#cyber viper

[gijoe-forever]

[krimsonkobra]

[reallybadlawyer]

RECKONING // Episode 8 Cinematic - VALORANT

headers from new valorant cinematic, viper, sova and cypher

highonhumans on twitter

[izkaboz]

they r watching

[kanataueda]

[vaporvipermedia]

I WILL GADLY TAKE IT!

[chaaase69]

i was rewatching death note the other day and i randomly thought of this and it had a choke hold on me for a few days. maybe if i ever get the energy ill flesh this out more into something bigger

~~

chamber is Light and cypher is L and yk they're doing the whole wtv deathnote yada yada nonsense. when they met they get super close and fall in love™ . at the end of it all its horribly angsty where rem (played by kj) ends up killing cypher to protect chamber. consumed by grief chamber loses his original sight of the new world and loses his shit. he gets sloppy with his killings which leads to near (played by sova) to corner and injure chamber. in his dying breaths he goes to cyphers grave to die with him in which ryuk (played by yoru) pulls the final trigger and writes chambers name in his deathnote, killing him. BUT BUT BUT since chamber used the deathnote he no longer goes to heaven or hell, and therefore isn't even reunited with cypher. leaving their spirits to wander w/o the other, both consumed by grief addition; viper plays misa

[viperveryvibin]

thought id upload some refs of my sonas!

[daddyhausen]

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ 「 KINKTOBER DAY TWENTY TWO : STIGMATOPHILIA 」 ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

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「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 KINKTOBER 2023/2024 」

「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

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「 SUMMARY 」 — rhea is mesmerised by your new piercing

「 WARNINGS 」 — smut, 18 +, [ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ], tattoo!artist!rhea, dom!rhea, sub!reader, sadism/masochism nipple/clit piercings, mommy kink, public sex, oral sex, fingering, praise, squirting

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 2.3k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x rhea ripley

「 GENRE 」 — smut

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「 TAGLIST 」 — @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @mjfass @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @heartbreakkidsangel @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @janetreader @bonehead-playz @legit9thlunaticwarrior @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @romanreigns-supreme @rubyred1980 @harmshake @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @selena-tyler-564 @alyyaanna @nightmare-freakin-viper @nev-danielgarciawife @teenagedramaqueenlisa @them4lice

「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

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rhea’s eyes marvelled at the design you had procured for her

it was a grand, cyber-sygial inspired piece, a heart at its centre, that would reside underneath your belly button, branching out around the soft flesh of your lower abdomen, across your hips, finally resting at the axis of where your thighs meet your hips

It was an intricate design, filled with sharp symmetrical points

definitely something that was outside of rhea’s traditional style but one that she attempted nonetheless

after all, anything for her favourite client

“and you want this piece where, exactly?”

rhea questioned with a curious quip, a small cock of her eyebrow as she examined the piece further.

you lifted up your shirt, the fabric two sizes too big, bunched up in one hand, while the other pried down your shorts ever the slightest

teasing, just a glimpse of your panties visible to rhea’s gaze and she could not help but wish her hands were in place of yours in that moment

“i was thinking around here”, you pointed out the space where you envisioned the tattoo would be and explained in detail how you wanted it to go

to be fair, your body barely had and blank canvas left at this point

your skin inked with rhea’s work, your arms held the first memories.

it was your first tattoo, a timid soul you were, staring up at her with doe eyes as she marked you with her art permanently

it was a simple design, albeit overdone in rhea’s eyes.

birth flowers of your parents and older brother, done in a fineline style on the inside of your forearm

the design now faded, melded in between various other designs of hers

her favourtite was the piece across your throat, not so because of the design itself, a neo-traditional black and white death moth, but moreson because rhea had to hold your head still between her thighs on the more intricate details

the intimacy of it, the closeness she craved.

she almost wished that you’d crane your head back just the slightest so the tip of your nose would rub against her clit through her jeans

even now thinking back on it her cunt quivered and drooled with excitement.

“i can do that for you”, rhea remarked with a subtle smirk

“go sit while i draw up the stencil for you”

you beamed excitedly and offered a toothy grin in return as you made your way to the back room, a more private area reserved for more intimate piercings and tattoos

rhea made her way to the back room, stencil drawn up in hand.

her eyes rose from her hands to see you lying on your back, expectantly awaiting her arrival,

shorts disregarded, leaving you just in your panties

“all ready for me i see?” rhea teased, a flirtatious undertone in her voice

“always“ you remarked as you mimicked her tone, eyelids heavy with a sultry gaze.

rhea hummed in response, her eyes fluttered down to the black lace, thong that adorned your pristine skin

gods, how rhea just wanted to rip it off with her teeth and devour your heavenly cunt right then and there.

rhea lined up the stencil as she tried to get precisely the right angle before she adhered it to your skin.

“you, know what, you're gonna have to take ’em for me, sweetheart.”

she tried to play it off as casual, but on the inside she was dying to just get a glimpse of your cunt.

her means were not nefarious in truth, she did need you to remove them to place the stencil on.

“forward arent you? at least buy me dinner first”

the playful words leaving your lips as you slide your panties dow your thighs as you threw them to the same spot where your shorts lie.

“spread ‘em for me a bit”, she manouvoured your thighs slightly after sticking the stencil to your stink, to gain better knowledge of how it would look from different angles

she caught a glimpse of a pearlescant bud between your thighs

“what’s this?”, rhea cocked her head in faux suspicion.

she new it was a clit piercing, the metal shimmering against your slick folds

clit still slightly puffy and swollen, the piercing only being applied recently

“cheating on me now? naughty girl”

“surely you don’t mind, damian did it for me last week”

your words only roused dangerous thoughts in rhea’s mind

sure damian was like a brother to her, and the relationship between the two of you was strictly professional

rhea could not help but let the jealousy overcome her over the fact damian has seen your precious cunt

“oh, so you let a man see that pretty cunt but not me?”

rhea’s eyes stalked across your cunt, her tongue parted her lips, licking the bottom one as her mouth watered with arousal

“i’m offended, sweetheart”

she leaned in closer, her hand resting atop your thigh, lightly massaging the supple flesh, she adored how it would fill the gaps between her fingers as she pawed at your skin, so soft so pliant .

“you know i only got eyes for you”

your response was somewhere half between the truth and a joke

rhea has always been someone who caught your attention,

you’ve always been hesitant to explore your desires with woman despite your attraction to them

“i know, pretty thing.”

rhea’s lips ghosted yours

“but i still gotta punish you for letting a man touch you”

her fingers dip lower, tracing around your piercing, clit still sensitive against her touch

your soft whimpers flooded her senses, a wave of adrenaline coursing through her veins as her fingertips ghosted over your swollen clit

“i can fuck you better than a man ever could, you know that, sweetheart?”

you whimpered out a small “yes”in response, already completely enamored with the way she was making you feel

small jolts of pleasure rushed up your thighs with each subtle stroke of her fingertips

“men dont know how to touch please pretty girls like you”

her tongue lopped out past her lips, licking and sucking small shapes into your jawline and neck

“when was the last time a man even made you cum, huh?”

it took you a while to think, her worlds spiralling in your mind.

upon your recollection, you came to notice that not a single one of your male partners ever had the decency of allowing you to orgasm

you’d come close but it would never reach its peak, it would always end with them leaving and you having to finish the job beneath the sheets, fingers buried deep in your cunt and a vibe against your clit

yet with rhea, even with her fingers languidly stroking your aching clit, you’d never felt more pleasure in your life.

“can’t think of any, huh?”

a smirk crossed rhea’s lips as she gazed upon your bewildered expression, a cocky chuckle leaving her throat

“don’t worry, pretty girl. i’ll make it happen”

her lips attacked yours in a flurry of feverish kisses. A mixture of lips, teeth and tongue colliding together in heated passion

her fingers dipped between your folds, gatherling your slick on the pads of her index and middle fingers, feeling you out to see just how deep you could take her.

“so wet for me”

her words buzzed against your lips, an ecstatic moan ripping through your throat as she inched her fingers deeper inside you

your gummy walls clenching around her inked digits, squeezing and pulling her in, welcoming the force that she brought along with it.

“shh not so loud” she scolded, biting your bottom lip, not enough to draw blood, but enough fo you to heed her warning.

her free hand fell to your breast, palming the mounds of fat and flesh in between her slender fingers, feeling the swell of your nipples graze against the fabric,

“take this off” she groaned, the hand once on your breasts not tugging up your shirt.

her wording more or less a reminder to herself than direct intrusion.

your breasts not exposed, the swell them freely bouncing against the force of her fingers, shee leered down at them, her gaze predatory as she examined the small bars that pierced both your nipples

“these have healed nicely havent they?”

she licked a stripe against your nipple, her tongue twirling around the pebbled bud, a deep moan reverberated through her throat

leaving your skin, bursting and bubbling with arousal

“mhm…”

the sound left your lips in a mere hum of response, barely able to open your eyes to gaze upon her as she worked you over

her fingernails, coffin in their shape, painted black with an iridescent shimmer each time the studio lights would reflect at certain angles

the sight itself vampiric in nature, her especially, hovering over you like a succubus ready to claim what is hers

her fingers tugged and toyed with the bar, twisting it.

the sensation riveting, like volts of pleasure directly to where she touched

and combined with the feeling of the metal, so delicately pierced through the sensitive skin

it was nothing short of extraordinary

“good girl” rhea mused, her words muddled within a mixture of tongue, flesh and lips

sucking and biting your skin

spit dribbling from her lips, across your nipple and down the underside of your breast

all the while her right hand filled and fucked you cunt much like a cock would

not that a cock could ever compare to rhea’s fingers

“gonna give mommy a taste hmm?”

her words like honey, so sickly sweet on the tip of your tongue

you nodded, bottom lip tucked tightly between your teeth a desperate and futile attempt to stifle your moans

you felt empty within seconds, your void now free of her fingers

staring up at her through half-lidded eyes, already so worn and fucked out despite the silent denial of your orgasm

her fingers made contact with her lips, grool and spit dripped from them, her tongue working around the digits just how she did your nipple mere moments ago

parting them with her tongue, licking slowly upwards, until her fingers were clean, only how you wished she’d taste your cunt

your taste lingered in her tongue, a mixture of tangy and sweet. perfection.

you could not help but admire how she towered over you, so dominant despite doing nothing of that nature in the mere seconds between actions

she kneeled before you, palms smoothing across your inner thighs, the tip of her nose grazing against your clit

she smiled into you, her breath fanning against your cunt

your thighs shook with wondrous tremors at the feeling

your back arching slightly, a small whimper catching in your throat

“easy pretty thing. relax for me”

she kissed your inner thighs letting her tongue lay flat against your cunt

allowing your taste to mingle with her tastebuds

“fuck..mmm” your thighs almost instinctively clenched around her head as her tongue danced around your clit

your skin heated, burning like furry embers as a blush crept upon your cheeks

almost embarrassed to look her in the eye as you let her tongue explore every crevice of your sweet void

she smirked against your folds

hands placed on your inner thighs, pushing them down to reveal her gaze to you once more

“dont get shy on me now, sweetheart”

she littered kisses against your clit, tongue swirling around the piercing

“wanna see you fall apart, cum all over my tongue…”

she dove into you, biting, licking, sucking, kissing any part of your juicy pussy her mouth made contact with

your taste euphoric on her tongue, ascending her beyond this mortal realm

“wanna see how good i make you feel…”

your hand weaved into the died tendrils of your hair, the black, choppy strands being tugged and pulls by the roots as she continued to consume your sweetness

“oh fuck…that’s it sweetheart, pull it harder, mommy likes that”

the sound of slick and spit accompanied her ravenous words, each syllable, each breath drawing your orgasm closer and closer

“m-mommy” you whimpered, the honorific so foreign on your tongue is almost sounded like a question

she only responded with a simple hum, far too preoccupied for ilde small talk.

your taste was too sweet to ignore

her lipstick smeared, streaks of burgundy stained your under thighs, skin to blood as it the pigment mixed with your slick

not that you minded

“gonna cum? hmm?” her voice like liquid velvet, lowered an october to display her dominance

“i can feel how close you are..mmm…you’re clenching around my tongue baby.”

you gave a meek nod, tightening your grip on her scalp

your breath shudder, release nearing, a moan ripped through your throat, so load that you immediately had to clasp a hand one your mouth

forgetting momentarily that you were still in her place of work

a sight that made rhea chuckle.

“god you taste so fucking good”

she kissed around your folds before returning to your clit

“want be to put my fingers back in, sweetheart? make you feel nice and full again while you cum? you’d like that hmm?”

“mhm…please” your chiseled out through a broken moan, feeling two of her finger slip past your folds, pumping into your at a ravenous pace

“oh fuck mmm…mommy that feels so good-“

her fingers curled up into you, tracing imaginary shapes into your cunt.

“c’mon baby, cum for me.”

she could feel your walls tighten around her

sweetness gushing around her fingers, clit sparking against your tongue, the piercing only heightened the sensation

“that’s it baby, taste so fucking sweet for me”

she pried her self away, allowing your a moment of respite as she gingerly stroked your thighs

“my pretty girl, you made such a mess”

she placed a kiss to you cunt, once which made you involuntarily shudder

“how’s about we get you clean up and finish that tattoo of yours huh?”

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[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part five | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. this chapter contains explicit sexual content. this chapter also has a content warning for descriptions of torture and dehumanization, plus the aftermath of trauma, themes of identity loss and healing. the previously established story dynamics are prevalent. chapter word count: 10,200 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E FO R E

Felix returns to the base and he is scrutinized, as expected.  They all want to know why he was taken, what the enemy wanted, how he escaped.   Felix has never played so many sides all while obfuscating his real objective.  Alone, he guides himself through the venomous viper’s pit that is this war: Miroh and his enemy, Miroh and the world. 

Where it concerns the enemy, Miroh will always intervene.  He sees the enemy as the antithesis to the house of Miroh.   A rich, spoiled fool, holed up in his golden cave, oblivious to what he has and the work it takes to acquire it.  Miroh is jealous. Miroh is hateful. 

Those are emotions that Felix can manipulate.  He learned it from the best. 

“It was an ambush,” Felix tells him.  “They knew I was going to be there.  They were waiting for me.”  He uses his reputation, formed by Miroh, against Miroh.   

Felix would never lose a fight.  Felix would never fail a mission.  Felix would never surrender.    Felix is a reflection of Miroh so he presents the most flattering image. 

“What information did they want?”  Miroh asks. 

Felix can see the gears spinning in his head.  What could the enemy be seeking so determinedly to lay a trap for Miroh’s asset?  Oh, Miroh has a suspicion.  Felix can see it, because he knows exactly what it is.   

“They asked about Project Twenty-Three,” Felix says.  “I told them I had never heard of it.  Even if I had, I wouldn’t tell them anything.” 

Project Twenty-Three.  Chris has vented about it to Felix.  It is a cyber mission, striking against the enemy’s tightly guarded servers.  It intends to blackout the grid and lay virtual traps while they re-calibrate, compromising not only the enemy but everyone else on that grid: civilians, their homes, their hospitals, their shelters. 

It is a significant job for its scope and because it is the first time a mission will be helmed by Miroh’s daughter. 

Miroh’s daughter, Chris says, intends to sabotage the operation. 

It is Felix’s worst fears coming true.  Miroh’s daughter rebelling against Miroh is doomed to be a catastrophe.  She will inevitably go down and when that blaze tears through the sky, Chris will crash and burn in a similar inferno.  He is too blinded by proximity, too idealistic to see how it is impossible to truly destroy a man like Miroh. 

No one but classified personnel are supposed to know about Project Twenty-Three.  Miroh’s daughter let it slip to Chan, who let it slip to Felix.   As far as Miroh is concerned, Felix should not know about it.  As far as Miroh is concerned, Felix is telling the truth. 

As far as Miroh is concerned, someone is leaking highly sensitive data to the enemy. 

“I’m smarter than that, though,” Felix says.  He appeals to all that haughty vanity and says, “I was trained by the best.  Of course I got away.”

“Of course,” Miroh says.  Where before, he was wary, his guard comes down. 

Felix can sneak in.  Felix can lay his attack. 

“What else did they say?” Miroh asks. 

“I overheard them,” Felix says.  “They’re going to try and kill you.  And it’s going to happen inside your house.” 

The trap is laid.

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Miroh only put one soldier through a reconfiguration program.  And it wasn’t me.  It was you.   

Chan looks at you as if you shot him even though he was the one who fired at you.  

The words land with more violence than a bullet. 

It can’t be true.  That is your first reaction: denial. He is lying or he is confused or something, something, something. Anything but whatever he just said. 

He tries to step towards you.  You look at him and think of the First Guard: him in that corridor, a hand around your neck.  He fought just enough to make it real, the way you and Changbin sometimes fight, but it never went too far, did it?  You think back to that first fight in the ring.  You commended yourself for lasting so long, but that should have been a hint.  You would not have lasted a round with the First Guard on a good day, never mind after fighting several others.   He never came at you with the full brunt of his fatal capacity like you would expect, like you should have considered at the time. 

His eyes in the van, the tilt of his head.  

Trusting as your car stopped an inch from his body. 

His hands out like you were a wild, unpredictable animal, a weapon, something lethal he had to contain.   It’s me, he said.  It’s just me.  As if you knew who that was.

He does the same thing now.  You wrench away from him.   

“No,” you say.

He says your name but it doesn’t sound like a name; it sounds like begging, it sounds like please, it sounds like desperation, painfully barbed on his tongue.  You half expect him to start bleeding from the mouth. 

“No,” you say again.  You jerk away even though he has stopped reaching for you.  You feel a phantom hand on your chest and on your head, a cold fire in your veins. 

You slam shoulders as you dart past.  He says your name again, this time like an alarm, only barely short of a scream as he chases after you.  You get as far as the door before he catches you, his hand wrapped around your bicep and your name a weapon on his lips.

“Stop it,” you say.  It isn’t loud but it is brutal all the same. 

He lets go as if you electrocuted him. 

You look at him.  He stares back, all that begging in his dark eyes. 

“You can’t – you can’t leave,” he says.  His panic bubbles into frustration and he says, “You just told me off for doing that, didn’t you?”

You think of him on that rooftop, not even blinking at Miroh’s dead body, like he couldn’t care less, his eyes rivetted to you alone.   

“Do you trust me?” you ask. 

You think he would rather get hit.  A moment of pain, a scar to join the others. Instead, he has to endure the intensity of your eyes, suffer whatever fucked up expression is haunting your body, and then he has to let you go. 

You do not look at his face when leaving.  You don’t want to see this side of him.  There are already too many versions of him in your head, just as there are too many versions of yourself. 

The denial does not last long.  You walk through the brisk night, destination nowhere.  The sky feels too big.

It’s preposterous, isn’t it?  You are in your body right this moment, looking at the world with your own eyes.  How can anything be wrong inside?   But even while attempting to convince yourself otherwise, you know the truth.  It has been long unfurling in the back of your mind.   You have not felt like yourself for days, maybe weeks, maybe the entire three months since this downfall began. 

You don’t even remember what it means to feel like yourself. 

All the nightmares, the visions, the flashes of dreams that feel more like memories – maybe memories is exactly what they are.  So suppressed it feels like watching a movie rather than your own life, but your story regardless.   Sifting through those fragments feels like searching through rubble in a collapse. How are you ever expected to find a person under that much annihilation? 

When it happens, Changbin said, what feels like a lifetime ago.  When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be…  When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…”

A sob rips out of you.  You have cried more in days than you have in years.  You cover your face and fall into the dark of your closed eyes.  You see your friend, not a fragment or broken memory, but a whole person.  The scar on your palm twinges, reminding you that you are real and here. 

Remember me, he said. 

That was the very first thing you did.   You saw him on that rooftop and you remembered something.  Him, younger, bleeding, emerging from a fog of smoke.  He lifted a weight off your chest.  He made you a promise. 

You try to chase the memory of that dream, try to hold the image of him in your mind, but it moves like water through a sieve.  It’s like he’s standing right there, just in the corner of your eye if you could only turn your head to look.  But you are trapped in place.  Pinned down, a weight on your chest. 

You lose track of time under the stars.  You are too numb to feel the cold.  Only when the sky purples with the very earliest streak of dawn do you move.  You look at your feet as you walk and it feels like someone else is moving you.  You know it’s just exhaustion, a trick of the weary eye, but a shudder moves through you.   

You don’t want to think about it.  Whenever your mind starts to go there – to that room, to that hole, to the cell – it backs away screaming.  It is probably why you can’t hold any picture for longer than a second. 

A small part of you still rebels, insisting it isn’t true because it’s can’t be true, but you know intrinsically that it is. 

This confirmation solidifies when you get back to the room and find Chan still awake, sitting in a chair with his head in his hands. 

He lifts his head.   You can’t hold his gaze for long, swallowed up by the dark depth that sees something in you, far beyond the surface, buried so deep you can’t find it. 

You turn away.   You climb into bed. 

It isn’t an escape.  You know that, even as you close your eyes and shut out the world.   It’s all waiting for you there, your subconscious caught in a perpetually crashing tidal wave.  

You fall asleep, ready to face the nightmares. 

-

It feels like swimming against an acidic current.  You push through but it bears down; you struggle but it burns your skin, sloughs down to the clean marrow.  Pieces of you are lost to the tide.  You try to catch each flaking sliver of personhood but then your arms are full and you can no longer swim.

You are going to drown. 

“Let go,” says a voice, colder than the water.  “This will all stop.  Just let go.” 

Just let go.  Just let your skin unravel.  Just let the tide take it away.  You will never get it back.  You will be a living corpse, a half-consciousness puppeting your bones. 

You decide to drown.  You slip further and further into the blackness behind your lids.

“Hey, it’s me!  I’m coming!” 

Changbin.

You can hear his footsteps as he thunders towards you, but you can’t see him.  Your eyelids are so heavy, as if being held shut by a hand in the water.

Another hand reaches straight through the corrosive cold and seizes your face in a desperate grip. 

“Wake up,” Changbin says.  He taps your cheek repeatedly, a little harder each time, a little more frantic.  “Hey, wake up.  Please.  Please wake up.”

It feels like he is prying your eyes open.  One moment there is nothing but darkness, then Changbin is there.  He looks like he did when you last saw him, grown, fight-ready, a little scar on his face.  It bleeds more than such a tiny mark should.  A droplet hits your cheek, burning hot compared to the water. 

“It’s me,” he says. “Hold on.  Keep your eyes open.  Don’t go.  I promise I’ll get you out.” 

Don’t go.  Don’t go.  An echoing reverberation that circles the wooden beams high above your head.  You look there, staring at the ceiling as your lungs slowly fill with oxygen. 

The ceiling shatters in a spray of splinters, the world vanishing in a cloud of grey smoke.  Changbin is gone and your father stands over you, keeping that weight on your chest with a press of his fist. 

“You’ll thank me one day,” he says, and plunges you back under water.  Ice cold currents and electric hot fire twine in and around you in an unfathomable vice.  Your vision flickers as you twitch and flail, avoiding one sensation to succumb to the other. 

“Don’t go,” Changbin says.  “I promise I’ll get you out.” 

Another bolt of lightning slices through you. 

“Just let go.”  A cold and clinical voice.

There is a war between those voices.  Time passes slowly as you volley in the current, slamming into one or the other. 

In the bubbling frenzy, you hear a whisper.  

“Let her go.”  That is not Changbin.  That is not your father.  It’s too soft – soft, until it’s not, until it sounds like speaking through an open chest cavity, heaving up its heart with every cry.  “Please,” the voice begs.  “Let her go.” 

“Thank me,” your father says.  He stands with his back to you, angled just enough you can see the gun in his hands.   You can’t see the person on the receiving end.  You just know it’s a soldier.  You just know it’s a boy. 

You have to stop it.  The thought overwhelms you and you reach for the gun, but your hand never makes contact, splashing through cold water. 

“Subject recognizes control,” says that clinical voice.

There is a hand on your chest.  It pushes you back under water. 

You are alone in the current and the corrosion and the cold.  The hand pushes you deeper and deeper into the endless darkness under you.  

You are going to drown.  You are going to let yourself drown. 

“You don’t want to do that,” you say. 

Your father still has a gun in his hand.  It is pointed at that boy. 

“Subject— Control—”

You need to get that gun.  You need to swim.  You need to see him.  You need to save him. 

You finally let go. 

-

You open your eyes. 

Unlike in your dreams, it’s fast.  You jolt awake in a cold sweat.  The ceiling is unmoving, the air cool and dry from the motel’s cheap, noisy air conditioner.  The blinds are closed but the neon light outside the window creates a fuzzy square halo.  It brightens the room just enough to see  the outline of everything clearly.  

That includes Chan.

He is still awake.  If this was just one night ago, you would tell him to get into bed and sleep because you can’t have him tired for the mission.  But now, you find yourself staring back at him, at his bare and open face, his tired eyes and the uncomfortable tension in his shoulders.   

When you went to sleep, he was sitting on that same chair in the corner, and it looks like he hasn’t moved once.  He’s been waiting for you. 

He’s been waiting a lot longer than one night.   If she ever came back to me, he said, revealing years of hope, of watching, waiting for you to break through your conditioning and show him a sign.  He was never brainwashed, just trapped in a precarious situation, bound to a bargain with no way out that didn’t compromise you.  He could have saved himself at any time but it wouldn’t have mattered.   

“You were never reconfigured,” you say. 

“No.” 

The question and answer breaks a dam.  A flood of questions pour to the front of your mind, overwhelming you, taking you back to your dreams where you almost drown – again and again.  You remember the report, stating too much recollection could trigger some kind of breakdown.  Yes, you could ask Chan to tell you everything, to string together all those gaps in your nightmares, but you already know that would not help.  It would either feel like a story about a girl you do not know, or it would just throw you deeper into the whirlpool.

You let those questions turn over themselves like a crashing wave.  When it settles, you ask the one question that remains.

“Were we friends?” 

He doesn’t answer right away.   He leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands under his chin.  He is impossibly strong but right now he looks too weak to support himself.

“No,” he finally says.  His eyes dart to the floor.  “No, we weren’t friends.” 

He looks at you and you fall into the unspoken story within his eyes.  You have been conversing without words since you met.  He has been looking at you with that wanting tilt and desperate stare since he stepped into the ring. 

You remember a fragment from a dream.   Him, younger, his face ravaged with tears and his mouth open on a muted shout.   It would be easy to mistake that as him being tortured, his pain that palpable.  But your memory is not of his suffering, just his watching, just his waiting.   

All this time, he has been waiting.  

“Did you love me?” you ask. 

This answer comes faster, but rougher as if guarding against vulnerability.  His voice is low.

“Yes.”

A phantom spark fires up your arm, straight into your heart. 

“Did I love you?” you ask.

He holds your gaze, though it feels like he is looking just a little past you, seeing something you can’t see.  Then again, maybe he doesn’t see it, maybe he is just searching, and maybe he comes up empty.  Because when he answers, his voice is airy, and the word is like a hiss of pain, like getting hit in the chest and all the air leaving the body at once.

“Yes,” he says.

You feel the weight of that hit too.  Wavering under the force of it, you blurt, “I don’t remember.” 

“I know,” he says.  He drops his head into his hands and rubs his palms over his face, scrunches his eyes shut tight and shakes his head.  “I know.”    

You want to go to him.  You are not sure where the urge comes from because, despite what he said, you have never loved like that.  Is it something buried inside you, something that remembers?  Maybe it’s just you, who you are now, the person who has spent the last few days with this man at her side.  His proximity has been a confusing comfort from the start.  Maybe it’s a memory or maybe it’s just him. 

You stand before thinking it through.  He doesn’t even notice, a sign this competent soldier is very far gone, his face still buried in his hands.  When you touch his shoulder, it catches him off guard, both arms jolting as if stung. 

He looks up at you, his hand instinctively flying to the one you rest on his shoulder.  He clasps it, holds it there, presses it down like he needs convincing it is real. 

He meets your eyes.   You do not know what you look like; you just know it hurts him, that it makes everything so much worse. 

A child-like sob punches out of him.  His eyes close tight, his face going red as he fights to hold it in.   He cried earlier and it looked like the typical outpouring of stress and hurt, but it did not look like this. 

After that first sob, reminiscent of the little boy he never really was, years of torment come tearing violently out of his chest.  Flashes of memories melt with the sight, his young face twisted as he wails, that muted shout filled in with his voice now. 

He holds his forehead, doubles over.  When you see the top of his head, those other images fade away.  It is just him, here, now.  Whoever he is, he has been good to you.  Your hand is still on his shoulder and he is still clinging to it. 

“Chan,” you whisper.  You’re not sure if he hears it, but his breath catches when you nudge him upright.  You are certain he can’t see very well through his tears, but he looks up anyway. 

When you climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, he does not hesitate to throw his arms around you.  His hands find your back and he presses you so close, it feels like he is trying to push you right into his heart.  He puts his face in your neck where he fights to steady his breathing. 

You touch the nape of his neck.  You shiver at his long exhale. 

You feel miserable and choked for a myriad of reasons.  For him, everything he as endured and lost.  For you, who doesn’t even know what she lost at all. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.  His breathing is less laboured, though his voice sounds sore.  He exhales again, some tension leaving his shoulders where you rest your hands. 

You squeeze those shoulders and lean back to look at him.  His expression is more than a little abashed, gaze uncertain.  You are not good at smiling but you try, even though you think your brows are furrowed and his sorrow is reflecting back through your eyes. 

“Thought we agreed to stop apologizing,” you say. 

His laugh is as weak as your smile, but certainly there.   You touch his face with your scarred palm, feel the curve of his jaw where that wound runs sharpest.    You think you can only touch him because of that scar.  You used to balk at the sight of someone else’s tears, even deride them.  You don’t remember being a lover.  You didn’t even realize you had a friend until it was too late.

You might not know who you are, and you might not know how to describe how you feel, but you certainly understand it feels different, and you certainly know what kind of person you do not want to be anymore. 

So you do not rip your hand away.  You curl a tuft of hair behind his ear. 

“I just—”  You trip over your own words, wishing you were a better speaker, more personable and warm than your stiff recitation.  “I can’t be that person,” you say.  “I don’t know what person I will be, but I’m not – I can’t—”

“I know,” he says, sincere.  He is holding your waist and he gives it a small squeeze, a reassuring touch that moves through you with a burst of warmth.  It simmers in your bloodstream when he smiles – his eyes still sorrowful despite the dimple in his cheek.   “I don’t wish you were someone else,” he says.  With a wince, he says, “I wish I was.” 

Your stomach twists in an awful knot.  You think of all that blood on his hands.  Despite his efforts to keep it away from you, you feel it on yourself.  You have to close your eyes to push away the flood of images, unsure which are imaginative fabrications and which are potential memories.  You just know he looks too young to have that kind of red on him. 

You open your eyes and look at him.  His eyes are open but his gaze is faraway, lost in thought.  You touch a tendril of curly hair, feel it under your fingers like you have the past couple nights.  He looks at you with eyes that have already shared multiple conversations. 

“I wish you hadn’t suffered,” you say.  “I don’t think anyone should suffer that way.  I don’t think the ends justify the means anymore.  But also I—” 

Even while your heart is changing inside, getting those words outside is a different struggle entirely. 

Chan looks at you with that tilt to his head, that questioning brow, his eyes a lot softer with his curiosity.  Your breath is jagged, a messy gasp as you gather yourself.  You look away, wholly incapable of maintaining eye contact.

“I got in the car with the First Guard,” you say.   “Not with some other version of you.  This soldier.  This Chan.”   You look down at your hands, absent-minded in the way you move them, from his shoulders down to his chest.  “This is the man I trusted,” you say.  “The one I still do.”

Your eyes lift.  They meet his.  His expression is a mix of confusion and amazement. 

His lips part with a question, but it gets caught.  He stares a little longer, then he asks, “Why?”

An unexpected laugh bubbles and bursts right out of you. 

“I have no idea,” you say, giving in to that bubbly feeling, letting it fill your chest and lift you up like a safety raft.  “I don’t know anything at all.” 

You realize there is something freeing in that thought.  No, you don’t know who you are.  No, you don’t know what is going to happen past right now.  You have to save your friend.  You have to end your father’s business.  Everything else, the becoming of you and the world and your place in it, is unanswerable.  You can’t find blueprints or scour maps or form battle strategies.  You don’t know where the water leads.  You just have to swim. 

“Maybe it doesn’t even matter,” you say with a shrug.  “I don’t know.  Nothing about yesterday, nothing tomorrow—”

“Just right now,” he says.

His voice is a little lower.  Just right now.  That was the pact you made the other night. 

Your whole body comes alight, waking from the ice cold state it has been frozen in.  It warms under his palms on your hips and where his dark eyes roam. 

“Just right now,” you repeat as softly.  You look at your hands again, realize more consciously how intimately they rest on his chest.  Rather than retract, you swipe your thumb across the exposed strip of skin where his flannel is buttoned askew.   “Maybe that’s all I need to know.” 

This right now feels different than before.  You don’t blame his emotional reaction to your earlier intimacy if it was an affect of all his memories, all he had lost, and all he was.  You think your straightforward trust in him – not in spite of his identity, but because of it – has shifted things again.  Your hands on his chest and your words in the open seem to have changed the shape of this whole room. 

“I’m the First Guard,” he says.  His eyes drop to your mouth then back up.  “You’re Miroh’s daughter.” 

“Yes, you are,” you say.  “And no, I’m not.”  You see the shiver that moves through him when you run your hands up his chest and curl your hand around the back of his neck.   You feel his thighs get tense under yours, his whole body reacting.  “Say my name,” you say.

When he does, it is not like a weapon or alarm, but spoken in a way that makes you feel like you have never heard your name spoken properly before that moment. 

You kiss him first and this time it lands deliberately, catching him mid-breath and stealing the rest of it.  When you start to lean away, to see if it’s all right, he puts his hand on the back of your head, curls his fingers in your hair, and draws you right into him, stealing back that breath with a desperate kiss. 

In a way, this is familiar to you.  You always liked and used sex as a grounding exercise.  You feel present in your body, regardless of how floaty and detached you felt before.  From the tingling top of your head to the curling of your toes, you feel every inch of yourself, alive and hot. 

But it feels different too.  You were always eager to chase the high, to reach the final destination with little care for the journey.  You realize, maybe, it is about the becoming, itself.

“Chan,” you say, squeezing his hips between your legs when he runs his hands under your shirt.  You climbed into bed still wearing your pants and shirt, wishing differently now as you rock your body against his. 

You buck a little eagerly, sensations going to your head quicker than intoxication.  Chan brings you back down, shushing you gently, guiding your open mouth back to his.  He kisses you slowly, touches you like he is memorizing every contour.   You make a sweet sound into his mouth, cupping his face as you kiss him back. 

“Can we—” you start.

“Yes,” he says.  “Yes, yes.” 

You stand on shaky legs and strip your bottom layers away.  The few seconds apart are dizzying, the whole world around him fuzzy as that neon yellow light leaking into the room.   Because he is staring at you, looking dazed and dishevelled, it takes him longer to unbutton his jeans than it did for you to remove your pants altogether.  You climb back onto his lap and do not help at all, distracting him with another kiss. 

A kiss always felt like a waste of time, but you think you could content yourself with just kissing him forever.   Slow or fast, gentle or needy.  

You are kissing when he gets inside you, gripping your bare thighs with a possessive hold that will feel tender tomorrow.   You luxuriate in the pleasure and the pain, your body yours, shared with him, reciprocated in turn.  

Whatever else existed – or could exist – ceases to matter for a time.  You come together and come apart in each other’s arms, chests pressed together, hearts racing against each other.  You tug his hair and pull his face into your neck, moaning under the press of his teeth and the heat of his lips. 

“Mm, fuck,” he groans into your skin, clutching your hips even tighter, rocking up into you while you roll down against him.  His gentle curse has you whimpering, his mouth on your throat making you shake.  “Mm, get all tight when I bite you, you know,” he murmurs, and leaves no time for argument or embarrassment because he nips at your neck again.  You do exactly what he said, clenching around him with an involuntary shudder. 

“Fuck,” is all you say.  He breathes a laugh against your skin. 

You clutch his shoulders when he gathers you and stands, moving the couple small steps towards the bed where he lays you out.  You are apart for only seconds, but you feel so cold and empty that it is almost terrifying.  When he shucks his jeans and gets back on top of you, you unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers, body in convulsions from the angle he is fucking you.   

You have never been fully alive in your body until right now. 

You come while he fucks you and you come again, when he puts his hands on you, like he really does need to feel every inch of you with his searching fingers.  When he keeps touching you, you are so stimulated you slap his chest, making him smile at your loss of words. 

 You lay in a tangled heap, your legs twined together.  Your shirt is gone and his is unbuttoned, your cheek on his chest as he lays on his back.  You let yourself be a little lulled by the cadence of his breathing.

Your eyes eventually wander.  You realize the sun has joined that neon light, the fuzzy halo around the window now a clearer glow.  The day is beckoning.  It brings you back to reality, to the world outside this re-shaped room. 

“I know I need to face it eventually,” you say.  “I don’t know what will happen. But right now – I can’t be distracted from the mission.  I need to rescue Changbin.  I need to stop my father.”

Miroh is dead but everything he did haunts you, like a ghost around every corner.  You can’t afford to confront the other ghosts, including your own. 

“Whatever happens after right now,” you say.  “I guess I’ll see.” 

“I understand,” Chan says.  He is caressing your spine, fingertips stroking up and down the slope of your back.   He scratches a little at the nape of your neck, making you hum in contentment.  “Really,” he says.  “I know things got crazy earlier but… I think right now… I can do right now.”

You look up at him.  He smiles down at you, dimples digging into his cheeks.  You have to look away, because you just promised yourself no distractions, but that smile causes a flush of warmth that goes beyond the physical. 

“Well,” you say with a sigh, patting his chest.  “Maybe by then you and me will be friends for real.” 

You feel his body stiffen, shoulders dropping, the hand on your nape freezing.   You look up to see his face, a questioning brow quirked.  He is returning the expression, though his countenance is a little more drole. 

“What?” you say. 

He answers with a firmer grip on the back of your neck.  He rolls you over, onto your back, keeping your head lifted in his hand.  The length of his open flannel drapes over your warm skin, a soft tickle as he leans down and kisses you.  It starts gentle but doesn’t last, his tongue parting your lips and the hot, needy press of his mouth pinning you to the bed and his arms.   You kiss back but hardly keep up, dizzy with breathlessness as he licks into your mouth, as he chases down the breath of you, as he keeps your lips on his for as long as he possibly can. 

Then he leans to one side.  His breath tickles your neck before he kisses just below your ear.  He whispers, “I don’t want to be friends.” 

He looks at you with a far too innocent dimpled smile.  You think Chan might be a bigger threat to your well-being than the First Guard. 

“Okay,” you say, breathless.  “Noted.” 

-

You open the blinds.  Once the room is full of sunlight, you revert to soldiership and work on your next strategy. 

There is no doubt the Miroh corporation is floundering in a state of panic.   They are not only dealing with the loss of its boss and heir, but also destabilizing insider attacks on various sectors while vulnerable.  On top of everything else, stocks have plummeted and investors are running for their lives and their wallets. 

You and Chan have watched the company as well as the social reaction.  With different leaks and financial fallouts, especially given Miroh’s connections to governmental and military divisions, it is no surprise that different stories have been cycling through the news.  You have kept an ear on the radio and an eye on tv stations. 

As you scour blueprints and map your next manoeuvre, you have the news playing at a low volume in the background.  They are currently reporting the combustion of a Miroh facility.  Their research and sources have led them to deduce it is an inside job.  

That much is fairly obvious as no one else could do what you and Chan are doing, though you are not suspects.  The media believes you are dead, that both you and your father were assassinated at the same time.  You are not sure if the company honestly believes you died, that the First Guard killed you then disappeared without Miroh to corral him, or if they reported that so they could kill you without a fuss in the future. 

There are no reports on Chan, of course.  No one outside of Miroh’s world even knows he exists. 

The major suspects are disgruntled investors and former employers, so far mostly scientists and research assistants given the targeted facilities.  With some of the government leaks, there are also theories that some deals with legislators went sour and resulted in a target being painted over the name Miroh. 

This seems to the angle the current report is taking.  At first, you are only half-listening, as the news reporter does not mention anything you have not heard before. 

Then you catch the latter half of a sentence you are not expecting.

“—of greater potential concern as this latest attack was on a military base.”

Both you and Chan whip your heads up at the same time. 

You have not attacked any military bases. 

“Turn that up,” you say.

Chan is already on his feet and moving towards the bed where the remote was discarded.  He turns up the volume on the television and you both watch the report. 

It is not impossible that a domino effect could ripple from one facility to the next.  The more attacks you make – targeting all the little chinks in Miroh’s armour – the more likely it is that certain institutions will collapse entirely on their own.  Either people will chase the money, like a lot of former investors, or they will abandon course altogether.  Eventually, Miroh’s world will eat itself alive, with or without your help. 

But you have so far only targeted a couple smaller research facilities.  Yes, there have already been consequences, but not enough that a totally unrelated military base on the other side of the country would spontaneously combust. 

You stare at the screen.  That base is big.  It isn’t going down without a fight.  No one outside of the house of Miroh would have dared target it.  No one else would have known how. 

“Changbin,” you say. 

Chan puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.  You look at him then at the television, at the story unfolding rapidly in front of you. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” you ask.  “It has to be.”

There might be just enough chaos in the ranks that if a solder of Changbin’s calibre was being held, something might fall wayside and he would have an opportunity to escape.  

You are just not sure he would try.   Changbin has obviously undergone changes of his own, all seeming to stem from that final confrontation with Lee Felix before the enemy went down and took his world with him.   Changbin clearly decided once and for all what was really important to him.  Changbin has always played the game carefully, but in the last few months he repeatedly put himself between you and your father.   He intercepted multiple interactions with Miroh’s men, altercations you dismissed as nuisances at the time but shudder to realize the weight now. 

Changbin threw himself in the middle, again and again, painting a bigger and bigger target on his back.  He seemed resigned to his demise.  For that reason, you are not sure how much he would fight even if given the opportunity.  He seemed whole-heartedly certain he would be left behind, no matter what happened. 

You curl your hand into a fist, digging your nails into your scar.  There was so much you should have told him.  If he knew that you were willing to fight this hard.  If he knew you would find out the truth.  If, if, if—

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Chan says. 

You look at him just as he kneels down beside your chair.  He takes your hand, the one with the scar, and unfolds it carefully. 

“Kicking yourself won’t save him, yeah?”  Chan says. 

“Yeah,” you say with a huff. 

The report continues.  It details this attack as being an inside job as well.  Supposedly, according to rumours breaching the walls, multiple people have gone missing, but their identities have not been given to the press.  Hearing that, you become marginally more hopeful that Changbin is among them.  The company would not report their supposed missing persons because they are most likely prisoners being held in less-than-legal circumstances.  Changbin would be that type of prisoner.  

The fight is ongoing.  He could still be there. 

“It’s a lead, at least,” Chan says, echoing your thoughts. 

“Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong place this whole time,” you say.  You have been targeting the science sector when maybe your father kept it all in the military house after all.  Maybe after the initial pass through that research facility, he was moved onto a more secure base, given his background as a former child soldier of the special-ops program. 

Well, if that is the case, their extra security did not work.  Of course it didn’t work.  It’s Seo Changbin.   You could laugh at their idiocy. 

“We need to find out either way,” you say. 

You manage your expectations for now, but as you sit at the table and change course to plan an entirely new strategy, it is with a hope as clear and bright as the sunlight.

-

It is a lot of driving to the military base.  You will get there at nightfall the next day if you stop only sparsely. 

You and Chan are swift in packing and climbing back into that car.  You take turns sleeping and driving, though the last leg of the journey is spent on edge.  You are braced and ready for a fight, all that determination exacerbated by the very real possibility that you are about to see Changbin again. 

What will you say to him?  What will he say to you?  You wonder how much he knew about the reconfiguration.  Clearly, he knew something, if not the specifics, as he went to great lengths to keep you away from your father. 

You thought Changbin had saved you on an emotional level, but you realize now how it crossed into every sphere of life.    

You close your eyes while Chan drives.  You see Changbin on that rooftop, saying he will not leave you behind.  It was the first hit that shattered the glass around you.  Miroh had so carefully built that clear coffin around your consciousness, and Changbin smashed right through with the sheer brute force of his friendship. 

You glance at Chan.  Miroh did everything in his power to make sure you forgot about him.  Bang Christopher Chan, the First Guard.  Someone you loved and who loved you.  Your father would have focussed on that.  He would not have seen anything. 

Why would he care about a friendship?  What does that word even mean to a man like him?  He would have looked right past Changbin.  He spent all that time wiping Chan from your mind, that he never thought to look for anything else. 

Your body gets cold as you remember – something.  You close your eyes.  You are standing in front of Changbin.  He’s young, in his late teens, about the age you would have been when they reconfigured you.  He is looking at you with uncertainty.  You feel an uneasiness looking back at him. 

Don’t you know me? he asks.  He pulls a face, makes some dumb noises, waves his hands.  Then he frowns.  Changbin can be funny, but he turns it off in a second, as deadly as the rest of them.   So much anger floods his eyes, they look black with the focussed intensity of his fury.  You know me, he says.  Think.  Remember me. 

You see a slant of moonlight, a windowpane, a streak of blood.  Remember me. 

You feel a weight as it is lifted off your chest.  You hear him shouting your name.  You hear him running. 

You know me, he says. 

You flinch – in your memory? – right now? – and a piercing wail floods your mind.  You don’t want to go towards that scream.  You can’t go there. 

It’s me, he says.  Hold on.  Keep your eyes open.  Don’t go.  I promise I’ll get you out.

“Changbin,” you say. 

“Hey, hey, baby, hey—”  That is Chan.  He is shaking your arm.

Your eyes pop open. 

You have never had flashes of recollection while awake.  It feels like a bigger adrenaline rush than waking from a nightmare, very little to divide your mind from reality. 

You take a few steadying breaths while Chan rubs your shoulder.  He was driving but the car is now stopped on the side of the road.  You did not even feel him braking. 

“What happened?” he asks when you are settled enough to speak.

“I don’t know,” you say.  “I just—I was thinking.  Remembering.  Not like that.  It’s complicated.  I just—”

You close your eyes.  A teenage Changbin is still standing there, looking at you warily. 

You know me. 

I know you.

“Changbin,” you say, choked up.  You blink your eyes open and take another breath.  “I’ll be okay,” you say.  “We can’t stop for long.  Let’s get back on the road.”

Chan does not look convinced, frowning as he stares into your face.  You blink at him, then narrow your eyes into a squint.

“Did you call me baby?” you ask. 

He clears his throat and turns back to the steering wheel.  Looking out over the dashboard, definitely not at you, and with the tips of his ears more than a little red, he says, “You’re right.  Let’s get back on the road.”

In spite of everything, you find yourself smiling. 

-

It is only natural that you are waylaid at the very last minute, right on the cusp of sunset as you approach the vicinity of the military base.  Not only is your path to finally rescuing Changbin obstructed, but it is halted by the most asinine, mundane nonsense in the world. 

Soldiers, agents, entire convoluted military operations – those you can easily take.  Minimum wage workers, on the other hand, are impossible combatants.  More grizzled than the worst of ancient servicemen, they blink at your pleading with a harsher chill than a mob boss.   You are certain this gas station attendant has seen some shit because he is not remotely inclined to assuage anyone’s anxiety. 

“The till is down,” he says with an icy tone, face pinched unpleasantly.  “It’ll be back up in a minute.” 

He goes back to talking to his manager on the phone, smacking his computer till at random intervals.  It does not exactly inspire confidence. 

While you and Chan have been getting by with theft and subterfuge, you do everything in your power to not draw attention.  That means you pay for gas as many stations have security cameras that log and report drive-offs and defaults. 

That means you are stuck in this line with several other customers while the hapless cashier whacks his computer.

The little bell above the door rings as Chan steps inside the shop. 

“What’s taking so long?” he asks. 

“I want to hit him,” you say, pointing to the disinterested cashier.  “He’s never gonna get that thing fixed.  We have somewhere to be, we can’t just stand here all day—” 

“Ah, ah, ah, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Chan says soothingly.  He interrupts your rant as you were raising your voice.   Not that it matters because the incompetent cashier is not paying any attention. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Chan says.  “You just have to know how to talk to people, yeah?” 

The cashier paid you absolutely no mind when you tried to complain.  He gave you a nasty look and ordered you to get to the back of the line.  Chan, on the other, receives a quick onceover and a blink of seeming approval. 

Chan leans on the counter and smiles a devastatingly charming smile, those dimples blinding.  The cashier puts the phone on his shoulder and looks at him expectantly.    

“Hey there,” Chan says. 

“Hello,” the cashier replies, coolly but not as rudely.  “The till is broken, sir.  We’re going to have to wait for a repair.”

“You know, I’m pretty good with my hands,” Chan says.  “I bet if you let me under there, I could figure something out.” 

The cashier blinks at him.  One blink, two blinks, three.  Then he hangs up the phone and opens the gate to let Chan behind the counter. 

You cross your arms and roll your eyes. 

Chan, perhaps unsurprisingly given his necessary breadth of skills, helps the useless cashier get his dumb register running again.  You all but throw the money at his stupid pretty head before marching away. 

“Thanks, Wolfgang,” the cashier says, using the made-up name Chan gave him.

“No problem.”  Chan winks back at him.   “Have a good day, uh—”  He squints at the name tag, gives it only a sparing glance as he steps out the door.  “Hyunjin,” he says.

The door swings closed and you continue on your way. 

-

Fortunately, you have no more preposterous interludes.   You approach the base differently than the facilities, especially because you have not been able to do a proper sweep.  However, that should be fine given the entire operation here has already been massively destabilized.  All the main assets have moved along, either because of imminent danger or because the media now has its eyes on its actions. 

Either way, you get inside without much fuss.  You stick together for longer, not trusting the dark corridors and labyrinthine tunnels. 

It is a lot emptier than anticipated.  The fight seems to have ended some time in the last couple hours.  There is an eerie, unsettled feeling, like a house abandoned in the middle of a meal.  Unlike the dusty underground hovels at the research facility, this place is still breathing.   You are not sure what it will cough up. 

“Still think he’s here?”  Chan asks, likely coming to the same conclusion as you: that even if Changbin was here, he has probably moved on.  He has either escaped and gone of his own volition or he was caught and reprimanded and has been relocated. 

“Maybe,” you say with a sigh.  “Maybe not.  But it’s still a lead.  Treat it like one.” 

You finally split up to cover more ground, agreeing to reconvene at the central warehouse in half-an-hour. 

Maybe Changbin is no longer in these walls – maybe he was never here at all – but there might still be answers.  You suspect there are questions too, because you cannot imagine who outside of the special-ops program would have both the calibre of skill and necessary intel to pull of an operation like this.  Someone reached right into the heart of this base and yanked at its ventricles like it was nothing.  And if not to escape, then why?

It has to be Changbin, you tell yourself, even while a sense of wrongness creeps under your skin.  It is the same odd, unsettled feeling you get when you think about the night the enemy died – specifically when you think about that security system somehow being wiped after the house burned down with everyone inside it.  It is that strange discombobulation, where the answer is probably simple and right in front of your face, so blatant that its absence haunts and distracts you.

You are distracted with thought.  Maybe that is why you make your first mistake.

You turn a corner and crash right into someone.  You are shocked because you did not hear their approach.  Even distracted, you should have heard footsteps in an empty corridor, especially in heavy combat boots.  You are quiet but you have unique bodily control that even well-trained soldiers cannot replicate.  No one else can walk that quietly.

It is clear the same startled reaction ripples through their body. 

You draw guns at the same time, firing with equal speed and precision.  You also both duck at the same time.  Smooth as a dance, you whirl around each other, firing and re-loading until they do a spin-kick and knock the gun aside.  

As you fight with your hands, you only catch glimpses of your opponent.  They are dressed all in black but not in Miroh’s uniform, a balaclava pulled over their face and head.  They are very slender, but they land a hit like someone twice their size. 

Your second mistake is your own fault.  You underestimate them based on their build and it earns you a good right cross. In the ensuing dizziness, they make a break down the corridor at an alarming speed.  It leaves you reeling more than the hit. 

“What the fuck,” you say, staggering after them. 

This person does not work for Miroh, that much is obvious.  It also definitely isn’t Changbin.  This person has the completely wrong build, opposite of Changbin in almost every way.   No, it isn’t your friend, but it might very well be another prisoner.  They might have an idea of what happened.  They might know if Changbin was here and where he went. 

The thought propels you into a determined sprint.  You cannot follow sound as the person is good enough to keep their footsteps low, but you are just as skilled so they likewise do not see you coming. 

They coincidentally head straight for the central warehouse.   The warehouse previously functioned as a pseudo-armory, but it has already been completely cleared.  It is two levels, the top floor a balcony walkway overlooking the main warehouse floor. 

The warehouse is empty except for the intruder. The person seems to be deliberating.   They remove their head covering for a second, long enough to catch their breath.  You see a flash of black hair and a hint of a masculine profile before you are spotted.   The man tugs the fabric back over his head. 

He leaps right off the balcony. 

It is too high for a normal person to jump without breaking a leg.  Naturally, you run to the railing to look over.

Your adversary is a step ahead of you.   He is dangling there, waiting for you to approach so he can swing back over and knock you down.  You skid across the balcony level, the metal walkway rattling under your weight. 

You don’t stay down for long.  Another fight begins, a back and forth tussle that makes you think you need more training.  The past day has been more than a little hectic, but you should be able to take down even a well-trained soldier. 

He does another spin-kick, a solid roundhouse that knocks your mask right off.   You stumble sideways while the mask clatters across the balcony before spilling right over the ledge.  It is a long descent before it smacks the ground. 

You ground your footing, assuming a defensive stance with a swift upward swing.

“Who are you?” you ask.

At the exact same time, the man says, “You.” 

That prompts another question, a bigger question, why on earth this stranger would recognize you in this context.   You cannot even think about your question, however, because the man abruptly flies at you with twice the verve as before.  Caught off guard, at first you struggle to defend yourself.   When he finally swings too wide, giving you an opening, you do not waste the opportunity. 

You tackle him, fully and bodily, arms around him as you charge the balcony.   You shove him right over the railing.  It is not so high that he’ll die, but you don’t want to kill him anyway.  You need to ask him questions – like did he do all this and how and why?  Are there others?  Is Changbin among them? 

You grasp the railing.  You are prepared to swing and jump over but you stop short at what you find.  The man, who should be nursing a fractured leg right about now, is instead getting to his feet.  He looks a bit dizzy, shaking his head and rubbing his temple, but he is otherwise unscathed. 

You just stand there for a second, gawping at him like an animal. 

That shielded face finally lifts, eyes finding yours across the space.   His head cocks, seemingly a dry and irritated, Really?

You launch yourself off the balcony, landing heavily but safely.  You absorb the shock and straighten, not taking your eyes off this man for a second. 

“I’m not interested in hurting you,” you say. 

He scoffs, pointedly looking down at your uniform. 

“I don’t work for Miroh anymore,” you say.  “I’m just trying to blend in.” 

“You?” he says.  It is so far the only thing he is willing to say.  His voice has a darker, deeper tone, scratching at the back of your head, but his monosyllabic replies do nothing to help place him. 

You want to say more but he doesn’t let you, jumping back into action.  You huff in aggravation, wanting to shout, we’re on the same side!   But he is fast.  You expend your energy just keeping him at bay.

Your stamina is fairly well-matched, just like everything else.  You move around the warehouse, kicking and punching and flipping around each other, losing track of minutes. 

A sheen of sweat breaks under your uniform.  He is slowing down too.  There is just one difference: he still has his gun. 

He gets you behind the knee and puts you on your back.  Before you can retaliate, he draws his gun and points it at your face. 

You freeze, staring down the barrel.  You slowly lift your eyes to him, just in case any sudden movement convinces him to fire.  So far, he is holding, though you are not sure why.  If he truly wanted to avoid detection, it would have been in his best interest to kill you and move on. 

He hesitates.  His hand is steady but his eyes are darting around inside the masked fabric. 

Your eyes continue to wander up, up.  Your heart leaps when you see Chan approaching on the balcony, silent and serious, gun in hand.  He has a longer-range weapon, not a little pistol like you and the adversary.   He takes aim from his perch but you shake your head.

You know Chan can make the shot, that he could get the man through the head and not so much as graze you under him.  But if this man dies, his answers go with him. 

“No!” you shout at the same time the gun goes off. 

You wrap your legs around the man’s midsection and yank him to the side.  You roll, one over the other until you are pinned once more.  You are both unharmed.  With the head covering, it is hard to tell if he is frazzled.  He certainly whips his head around quickly, trying to see where he dropped his gun. 

You spot it at the same time.  You glance at each other then bolt, stumbling over one another as you charge the discarded pistol. 

Chan jumps down off the balcony.  He takes more of a running leap, jumping forward rather than just down.  It gives him far more momentum so he hits the ground and tucks into a roll, riding the wave of that momentum until he is in the middle of the room. 

Chan reaches the gun first.  He kicks it out of the way and comes at the adversary with his bare hands.  He may not understand why you wanted to save an enemy who had you pinned under a gun, but Chan must trust there is a reason because he fights to incapacitate rather than kill. 

It is a good fight, but the man is already tired from fighting you. 

And you are good, but Chan is better.  If he could not beat you, only tie, then he cannot beat Chan. 

Sure enough, it takes a few more moves before the man is on his back.  Chan, still wearing his half-mask, straddles the man’s chest, pinning his arms at his sides and his body to the floor.  He draws a knife out of a thigh holster for good measure.   

“Got him,” Chan says.  “Who is this guy?”

“I have no idea,” you say, jogging over to them.  “That’s what I want to find out.”

“Let me go,” the man says, wriggling uselessly under Chan’s weight.   “I have nothing to say to her.”

“I told you already, I’m on your side,” you say.  “Or at least I’m not on Miroh’s side.”

“Whose side are you on?”  Chan asks with a jerk of his head. 

“Mine,” the man answers.  “Now let me go.  I have a job.”

“We have a job,” you say.  “We’re the ones who have been taking out the facilities so far.”

That gets the man to stop squirming.  He looks at you through the narrow eye slits in his balaclava, eyes darting to where you stand behind Chan. 

“You?” the man asks, seemingly his favourite word. 

“Yes, me,” you snap.  “And who are you exactly?” 

“One way to find out,” Chan says.  He does not wait for any further acknowledgement, ripping the man’s mask right off his head.  It is not a cruel or violent action, more a casual shrug of his arm than anything.  You are not expecting to find anything more than the scowling face of a stranger.   

You and Chan freeze.   

Staring back at you, with his hair returned to its natural pitch, his dark eyes narrowed in an intense glare, and a face full of unmistakable freckles, is a former agent of Miroh’s special-ops program.  One of the last and a traitor, not to mention supposedly dead. 

“You,” is what you say.

You do not know what else to say to Lee Felix. 

[mezzy-1]

VALORANT UNIVERSITY HEADCANONS

@eviethelesbian once again thank you for the Headcanon List. Also shoutout to @darthladyofillusions because I included ur OC :)

Harbor is a history professor dating Astra, the archeology professor.  Both of them met on a trip to a site in India

Both of them reached for the same the brush at one point and they laughed it off later

Both of them are excellent teachers in their own way.  Varun has a habit of going on tangents about stories and is super nerdy about his subject.  Efia’s classes are fun and her energy is infectious

Cypher has a family and does cyber security for the University.  Nobody knows his actual name.

Nobody knows him that well but when he comes out of his office he’ll say hello to anyone nearby.  He goes home quickly though and usually avoids working late.

Cypher’s office is full of pictures of his family, drawings from his daughter, screens, and the scent of imported Moroccan teas

He and his wife and kid see the students off when they graduate, and all of the students are amazed to realize that this guy has such a good family life.  (They thought he was a no-life kinda guy)

Liam ‘Brimstone’ Byrne is the university’s Dean and basically runs everything as much as possible for the good of the students.  Tariq and him are the brains and guiding hand of the university

He retired from the military after he was given an educator’s license and became a professor of tactics at a military academy.  He then took his skills elsewhere and turned the college into what it is now

Liam keeps the students at the forefront of any policy changes and takes an interest in professors that are considered brilliant but difficult to work with.  He’s an expert of recruitment and reining in the right people

Has snacks in his office for students but they can only get them if they complete a pull-up on an pull-up bar he has in his office.  One arm only.

Sabine worked at R&D at a pesticide company but is the only Organic Chem teacher that the Valorant U could get.  Somehow is a good professor despite hating students and no general teaching

She doesn’t really hate them but it isn’t a good idea to get on her bad side.  It’s rumored she poisons the students she hates.  

Stared daggers into the first person (Jamie), to make a Breaking Bad reference and since then nobody brings it up

Classes with her are pretty tense but if a student actually tries and gives their all, she’ll notice and be kinder to them.  Especially students who study chemistry.  Double for O-Chem.

Sabine’s style of teaching could use work, but when she tries to explain complex ideas she’s genuinely in her element.  She once explained how tetrodotoxin and nerve ion channels worked to Zyanya’s little sister 

Zyanya is a professor for sure, probably the best Spanish teacher ever.  Beyond terrifying to new students

She will not let students forget proper accents and grammar, and god help the people that do.  Somebody once forgot their homework and Zyanna was literally this close to killing them

Her Spanish is specifically Mexican, and that extends to the class through some of the words she teaches.  Especially bits in culture and authenticity

Zyanya’s idea of testing people is borderline an interrogation.  10 minutes of extensive and stern conversations and multiple pages of writing.  People say it feels like their souls have literally been drained

Students come out of the classes fluent or scarred for life

Ling is a professor of medicine and completed her PHD around the same time Viper completed hers.  They were amazed to see each other teaching

She does Tai Chi for relaxation but did at one point learn Kung Fu while living abroad in a monastery for a couple of years.  She once broke a board in front of her class just to prove it

Hosts meditation hours during finals week and her office hours are always super useful for all of the medical and nursing students.  Calming as hell to anxious people

Tala got a scholarship via cross country and another from basketball, and wants to major in physical therapy.  She also got a job doing late night shifts at the library as security.

Hazal is in a band called Nightmare.  Her and several other introverts got together and started one.  Only perform in the most obscure venue.  She can play bass REALLY WELL

Tala found out and now shows up to every performance the band has.  If it weren’t for the lights flashing red and blue, you could see Hazal blushing when she spots Tala in the crowd

That’s how she met Hazal.  Tala was approached by her because Hazal wanted to study late and the two became acquainted

Both of them love the late nights that they share and Hazal is always at one of Tala’s games.  Tala picks her out of the crowd every time, and at the end Hazal always kisses her 

Mateo is a veterinary student and is everyone’s friend.  Except Iselin because some of his patients got into her office once and trashed her latest project model

He keeps fish, dogs, lizards, cats, and nearly everything else.  At one point he was in charge of a project that kept some monkeys around at one point 

The animal counterparts are a chameleon (Dizzy), a Chinese High Banded Shark (Thrash), a bullfrog tadpole (Mosh), and an Axolotl named Wingman

He has a crochet version of his (radivore) crew, courtesy of Omen being bored one day

Mateo is a Gen Z kid, and his vocabulary beyond salvaging

Jamie is an English major, I mean, obviously

Everyone likes Jamie, he brings a certain energy to everything he does and it resonates well with people.  His writing has a level of power and rhythm that makes it both easy to listen and layered

He is a songwriter, and poet, and even has a collection of published short stories.  His mums are proud.  His scripts are also incredible and his goal is to get his own musical to Broadway 

When Jamie is in a play, it’s usually as the protagonist or the main antagonist.  It is wonderful to see him on stage, especially because he’s trained as a Shakespearean actor

Tayane is THE art student and the reason most of the faculty drinks.  And also the reason why most of the students drink too

Absolute ragers getting thrown anytime Tayane is involved.  This woman does not stop until the sun is up

Her graffiti portraits are inspired, colorful, and almost always on government property or university property.  Brim started commissioning her in order to stop her from painting everything

The commissioned murals are a lot better for her, and gave her legal access to make huge projects on some of the older buildings

One of the walls is a silhouette of a woman with big circular glasses, geometric pink and yellow patterns around her, and surrounded by flowers

Vincent Fabron is the art teacher and Viper HATES him.  He’s also that one teacher an unreasonable amount of people of have a crush on

He was a tattoo artist while taking art lessons in France, then moved into high class art.  His gallery pieces gained a lot of attention and he gained a lot of money from them.

Now he teaches art, and has done graphic design for many upscale companies.  His own business card has won awards from design and art societies though

Omen is a guy in a scarf and hoodie that is somehow in everyone’s classes.  He crochets in the back sometimes.

Texts notes at 4am to anyone who needs it and is incredibly nocturnal.  He doesn’t need sleep he needs friends

Students never remembered or learned his name, so they just started calling him Omen after the laptop brand he uses

Erik ‘Breach’ Torsten is a coach they brought in and actually manages a paralympic team.  May have criminal past according to some of the athletes he manages

He will scream at people in Swedish during games, practice, going over strategies, and if he sees them in public.  Friendly but so loud

His prosthetic arms were a courtesy of the university’s science program.  They were partially a gift and partially a test to see what they could do.  Erik made sure that he could flip people off with the arms

Iselin the professor of Industrial Design, and she is the most stern professor ever.  At times she works for a wilderness recreation company and does product design for them.  

She is very organized, and her lecture presentations are always available, she lists the pages to read, dates for every assignment are posted a month in advance

Iselin’s a professional and rarely eases up, but the few times she’s been out with the other faculty she’s been surprisingly fun.  Especially with Ling for some reason

Kirra is a Biology professor that has so many plants in her room.  Has a parakeet, dog, and fish tank at home too.  Does wildlife photography on the side.  

Kirra protested in college and was arrested once for sabotage.  So she is totally chill with people missing class for stuff, and gives extra credit for students involved in causes

Goes on wilderness expeditions with some students for a class and memorized several survival books worth of information and knows every plant, animal, and fungus she comes across

Klara is an engineering major and Tayane just comes to those classes because she can.  It usually results in the equipment being plastered in stickers and paint.

They met when Tayane decided to tag the garage that Klara was keeping her final project in.  Both of them sort of caught feelings as soon as they saw each other

Klara fell so damn hard, and realized this while Tayane was doing a kegstand.  Klara whispered ‘she’s perfect’ mindlessly and then realized Sunwoo was right next to her

Sunwoo finished what was in her cup, patted Klara on the back, and said ‘good luck’ before walking away and pretending she didn’t hear

Her final project has been her ‘Lockdown’ which is basically an EMP crossed with a massive DDOS hack.  It went off once and downed the college’s internet for a week.

She’s going to switch it to something a little less destructive at this point, and Tayane is helping her brainstorm.  Currently it’s a robot but she’s trying to figure out what to make it do

KAY/O is Tariq’s gamertag.  The man is a CS:GO fiend and has crazy flashes due to muscle memory

Liam and him are MARRIED.  I’m not budging on this one and you will find me dead in the ground before I let this go

Tariq’s good at a lot of random stuff and doesn’t help out too much at the college but is well-known as the ‘guy who Brim allows to help grill things’ because nobody else is allowed

Helps Liam plan out things for the students and assists in any sort of set up that he can do

Ryo is studying Japanese History and works as a mechanic at a chop shop.  It is shady as hell over there but Yoru will hook people up if needed.  They definitely steal parts though

He takes business classes and there’s a real chance he might double major.  His business acumen and aggressive nature would make him the ultimate CEO

Sasha is the professor that most students simp for, and he teaches Russian Language classes.  Throws things at students that don’t pay attention and rarely misses

He has an owl nesting outside of the window to his classroom, he named it Matrioshka after the nesting dolls.  It had owlets so it seemed fitting.

His babushka lives out of the country but gets a continuous stream of gifts from him

Sasha is that one professor that has a weird story for everything in his room.  The bow he has? killed a grizzly bear with it.  Glass eye on display?  It was a gift from a glassmaker that was caught with illegal firearms.  Weird rock?  It was at the sight of a historic battle and has a bootprint in it

Has SO MANY books from Russian writers he reads in his off time.  Also does archery at a cabin he has in the woods.

Nobody could handle Novikov at the cabin, the sheer hotness of him splitting firewood, bow hunting, and chopping trees would send people into a simp coma

At the end of the year, he writes each student a short note in Russian telling them something worthwhile.

Sunwoo is an amazing sprinter and also amazing at darts.  Loves adding photos to the corkboard she has in her dorm

She isn’t really sure what she wants to study at the moment or even if she wanted to go to college.  Gotta love families pressuring college on their kids right?

It isn’t as depressing though, she shows real talent and enjoyment in studying Business but surprisingly is leaning towards learning Journalism as well

She writes stuff for the school paper, a blog, and even has a (somewhat inspired by people around her) science fiction story.  She hasn’t thought of a name yet.

It’s about secret agents that fight against an alternate dimension that tries to steal a powerful crystal from them.  It’s quite popular with the people who she let read it and people are constantly asking for updates

Sunwoo is trying, and hopefully she’ll manage to find somewhere she can feel comfortable

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kayra is studying botany, and started a garden in one of the common areas.  At first it was small but cute, then after a few weeks the flowers and bushes spread outside of the garden and overtook the common area.

It's now her favorite place to get away from people because trellises were added in and nobody can see through the vines.  There’s a chance she keeps patio furniture in the garden too

Has been living in an apartment with Hazal.  Tala has been the only one in there and says its overrun with houseplants and hanging lamps.

(@darthladyofillusions I hope this is accurate to some extent)

[gijoe-forever]

[neuroslayyer]

GENETISYS

Originally established as a privately funded organization by Kenzo Kobayashi in the 1960s, it would later be restructured and recognized as a megacorporation in 1989.

The main focus up until the company was taken over by Kenzo's only daughter, Etsuko Kobayashi (later Hirose), was genetic engineering. When Etsuko gained control neuroscience, psychology & pharmaceuticals had been added to the company's repertoire. However there's persistent rumors that Kenzo had enjoyed dabbling in bio-warfare.

Research and services include but aren't limited to:

cloning

gene therapy

gene doping

overall genetic modification

"designer" babies

memory alteration

preservation and extension of youth

And when it comes to pharmaceuticals, most of the drugs are for psychological, genetic and chronic disorders.

Of course there's the experiments and research that's not shared transparently with the general populace such as genetically modified soldiers, gene splicing, and general human experimentation in the realm of psychology and the neurosystem.

Genetisys is known to pay people to be part of their clinical trials and research (though a next of kin is always required beforehand); a solution for those who are hard up for quick cash, though in some ways it may as well be the equivalent to selling your soul. When Sub Attica, the underwater prison, was still in existence they would also bargain and take some of the prisoners for test subjects as well. While volunteers had a higher survival rate in terms of their trials, nonvolunteers would never see the light of day again.

Over the decades there have been scandals or attempts to expose scandalous behavior. However, nothing would ever stick enough to knock the corporation down --- the legal department always acting as swift as a viper and security (both physical and cyber) would keep everything under lock and key. Though around/between 2060s-2076 more information about the company, including projects, experiments/research and files on victims would be leaked. It's unknown how someone could get a hold of such stuff; it's almost as if whoever did it, had a bit of insider knowledge when it comes to corporation.

While Kenzo and Etsuko never agreed on everything in terms of company practices and scientific pursuits, the thing they shared was the love of the study. Making millions, nearly billions, in wealth is a nice extra benefit. But both do what they do because of their morbid fascinations and curiosity.

[jylesthejester]

Okay, multiversal casino staff and a bit of lore before I get too sucked into my hyperfixations and forget about it

[NOTE 1 !! If you want to make a similar concept feel free but do not take my concept entirely! You can make something SIMILAR but not EXACT replica please! I don't mind inspiration but do tag me in any art or rambles because I LOVE to see people be inspired by things or something I make!]

[NOTE 2 !! Some of these characters may act out of canon when I draw them (If I do), some of their Lore might be different, there is an explanation for it here, don't pummel me for it please.]

Origin/Main concept : The multiverse casino was originally made to be a hangout spot for people from other universes, somewhere where they could relax and discover other universes. This worked, but eventually they needed more Staff to help out on all the floors.

Why these specific characters for staff members? (Staff members are shown later) : I picked from my favorite characters from various fandoms (excluding any of my favorite children characters (theres only one here cause theyre celestes friend.)) and threw them here, they're all categorized by the card categorization I have.

Categorizations : There's both the card symbol organization, there will be a section for it at the end of the staff lists.

How does the multiverse casino get its staff? : they find almost exact copies of the universe they're trying to get a staff member from, and they talk to the person they're trying to bring in and see if they'd like to join. Old staff members get their memories of the casino entirely wiped before being returned back to their universes like nothing happened (this essentially happens whenever I leave a fandom)

Owners : Maxie Kanth (Minty) and Stella Novaflare (Sleepy)

Co-owners : Reagan Caballero and Kaede Archemoros

Staff members (fandom characters) : Popee The performer(PTP), Kedamono(PTP), Sammy Lawrence(BATIM), Boris(BATIM), Sun(TSAMS), Moon(TSAMS), Eclipse(TEAPS), Puppet(TEAPS), Frank(TSAMS/TEAPS), Francis(TEAPS), Jack-o-moon(TSAMS), Molten(TSAMS), Lunar(TSAMS/TEALS), Vegeta(MAFS/TEAPS), Dr Panik(Block City/HMF), Henry(Block City/HMF), Henric(Merge City/HMF), Dr Kalm(Merge City/HMF), Casey Jones(TMNT 2012), Panikbot(Block City/HMF), Jim davis(HMF), Therapist(HMF), Action(HMF), Rickutto(HMF), Darko(HMF), Hooper(HMF), Brandon(HMF), Aris(HMF), Rage(HMF), Mist(HMF), Birdie(HMF), Frosty(HMF), Little Ropo(TLC), Little Jack(TLC), Scuba Steve(TLC), Sharky(TLC), Luke(MCH), Peter(MCH), Goldy(MCH), Donald Duck(Ducktales), Pigsy(LMK), Redson(LMK), Googz/Parker(RTGC), Playtime(Baldis Basics), Tiger/Kotetsu(T&B), Jyles(OoO), Jon(LJ), Davis(LJ), Casey Jones(TMNT 1990)

Staff members (ocs) : Celeste Kanth Novaflare, Reagan Caballero, Alix Caballero, Gacey Xanthe, Kaede Archemoros, Palin Rockefeller, Lila Gear, Kaypen, Orbides, Inky Inkwell, Party Favor, Gelatin, Nova Starstruck, Tobey<3, Al Sokolov, Zin Sokolov, Ekko Hamato Jones, Jyles!!, Donavan Adamski, Ooze, Mutagen, C.A.G.E., Cain, Adaliah, Kuiper, Vortex, Raka, Juno, Epona, Zola, Lennox, Kay, Mirage, Asy/Asylum, Runaway, Jester, Gore, Clowny, Unalive, Intrusive, Joker, Ricin, Jimson, Chrome, Lily, Caleb, Kat, Boo, Loi, Noir, Moichii, Florence, Boyd, Cherub, Disco Cat, Karmen/Candy, Draven Adamski, Annabelle Sokolov, Beatrice Sokolov, Ohnn Sokolov, Tails Sokolov, Marij Achlys, Viper Jones, Lee Achlys, Lyra Cezhial, Atlas Cezhial, Celestino Cezhial, Helios Cezhial, Sammy Corvus, Crow Corvus, Hanahaki Corvus, Zeru Feller, Toxinz, Moichi, Zim/Theo, Chester, Jyles, Lyco, Gyre-Vortex/Malachi, Klown, Tom, Red, Carolyn Achlys, Wade Achlys, Kurtis Jones, Circuit O’Neil, Cyber Achlys, Lyn Achlys, Amaris Jones, Callisto Jones, Saturn Jones, Martin Jones, Alix the Arachnid, Gala, Dae, Bubble, Melanie, Finn, Gabriel, Mono, Xavier, Jassie, Axel, Flare Starstruck, Lala Tunes, Marie Melancholy, Chat Swoop, Lunar Lovelock, Bisty Isty, Dipsy Dip, Seraphim Sphere, Stephan Squared, Staine Sharp-Sphere, Glacier Glitters, Pluto Prince, Gale Games, Chassy Charcoal, Bea Buzzy, Diamond Dazzle, Tipsy Ticks, Benny Bronze

Old staff members : Tenya Iida (MHA & Might come back), Bakugou Katsuki (MHA & Might come back), Shinsou [forgot last name] (MHA), Shota Aizawa (MHA), Sundrop (FNAFSB), Moondrop (FNAFSB), Cuphead (Casino Cups), Mugman (Casino Cups), Sans(Undertale), Papyrus(Undertale) [Theres more but I can’t remember)

Original staff members that are still here : Popee The Performer (PTP), Sammy Lawrence (BATIM)

(The category things only apply to fandom characters)

Card organization :

Popee The performer(PTP) ♦️

Kedamono(PTP) ♠️

Sammy Lawrence(BATIM) ♠️

Boris(BATIM) ♠️

Sun(TSAMS) ♦️

Moon(TSAMS) ♦️

Eclipse(TEAPS) ♣️

Puppet(TEAPS) ♠️

Frank(TSAMS/TEAPS) ♠️

Francis(TEAPS) ♦️

Jack-o-moon(TSAMS) ♦️

Molten(TSAMS) ♠️

Lunar(TSAMS/TEALS) ♦️

Vegeta(MAFS/TEAPS)❤️

Dr Panik(Block City/HMF)♣️

Henry(Block City/HMF) ♠️

Henric(Merge City/HMF) ♠️

Dr Kalm(Merge City/HMF) ♣️

Casey Jones(TMNT 2012) ♦️

Panikbot(Block City/HMF) ♦️

Jim davis(HMF) ♦️

Therapist(HMF)♣️

Action(HMF) ♣️

Rickutto(HMF) ♦️

Darko(HMF) ♠️

Hooper(HMF) ♠️

Brandon(HMF)❤️

Aris(HMF) ♠️

Rage(HMF) ♦️

Mist(HMF) ❤️

Birdie(HMF) ❤️

Frosty(HMF) ♠️

Little Ropo(TLC) ♣️

Little Jack(TLC) ♦️

Scuba Steve(TLC) ♠️

Sharky(TLC) ♣️

Luke(MCH) ♠️

Peter(MCH) ♦️

Goldy(MCH) ♠️

Donald Duck(Ducktales) ♣️

Pigsy(LMK) ♦️

Redson(LMK) ♦️

Googz/Parker(RTGC) ♠️

Playtime(Baldis Basics) [celestes friend] ❤️

Tiger/Kotetsu(T&B) ♠️

Jyles(OoO) ❤️

Jon(LJ) ♣️

Davis(LJ) ♠️

Casey Jones(TMNT 1990) ♦️

The card symbols don't exactly determine where in the building they all work, it just really depends on their shifts.

Each of the main ocs in this story(Maxie, Stella, raegan, etc) has a favorite character they like to hang around, so heres that :

Maxie - Popee The Performer (PTP)

Stella - Sammy Lawrence (BATIM)

Raegan - Dr Panik & Henry (Horrormashfriends)

Lix - Jack-o-moon (TSBS)

Kaede - Mist (Horrormashfriends)

Gacey - Action (Horrormashfriends)

Palin - Frank (TSBS)

Lila - Redson (LMK)

Uhhh yeah that's the staff- :3

(Skitters off [I'll likely come back w more art n stuff])

[izkaboz]

it really does sound like a zipper

[your-local-uwu-artist]

ok long story short I'm thinking of reviving/remaking my old Fakemon region (which I haven't updated since the 7th grade) so a few nights ago I wrote down the gym leaders for the region

here is what my sleep deprived mind came up with

My oc Lilly except she's a grass type magical girl tv star

My oc Kirbi except she runs an electric type cyber punk gaming cafe

Pokemon chuck e cheese owner (sound)

Aged up Viper (poison, obviously)

Ghost type gym leader in an amusement park

Creepy water type gym leader

Circus that uses dynamax (psychic)

Robbert Munch (normal)

A nurse joy who became a Pokemon trainer (fairy)

Idk I find this funny

AJEHRYESYESYEYSEYSYEYSEYS AJKFMCwait all these ideas are top tier fndjksaf lmk if you draw any of em'

omg LOVE the nurse joy idea also input what if water type and ghost type date and are in love and wholesome