO AN EVIL ROBOT SPACESHIP"

"Then who's gonna pull off the rescue?"

"I AM!" (They instantly regret this decision, but They're at least old enough to make it)

-Shockwave as a late series villain

Shockwave has had command of the Decepticons ever since Megatron's Ill fated disappearance chasing after the Autobot Ark.

Having him return and upset Shockwave's centuries of effort holding onto the planets in the Deception Empire would be... Unfortunate. Perhaps it would be better if he stayed dead.... It's only logical.

#byzrambles #transfomers #maccadam

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arimiaromage · 27 days ago

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Strange house - DGM doujin fangame route 1

So this weekend I reached the true ending for the 1st scenario / route in Strange house, a doujin LaviYuu game I found made by MOONLIGHT CAFE. you can see the entire guidebook for it as well as more details here.

and now I'm going to show it off to you!

I finished scenario / route 1, titled "Dolly". in visual novels, when it has multiple endings or ways the story can play out, those are typically called routes. in Strange house it has 4 main routes with multiple endings for each route, though every route is still about Lavi x Kanda.

this is the route in the guidebook, where they give you a brief glimpse at some of the CGs (cutscene artworks) for the route and which choices you need to pick in order to get the true ending.

basically, the route starts by you (playing as Lavi) out on a mission with Kanda and Toma.

after you wrap up, Lavi says that it's too far to travel back to headquarters that night (this game set sometime right after Allen sets up the Ark doors for travel as the 14th but before Lavi is captured by the Noah) and insists you find shelter in the nearby town (because he wants more time outside the Order with Kanda).

in town, Toma hears there's a mansion nearby that will provide shelter to them, so they head there and are greeted by its owner, Ralph (ラルフ).

one of the main choices for this route is...... whether you introduce Kanda to Ralpha as Kanda or Yu??? I went with Yu for my first playthrough (I didn't consult the guidebook, I just wanted to play it naturally) and that apparently locked me out of the true ending. there's several endings if you called him Yu, but you can only get the true ending by calling him Kanda.

Ralph shows them to their rooms with some small chat - Ralph lives alone in this mansion after the passing of his parents and then his sister. Lavi and Kanda stay in adjoining bedrooms and try to get some sleep.

however.... a ghost has other plans.

the vision of a ghostly woman wakes Lavi up. he goes to Kanda's room to tell him about it only to find that Kanda isn't there anymore. his bags are there, and the bed looked slept in, but Kanda was missing.

at this point you return to Lavi's room and can either investigate on your own some or immediately call Ralph in. regardless, you have to call Ralph to investigate.

when Lavi investigates on his own, he finds a bloodied and town fabric, which definitely doesn't sit well with him. he informs Toma that Kanda is missing and tells him to sit tight, that he'll solve this.

after Lavi calls Ralph to inform him that Kanda is missing, Ralph is initially skeptical (maybe he went to the bathroom? out for a walk?) but agrees to help Lavi.

the two search the mansion but come up empty. the only location inside the manor they haven't searched is the attic which has been locked up since Ralph's sister died.

Lavi is surprised it's in such a nice shape despite Ralph claiming he hasn't been in there for at least months and the mansion doesn't have any maids/butlers. there's also a portrait on the wall that Lavi notices looks similar to the ghostly woman he saw earlier that night.

you have 2 options, either inspect the portrait on your own while Ralph opens up the attic window or ask Ralph directly about the portrait. if you inspect it before asking about it, the game continues. if you ask Ralph about it, he immediately shoots Lavi in the face.

I believe this is the first bad end in the route. Lavi later wakes up at the Order with only partial memories of what happened. apparently, Kanda found him bleeding out and managed to get him back there before it was too late, though he was heavily injured. however, Ralph had escaped by that point and Kanda refuses to talk about the night at all.

if we inspect the portrait, Lavi thinks how similar it looks to the ghost he saw but before he can remark out loud, Ralph calls him over to the window.

(yeah, they just took the front of the manor and skewed the image to simulate Lavi looking downwards from the attic)

Ralph says there's something outside, to which Lavi looks out but sees nothing. Ralph then pushes Lavi out the window but he's saved by extending his hammer. once he hits the ground unscathed, Ralph opens fire on him. at this point Lavi is very confused and runs off to the forest.

Ralph follows him there but Lavi knocks him out. there's the sounds of something rustling nearby, to which Lavi can either inspect it or take the unconscious Ralph back to the manor to search for Kanda.

if he searches for the sound, he finds it's a group of akuma waiting for an ambush. Lavi easily destroys them.

when Lavi comes back from fighting, Ralph is gone. Lavi goes to the basement and finds a dying Kanda sitting with a doll that looks just like the ghost he saw. however, this is another bad end - Kanda slowly wakes up but the two go home without fully understanding events.

what you're supposed to do is ignore the sounds and immediately take Ralph back inside. Lavi heads to the basement with him where they find a dying Kanda sitting with a "doll".

because Ralph is here, he freaks out and runs away at seeing the doll. Lavi stays by Kanda's side until he's able to move. once he regains consciousness, the two leave to chase after Ralph one more time.

Kanda is still injured, but they both know he should be fine thanks to his recovery speed. Kanda thinks Ralph thought he was dead and couldn't believe he was still alive. Lavi knows Kanda was dead from those injuries but his recovery abilities saved him.

Kanda goes on to explain that Ralph is a broker for the Earl and that the woman who saved him was Ralph's sister, Lyra (ライラ). he had heard a knocking on his window and saw the woman. she told him her name and that her brother was a broker. he had wanted to sell his soul and his sister's soul to revive their parents when they died, but she was so against the plan she locked herself in the attic.

depending on if you introduced Kanda as Yu or Kanda (yep remember that choice at the beginning?) determines if you get the final bad end or the true end.

if you called him Yu, then the two run around the mansion but find Ralph dead. akuma have already found him and killed him. Lavi and Kanda destroy the remaining akuma but still go home unsatisfied as they don't fully understand what happened to Lyra.

if you called him Kanda, then the two immediately run to Ralph's study where they find him about to make a phone call. they pull him out and force him to confess.

Ralph admits to being a broker, but there's one problem - his sister is dead. he swears he wasn't lying about that, saying that she killed herself when he was adamant that they revive their parents. so who saved Kanda...? at this point, even Lavi is confused.

they go back to the basement to see a lifeless doll there, covered in Kanda's blood. Ralph confesses the rest.

this is the true end for Dolly.

Lavi and Kanda take turns staying up to make sure no more akuma attack (and that Ralph doesn't escape) and Kanda brings out the—grape juice.

cue makeout session.

the next day, they hand off the manor to a group of finders to secure it and head off back to the Order. Lavi says he's sad he didn't get to see Kanda's sleeping face (Kanda woke up before he did that morning) and hopes he gets to see it at the Order.

still, Kanda brings him in for one more kiss before they go home.

and that's only one scenario / route out of the entire game! each route was written by a different person with different CG artists.

here's the ending credits as well.

this was pretty nice! it felt like one of the side story episodes from the original anime - they venture into a creepy but ultimately inconspicuous manor at night only to find it's connected to akuma, with its own broker and ghost story. this route was probably only around 2~ hours of playtime but took me much longer as it's in JP.

also, most of the character sprites are slightly animated and it's really cute, like Lavi's blushing happy sprite when he realizes Kanda wants to drink with him.

I'll be playing through the rest of the routes at some point and sharing that as well.

#dgm #dgrayman #laviyuu #d gray man #lavi bookman #yu kanda #kanda yuu #dgm fangame #fangame #fangames #doujin fangame #doujin fangames #moonlight cafe #this game was not made by me but instead moonlight cafe!#I'm just documenting it here for archival reasons

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confoundedluna · 4 months ago

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got that until dawn ps3 version quote list for y'all Finally

it is Just as stupid and ridiculous as the final version and it deserves appreciation too - this post might be longer than the other actually since this version has more chapters, we shall see, and the characters seem to talk to themselves a lot, plus I want to call out More of the dialogue since it's lesser known overall compared to the final game

again, please note these aren't in any particular order, I think they're Mostly chronological per character, I just type them as they come up in the videos and the videos are a bit odd in the way the chapters play out (one video is like. chapters 1, 4 and 5, another is 1, 6 and 7, it's just too awkward to be flipping between videos to watch everything in full order), since a lot are incomplete or need multiple builds to showcase everything they can, but I put together a playlist that was Mostly the order the chapters should be in, including different versions of each chapter in case anything changed across the different builds that I might want to take note of

also please note that some of these i typed based off how the subtitles are written and some off of how the lines are delivered - some of them switch the word order or use like a shortened version of a word or whatever, some lines have dialogue that isn't properly subtitled or has an automated voice reading them rather than an actual actor's delivery, I'm sorry if it's inconsistent but that's just how it's gonna be, i might not notice which version of the quote I used but it's basically the same thing so deal with it lmao

and like last time, let me know if i missed or skipped anything you think should be on this list! I tried to be a bit conservative with how many lines I used and go for just the funniest stand out ones or the ones that carried over, either fully or partially, to the finished game

okay enough disclaimers and apologies and shit, on to the quotes!

CHRIS

(SAM: I thought you were dead!) Well that's a fine thing to say to someone.

Wow. Safety. My mind is blown.

A-ha! And here we have the mysterious graphite spray.

It is believed that seances derive their mystical power by channeling the kinetic energy created by nude bodies... gathered as offerings to the occult, particularly those of young, teenage women. Ghosts are typically not concerned with the nude bodies of pasty young men, so if there are any ladies present, would you please remove your shirts and pants-

I'm beginning to think our friendly ghost is dyslexic.

This isn't a video game, Ash! Not everything's a clue!

There's a place in France where the ladies don't wear pants... (ASHLEY: Oh my god, how old are you?)

(ASHLEY: Look at this! Isaiah 11:6!) Is that a baseball thing? Like the signs at games? (ASHLEY: Uh, no, Chris, it's a Bible thing. You know, like a verse?) Oh, that's what those are. We should read it, right? The baseball Bible thing?

(ASHLEY: Look at this lectern, there's all sorts of animals on it.) It's like Noah's ark. Or that channel with all the animals on it.

(ASHLEY: Yep, it's all here. Fire and brimstone.) Blah blah blah, obey all my commands, blah blah blah, kill all your sons and daughters! (ASHLEY: What Bible did you read?) The cool one, duh!

Hey, I got it! See how this rotates? We could line up the animals like it says in the verse! (ASHLEY: Maybe all those hours in Sunday school paid off.) Absolutely. Not.

This just got totally Indiana Jones on us...

I know the human body has a surprising amount of blood in it, but damn.

Someone's been hunting. Guess they don't need a freezer out here.

Alright, handles all around I guess...

Holy shitballs.

I gotta say, this is not the most sensible thing I've ever done in my life.

Maybe we can find the book that the page belongs to. And find the jerk who ripped it out.

(ASHLEY: What is this, chemistry class?) I don't know about you, Ash, but I always like to leave my dangerous chemicals in a food preparation area.

Phew! See, look at that, nothing out there but the wind. (STRANGER: Sometimes the wind is not to be trusted.) Yeah well you would say that wouldn't you...

Do we just seem like slabs of meat to them? Like in old cartoons when one guy would be starving and the other guy would suddenly turn into a T-Bone steak? (STRANGER: Your thoughts wander uncomfortably far for someone walking through the dark in the W's territory…) Well that's precisely why I'd rather think about cartoons...

Brrr it's so cold out here... I guess it's better being cold than dead... though if I get any colder I might wish I was dead...

No more psychos and saw blades and crazy TV rooms and weird skinny monsters and no more snow and no more screaming hunter dudes.

(ASHLEY: How are you holding up, Chris...?) Miraculously. I mean, I'll probably collapse the second I start to think about anything that's been going on. (SAM: Then don't think about it.)

Ash... Even if Jess was down there I don't think it would be a good idea for us to climb into a mysterious hole in the wall...

We just want to get through this. Together, Ash...

ASHLEY

(SAM: Do you think Em is gonna say something about all this?) Knowing Em... she's gonna say plenty...

I tried to join chess club but I wasn't cool enough.

Cannibalism?! Who would buy a book like that? Who would even write a book on cannibalism? (CHRIS: A cannibal...?)

I don't care what it is- why does he keep doing this to us?!

This is our fault... we can't save him, it's our fault!

Not cool. Not cool.

Where does an elevator even go down here?

Bats... I mean, how in the heck are bats down here?

'A week in the mountains' he said, 'we'll get drunk, it'll be fun'...

Ohhh, I hate creepy noises!

They're crazy if they think they're going to find Josh and the stupid key... (SAM: Emily seemed to think she had a pretty good idea of where to look...) Yeah but she's Emily, Sam! When does she ever do anything that isn't some sort of weird selfish game- (SAM: Em seemed pretty shaken up, Ash, she's just trying to help-) She's trying to get us killed. We're all going to die up here. All of us.

(SAM: Just keep going, Ash, just keep going. It's right ahead of us.) It so does not feel like it's right ahead of us.

You've seen Mike with a gun, he seems pretty confident...

Well Sam, there doesn't gotta be another way- I mean we can hope there's another way...

(SAM: Pull it open!) I'm trying! What are you doing?! Don't hurt yourself not helping!

SAM

Ah-yep... limbs are still working.

Bim bam boom! There, fixed it for you.

That was hellacious.

She's usually pretty cool. Seems more like she's nursing a massive crush. (CHRIS: You mean Mike?) Ummm... yeah? Come on, she's sitting out there like a little lost puppy waiting for him.

Is she really being that big of a bitch to him?

(CHRIS: Wicked Witch of the West.) Right? I wish someone would drop a house on her. (CHRIS: That was the Wicked Witch of the East.) Did you seriously just correct me on that?

I can't believe Emily is hooking up with Matt. Didn't really expect her to go full meathead after breaking up with Michael.

Hey, did you get the sense that Jess and Mike are gonna have a uh... 'political summit' on this trip...?

Josh... having a little trouble getting the key into the hole?

(JOSH: I know Sam... I'm sorry... my fingers feel like they're gonna break off...) Do you want me to warm your fingers up so you can get the lock open?

Hello...? Hey guys, is that you? What are you guys doing? Being creepy...?

Hey?! I'm getting a little creeped out here fellas...

Someone help me, I'm stuck in here with a maniac!

I guess Josh needs kind of like a 'time-out' after what he did to us, but...

Okay. That does it. Door is locked. Nothing in or out.

Are you crazy? Or just stupid? You go out there and you're dead. In here we can at least wait- (MIKE: Until what? Come on, Sam.) Until dawn.

(EMILY: How did you find us?) You were making a total ruckus. Emily, I'm not sure you got the memo about the stealth mission.

Perfect. A giant hole.

(EMILY: Be careful...) As opposed to...?

(EMILY: You having a good time up there, Sam?) It's a god damn party.

Don't scream- don't scream- don't scream- (EMILY: I can't help it, I can't-)

Empty. Could have been one of us in there...

Okay Mister Elevator, let's see what we're working with here...

Wow. Now that's more like it. This is baaaaaadass.

Come on already, where is that fricking code?

Come on girl. You'd look good with that in your hands. Don't be shy.

Hey... bout time I found the Big Boy firepower.

I am so done with this place.

Get me outta here. Gotta find the cable car.

Get me out of here. Just get me to the first floor.

I just want to be on the ground, not up here.

Stairs? Ladder? Elevator? Escalator? Just need to get down to the ground floor.

I need out. Find my way to the cable car.

Gotta find the ground floor.

You guys look starved. Let me just fire up the grill.

MIKE

All ye who enter must pay the toll! Take off your pants!

(CHRIS: Maybe I can get a signal long enough to download a manual for one of these things.) ...Nerd alert, amirite?

(CHRIS: Nature calls.) Did you give her my number?

You throw like a- (JESS: Don't say it!) Was just gonna say you throw like a- (JESS: Don't!) ...throw like a beautiful, enchanting woman!

Awww! That's one to show the grandkids, right? (JESS: Don't get ahead of yourself, mister.) I wouldn't dream of it.

You wanna hear a joke? (JESS: Sure! I love to laugh.) Okay. So, how many librarians does it take to screw in a lightbulb? (JESS: Dunno, how m-) Shhh!!! (JESS: Really? Ugh.)

(JESS: Goddamn batteries! Shake it, that usually helps! Awesome!) Shake-powered batteries? Who knew.

I wonder what's down there. Ah, I bet it's just a bunch of pickaxes and old cart tracks and miner bones and ghosts of miners, and miner curses and... Woah. Get a grip dude. Class President.

Look at that. (JESS: What're all those symbols?) I think they're ancient. (JESS: Ancient what?) Ancient symbols. (JESS: Such insight...)

I'm not super thrilled at the idea of bears hanging around and crashing our party.

Looks like the path is a little blocked up. (JESS: What do you mean?) Well, it's got all this... tree in the way.

Where'd you go? Jessica? You've got at least five good minutes left until I bring out the waterworks.

This looks like the work of a bear. I do not like the way bears work.

Jess, hon? I promise I totally won't murder you when I find you. Maybe just a little.

So cold out here, but I'm sweating! Is that normal?

(JESS: You're trying to just freak me out, aren't you?) What? Why? (JESS: To get in my pants.) Yes, I would like to scare the pants off you.

So... One time I jumped over a crazy deep ravine on my bike. All the kids from the neighbourhood came out. Some local news too. Everyone thought I wasn't going to make it. (JESS: But you did?) Nope. Totally died. Been dead six years now. (JESS: You're lying.) Am I, though? (JESS: ...yes? ... Right?) There's only one way to find out...!

We're all alone in here, babe. Just you and me... the Presidential suite. (JESS: Well, Mr President, the lights don't work. And I'm freezing!)

Someone really doesn't like things to stay in one piece around here. Why would someone tear this up?

My jaw's chiselled enough already, but still, it could be useful.

Well, I've found the killer bathtub. Jesus, what did I think would be in there?

Woah. Check out the crazy sex book they have up here.

What is this? Ms. Dunkle's tenth grade science project?

Well, we're here now, so we might as well make use of the amenities. (JESS: Like the bed?) Yeah, I'm thinking mostly the bed.

Alright, madame, is there anything else that you require, or shall I retire to my quarters? (JESS: You're not going anywhere.) Madame requires additional services? (JESS: I can think of a few.)

Huh. Turns out our monster is just a broken branch. Guess it must have seen us and gotten jealous.

(JESS: Finally I have your attention.) The Vice President is standing by. (JESS: Well, why don't you bring him into the Oval Office?) Let's sign this bill into law!

Gotta stay calm. Focused. Get out of this rotten pit.

Crap, what are you doing Mikey, what's wrong with you... this asshole killed Jess... he should pay for that... but nobody's gonna pay for anything unless you get out of here in one piece, buddy...

Stay cool, Mikey. Stay cool.

(groans) Unngh… Either I'm getting weaker or doors are getting heavier…

Come on Sir Mike. Don't be such a wimp. Think about Jessica.

He could be waiting for me… it would be wise for me to tread lightly in the lion's den.

Just stay on your guard Potus… Stay alert…

Let's go, Mikey, let's go.

Gravity's my co-pilot on this one.

Aww… god… smells like something died in here, came back to life, ate its own corpse and then threw it all up…

Well well well. Here we are again. Sometimes wandering around in circles ain't so bad.

This is the creepiest rehearsal space I've ever seen.

Alright, keep your head Mr. President. Calm under pressure…

Ah great, another scenic wing of 'le castle de dilapitacion'.

Alright… look at that. Now we're getting somewhere. Don't know where, but somewhere.

Births and deaths, 1905. Some light bedtime reading for when we get through this.

Man, I can't even skip lunch without becoming a hungry monster, how did these guys feel over 23 days. Wait, no, i don't want to think about it.

Hey! Proper old school photo. Ain't that many left that roll with this kind of geddup anymore.

Chris was killed right in front of us, Jack the monster hunter was torn to pieces and now we're just waiting around like sitting ducks? No. We have to get off the mountain. Now.

Boom! For the win.

(EMILY: Ugh. I hate this place.) Admittedly, they have let it go... (EMILY: Yeah, they haven't dusted in years down here...)

Ah, seems like patient number four was suffering from a bout of being too extraordinary.

I'll tell you what. If the patients weren't completely nuts when they checked in, this place would drive them crazy.

(EMILY: Alright, so how are we gonna get out of here?) Scream and cry like girls?

Pe-culiar? That's actually like a for real medical term? Must have been Charlie Cheswick's records.

I wonder how far your gums have to recede before they start measuring them. If I'm reading this right, this guy must have looked like a dollar store Halloween mask. Wouldn't want to meet these chompers in a dark alley. Or terrifying sanitorium.

If wishes were horses beggars would be cowboys. (CHRIS: Woah. You did not just say that.) That guy Jack had some pretty catchy phrases don't you think?

EMILY

(CHRIS: We just saw Jessica, down by the cable car.) Ugh. Any more perfume on that B and you'd think she was a bachelorette party.

My lips are already so chapped. (MATT: I can kiss them and make them better.) In your dreams Loverboy.

Oh my god, are you gonna swallow his face whole? We're all here! How much more of your crap can we take?

Listen you little slut, maybe because I am not on crack I can see what you're doing.

I don't have to spy when clearly you're showing off with your tongue halfway down his throat.

(JESS: You heard what I said.) Why don't you say it again to my face you bitch?

You do whatever you want. If there's a crazy murderer running around then I'm going to get the hell out of here. (MATT: Maybe he's right, Em-) Do you want me to go out there all alone, Matt? Because I will.

We'll take the cable car to go get help, dummy. Come on.

This is totally crazy Matt. This is totally crazy. My head is spinning.

Ugh. It's freezing out here. I did not pack for this.

I wish Chris and Ashley were more helpful. (MATT: Em, you hardly gave them a chance-) You know, I'm just trying to help the situation.

I just can't believe it's happened again! I mean like, is this family cursed? (MATT: Yeah the whole mountain feels cursed.)

Okay, you done good Matt. Took you a while, but you done good.

Look, if you're not gonna call for help, then maybe you should at least get some tunes going for us to listen to while we sit here and freeze to death can you please just get the radio working Matt oh my god oh my god!

Oh my God, stop talking like you're in a movie. Are you pushing the right button? Is there even a signal?

Wow. These clothes are all torn up. And I don't think it's because they were ripped off the sale rack in a shopping spree…

Ugh. Why do these machines always have to be so complicated?!

Ahhh! Jesus… them's the brakes.

Oh come on batteries… stick with me just a little longer…

Ugh… are those… bite marks on the bones? As in like… eating marks?

This is hell. That's all there is to it. Hell. I fell into hell and there are devils wandering around who will poke me with their forks.

Okay, keep quiet, Em. Put a lid on it. Don't want to attract attention...

Juuuust stay quiet... What would Princess Emilia do? I'll tell you what she'd do: she would stay quiet. Shhhh.

Wow. Good thing I checked my claustrophobia at the door. This is gonna be tight. I guess it's either through this little hole or turn around and face Mr Sunshine out there. Hmm. Excellent options!

I gotta try it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right Miss A-student beauty queen and all around hottie?

Bingo! Done. Voila. QED. Hee haw. Locked and loaded. That is how we roll. You go girl. Aaaaannnnd... Cut it. Print it. Saved. Vamos!

Top...! It's the top! Mine top... tip top top of the mine...! No more shaft just... this place! I'm out of the mine! ...Back to the lodge! Back to the fires and warmth and friends! Oh little lodge, I missed you so much... how do I get out of here?

(MIKE: You locking us in?) I'm locking the baddies out. Can't be too careful. (MIKE: Glad you're sure the baddies are out there and not in here.) Feels good to lock a door...

(MIKE: Wow. I guess I totalled the place huh?) Mikey had a tantrum? (MIKE: When I commit to something, I like to do a thorough job.) Hmmmm. Don't remember you making heaven and earth move for me... (MIKE: Hey. Don't say that...) I'm kidding... You did okay... (MIKE: ...that's better...) ...considering the tool you have to work with... (MIKE: Easy! Easy!)

This whole wing just feels like it was for the real head cases. Right? Like the lost causes. (MIKE: Yeah. It's got a really pleasant vibe in here. Let's keep moving.)

Ew. Ew! His gums were receding?! Didn't he floss?! Some people just do not understand the importance of dental hygiene.

One order of W pâté, comin' up!

Wow, Sam, you're really getting all Rambo on us.

(SAM: Look. The machinery. If we can get those metal containers in a row... we can get across.) You're kidding, right? On those rusty... rust buckets out there?

(SAM: You got it! It's working!) That's right, 'cause I'm the mecha-master! (SAM: Now if we get them lined up... We can just hop right across!) Already on it, Rambo. Or should I say... Sam-bo. (SAM: Ah... no... I don't think you should say that.)

An elevator...! Probably broken. Why is everything on this goddamned mountain falling apart!

(SAM: Looks like we've got find a way across.) Score one for Captain Obvious.

(SAM: We've got one shot to get out of here and we can't screw it up.) Right back at ya, lady.

JESSICA

(CHRIS: What's Mike doing?) He's getting all of our stuff to the lodge. Nails. Just had 'em done.

(SAM: We can help you with the stuff.) Oh that's so nice! But... I kinda like it when Mike does it.

Ugh, finally we're out of that stupid wind. I was freezing my buns off out there. (MIKE: I can help you with those if you like...!)

(MATT: Come on Em, relax.) No, it's not okay Matt. That bitch is on crack or something.

Whatever. I don't have time for jealous bitches.

Fine. Whatever. Anything to get away from that whore. (EMILY: Are you kidding me? I'm the whore?)

Ugh, you know, I can't believe Emily sometimes... why is she such a royal B? How could you have ever gone out with someone like that?

(MIKE: Exiled.) More like sex-iled.

Come on troops, move out.

I wonder if they have any room service up at the cabin. I could so use a triple grande mocha cappuccino right now.

You lit up my night... Now all we need are some fireworks later...

How bout some jams? (MIKE: Whatever puts you in the mood.) This one might be my favourite... Until their next one comes out, then that'll probably be my favourite. (MIKE: That's a really good way of thinking about it.) Thanks! ... ...what?

(MIKE: Josh seemed pretty happy to get rid of us back there, didn't he?) Michael! I had no idea you had such a gossipy side... Is this the politician in you? (MIKE: Politician nothing; the guy's a dick!) Hmm.

I keep having this great thought, but then I keep forgetting it.

Somebody's going to owe me a new outfit.

(MIKE: I didn't know Hannah wore glasses.) Yeah. Just when she wasn't around any cute boys.

I wonder if they deliver take out up here. I mean right here.

Ugh. My shoes are getting so moist.

I wonder what's going on back at the lodge. Everybody's probably doin' it.

Nature's kinda gross.

Is that Orion's belt or is he just happy to see me?

Hah! I'm totally going to tell everyone about your fear of birdies.

Stand back, Debbie downer.

Don't worry, I'll save Woodsgate for the next election.

(MIKE: Some of these planks are pretty rickety.) You know what else is rickety? (MIKE: What?) Your face is rickety. (MIKE: That's a really good one!) Thank you!

(MIKE: Watch your step, Jess.) You know what? You're worse than my mom. My mom!

Boom! Sting like a butterfly and float like a bee.

Wow, look at that old photo. (MIKE: Must be an old mining team.) Looks like they really knew how to... handle themselves. (MIKE: Sounds like you wish you could handle them.) Looks really old. I wonder if they're all dead now. Ugh! So creepy!

(MIKE: Probably faulty wiring or something.) You've got faulty wiring.

Unless you want to make out with an ice sculpture, I suggest you get a fire going. Pronto.

It's so cold in here right now my tongue would get stuck to your flagpole.

I'm cold, I'm bored, and I'm getting rapidly less horny. You want to hurry it up with the fire?

(MIKE: It's so dusty.) No maid service up here? What a rip.

Coldness generally isn't conducive to hotness, Michael... Woah. That sounded, like, deep.

While you were trying to find the right button to push, I found some de-light-ful candles that wonderfully spice up the place and light up all the nooks and crannies... Far more cosy and accommodating, don't you think?

I can't lose my phone, my parents are gonna kill me! (MIKE: You can always get a new one!) That's like my fourth one this year.

Just unfasten it! (MIKE: I can get it! I can get it!) Don't send a man to do a woman's job.

Oh. Those perverted assholes. Why can't they just leave us alone and let us have a perfectly nice time? God! What jerks! (MIKE: Hey, they're just trying to have a good time.) Yeah? Well, so are we!

You guys are such dicks! Are you really that upset with me and Michael that you want to ruin our fun? Huh? Well, guess what? You can't ruin it! Because Michael and I are gonna screw! That's right! We're gonna have sex! And it's gonna be hot! So enjoy it! 'Cause I know we're going to! Ugh.

MATT

Ohhhh! She just got Emily'd!

Wow. Someone had a good time in here.

Why would someone leave a picture of keys where the keys should be?

This place can't just be a huge death trap, right? Cable car can't be the only way in and out of this joint.

Josh had a lot of problems... I think he just wanted to be able to sort things out... and put this all behind us...

So the joke I learned, it's really good, it's about like, a dude, who's got a haircut like the moon, and-

Coyote? Bear? ... Why is that okay?

C'mon, Matt... You don't wanna die down here.

The hell is that… Jessica? (JESS: Matt? Jesus… So it got you too.) Yeah… You okay? (JESS: Hardly...) Let's get the hell out of this place. Look! There! (JESS: Light!) That's the cable car station!

Come on, man... nearly there... nearly there...

JOSH/THE PSYCHO

Come on, lock... My lockpick skills are a little rusty...

This is the most boring break-in ever. You haven't even broken in yet.

Hey! Grit bin! Nice work moving that over here!

Everything all right in there? (CHRIS: Yeah, I'm fine. It's really dirty. And a little freaky.) Sounds like my kind of date! (CHRIS: Offf course it does.)

Dude, come on! Let's open this jawn!

Ahh-hahaha! Dude are you okay? That lil' wolverine almost gave you a paper cut!

(SAM: Hey, those things are known to be vicious sometimes.) Vicious to lil' babies. Lil' Chrissy babies.

(SAM: Thank you Chris.) Thaaaank you Chriiiiis.

Yo! Explorers! You guys are gonna need the keys for the love shack!

As you can see, your friend Josh is now in quite an unfortunate situation. If you wish to see him dead, then do nothing and you may watch him die.

Second... clue... picture if you will... high atop a powdery mountain... the only place possible for a jacked up jock like Matthew to score a... 'big break'...

If you'll please now direct your attention towards the main attraction...

Not much time left before your friend is... perforated...

Congratulations! You've just bought yourself... more time... to watch your friend die...

My my my, didn't you do well! You fought the system and you've won. And what you've won is a prize! You're a lucky winner, come on down!

Well, that's the end, folks. I only wish it could have turned out differently, but, unfortunately, I'm still going to kill your friend because, hey - winners don't play by the rules!

Allow me to introduce myself, I am your host!

Oh, I had fun with them... and now I'll have fun with you... There's nothing wrong with having a little fun, is there?

Samantha, my darling, I don't think your friends are going to help you... I've already had a little fun with them...

Oh what a delight it was watching his life drain away. I wonder if watching yours will be just as fun.

(SAM: What do you want?) I just want a little fun, Sam... so why don't we... mix things up a little... You can have ten seconds to pretend like you're escaping... and then you're dead!

Go on, hide if you like... I know just where you are.

(CHRIS: What do you want from us?!) Well now, Mr Chris... I think you've got the answer right there in front of you.

Oh borrring... You think I didn't bulletproof my machinery?

(CHRIS: You're sick!) Heh heh heh... why thank you, kind sir... but the choice... is yours... play ball!

I'm sorry... so sorry... it's all my fault...

THE STRANGER

It would be wise for you to hear me out.

You seem to listen but not to hear.

You have no chance out there on your own- (CHRIS: I'll just have to take my chances.) Then I'll go with you. Alone would be suicide. (CHRIS: Yeah well you're so special.) I am... experienced.

You do not seem too concerned with saving the life of your friend.

(CHRIS: Have you done this before?) Have I foolishly attempted to free a dead man in the hopes of becoming one myself? (CHRIS: Uh...) You ask questions that are not very useful. (CHRIS: My teachers say the same thing. But yeah, so, have you?) This is not my first barbecue.

He who seeks avoidance finds out what he seeks to avoid. (CHRIS: That's... a really confusing saying.)

#until dawn #until dawn beta #until dawn ps3 #until dawn quotes #more appreciation is needed for the beta version of the game #it's just as silly as the final product #so i hope y'all enjoy this compilation lmao #had this one sitting on the backburner for a While #i got real far into a first version of it and then the draft didn't save properly and i lost an amount of progress that i couldn't figure o #-t so i would have to start it entirely again which was very discouraging #since i was already a good third of the way through #but i finally committed to getting it done and dusted #this ended up long as shit but i finally did it

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