#it sounded like someone was stepping on/squeezing this plastic storage bag in my room

[fidgetspringer]

Okay but the house ghost was totally fucking with me last night.

[4haechie]

stuck with you

➵ request: can i request fluff + au #2 + trope #1 "enemies to lovers" + prompt #4 & #19?? thank you 🥰

➵ lee donghyuck x reader | fluff, enemies to lovers au, high school au | 2,760 words | “take off your shirt.” + “can you shut up for just two seconds?”

➵ warnings: cursing and one second of suggestive stuff

➵ a/n: thank u for requesting! i really hope u like it :D i added timestamps to avoid confusion, so this turned out longer than expected oops. if u want a part 2, please let me know!

want to request? check this post out!

present time – thursday, 6:30 p.m. 

you’re starting to wish time machines existed right about now. you’ll do just about anything to go back to two hours ago and avoid this mess.

you glance up at donghyuck, who’s put on his thinking cap apparently, and is trying to come up with a way to get you two the hell out of here. “do you have a hairpin? or a bobby pin?” he asks.

you shake your head, “donghyuck, that only works in movies.”

“y/n, i’m trying to come up with solutions here! or do you wanna live in this tiny janitor’s closet for the rest of your life?” he glares at you.

“if i did, i would’ve chosen someone else to share oxygen with. why would i choose you?” you glare back.

he rolls his eyes, indicating that that conversation is over. “whatever. try calling your friends again. someone must still be at school, right?”

you frown, “donghyuck, we had the student council meeting earlier, remember? that ended at six, and it’s almost six-thirty now. all the sports teams’ practice sessions must’ve ended, too. i’m telling you, it’s just us in school.” you shake a little as if trying to wake up from a crazy dream. no avail.

you’re stuck here–no, wait. someone locked you two in here. you’re going to have to trace back your steps to figure out who.

thursday, 4:00 p.m.

“the weekly student council meeting is in session. today, we’re going to discuss prom! i’ve put up a list on the bulletin board that says who’s going to do what. please take a look at it immediately.” you explained, gazing around the group of students in front of you.

you’re the president and donghyuck is the vice president. you two work together almost every day, you’re in the same classes, you have the same friends. but there’s one minor detail in your guys’ relationship: you two hate each other.

hate might be a bit too strong of a word, but it’s true. you and donghyuck, despite working together and being in the same class since third grade, have never gotten along. maybe it’s your guys’ competitiveness. maybe it’s your strong desire to one-up the other. but as long as you can recall, there hasn’t been a single time when he hasn’t made your blood boil.

anyway, you and donghyuck were in charge of planning your senior prom, and ensuring everything and everyone follows said plan.

while discussing the event, you realised you forgot to check with your school’s janitor if he’s free on the day of prom, or if he’s taking a holiday. either way was fine with you, as you were thinking of making everyone clean up after themselves. but just to be sure, you and donghyuck, unfortunately, decided to stop by the closet after the meeting had ended.

thursday, 6:05 p.m.

“i don’t think he’s here. it is after school hours, so i think he went home,” you said, peeping into the dark closet. it was pretty obvious he wasn’t there–the room couldn’t have been more than five feet by five feet. it’s a storage space, but the janitor keeps his bag here before starting work and picks it up right before leaving school.

“yeah, no shit, sherlock.” donghyuck reached around you to flip the light switch on. the lone bulb suspended from the ceiling blazed to life, setting the room alight.

then, suddenly, a figure pushed donghyuck into the confined space, which caused you to jerk inwards. it happened so fast, you barely had time to react, or identify the culprit. you heard keys jingling and fear danced around in your eyes.

donghyuck was still facing the door, while you were standing with your back against the wall. he tried his best to look out the little glass rectangle fitted in the door, but he turned around and shook his head in frustration.

“what the fuck just happened,” you said; it came out more as a statement, but anger resonated through your words.

“we, er, just got locked in here.” he deadpanned as if you couldn’t have figured.

you groaned and clenched your fists. “i’m gonna kill them. you didn’t happen to see their face, did you?”

he shook his head, “nope.”

“well, we know one thing. that person had the key–and only two people have the key to the closet. the janitor, who’s not even here, and the general office staff. but i’m sure they wouldn’t lock us in here.” you said.

donghyuck tilted his head, “okay, then, who...” he trailed off, allowing you to vocalise your theories.

 “somebody must have stolen one of the two keys.” your brain’s gears started turning, trying to think of someone who would pull something like this.

“it could be the janitor’s keys. the closet was unlocked when we got here.” donghyuck reminded you.

“yeah...but he never leaves the closet unlocked. he’s very responsible, so it can’t be his set of keys. it’s probably the staff’s set,” you countered. “they barely pay any attention to non-admin matters. that person must’ve stolen their keys, unlocked the door after the janitor left, and waited for us to come here, before locking us in. jesus, i’m so angry. this is so fucking childish,” you groaned again.

donghyuck nodded in slight agreement, surprising you. he never agrees on anything you have to say, but he didn’t have much of a choice in that situation. plus, your theory made sense. “do you think this whole thing was renjun’s idea? he was the one who suggested we check with the janitor about prom night.”

your eyes widened in shock. “oh my god...wait, but it wasn’t renjun’s idea. it was mine, actually–he just reminded me to do so.” you slowly dropped down to the floor and held your head in your hands. you couldn’t believe what was going on. the entire situation seemed to just hit you.

you’re stuck in a small closet with lee donghyuck, your number one enemy.

present time – thursday, 6:40 p.m.

“none of them are picking up. donghyuck, what if they’re all in on this together? kind of like a senior prank–except we’re the ones getting pranked.” you say, panic rising in your voice. you’re standing now, leaning against the wall with your phone clutched tightly in your hand.

knowing your and donghyuck’s friends, you’re sure you’re going to be here all night. they’re quite a bunch. you and donghyuck have a common friend group, but your friends find your ongoing rivalry extremely annoying. it makes perfect sense if they locked you two in here.

donghyuck digests your words quickly. “no way. that’s insane! why the fuck would they do that?”

“well, do you have a better explanation? i’m sure you don’t, considering i’m the only one who’s been thinking of possible theories, while you’re here giving me the only suggestion you have–your stupid bobby pin idea,” you say, breathing heavily.

“can you shut up for just two seconds? always telling me what to do, disagreeing with me, arguing and fighting with me. we’re locked in here, and you think arguing like little kids is gonna get us out?” he shakes his head in disbelief. “god, and to think i had a crush on you last year.” he must not have meant to reveal that little secret, because his ears turn red instantly.

you gape at him, “what–what did you say?”

“look at you, getting a big head again–!”

“donghyuck.”

“i liked you! there, you happy?”

“i like–liked you too, idiot,” you say in a low voice.

then, he laughs–a melodious sound, emitting pure joy and rainbows and sunshine. “some type of rivals we are.”

you laugh with him now, finding the situation so pathetically sad that it was almost funny. laughable. something to reminisce from time to time.

“you...you still like me?” donghyuck asks in a small voice you’ve never heard before.

“take a guess.”

“no?”

you bite the inside of your cheek, “take another guess.”

he grins at you, leaning against one of the shelves–which was a bad move on his part. he accidentally knocks over a bottle of...detergent? who knows, but it ends up uncapped and half-empty once it lands on the floor. luckily it was plastic, so the bottle doesn’t break. unluckily, the other of the liquid splashes on you, soaking your entire shirt. your plain, white, shirt.

donghyuck freezes, “um...y/n, i’m sorry–”

you hold up a hand. the god of testing people’s patience must’ve signed you up for some competitive exam today. “save it.”

donghyuck looks around hastily, trying to find a clean rag. he produces a small yellow cloth from the back of one of the shelves and hands it to you, “here.”

you don’t even say thanks. you quickly take it from him, free your shirt from your jeans, and start wiping and drying it to the best of your ability. you manage to make the shirt as dry as possible, but it was detergent that spilt on you. it was soapy–it was not water. 

you groan for the third time today and look at donghyuck, gritting your teeth. “i can’t possibly go out like this.”

he winces, feeling extremely apologetic. “take off your shirt and wear my hoodie instead. i have two layers on,” he suggests.

you give him a double-take, “what the fuck? no! why would i do that?” you exclaim.

“do you have any better ideas?”

you watch as he swiftly takes his hoodie off, revealing a loose tee clad on his body. you hate to admit how good he looks. he hands the item of clothing to you, and you tell him to turn around as you begrudgingly peel your shirt away. you take the rag once again, wiping off as much soapy liquid as you can, and pull the hoodie over your head.

it smells like him, you think. it smells like that expensive cologne he always seems to wear. you show no indication that you find his hoodie soft and comforting, and tell him you’re done. you roll the shirt, squeezing any remnants of detergent out, and stuff it in your bag.

he bites back the smile daring to form on his lips upon seeing you in his hoodie. “okay. now that that’s over, let’s try to get out of here, shall we?”

you nod. “i have our science teacher’s number. maybe i could ask her to help us? she’s always here late, marking papers and assignments.”

donghyuck snaps his fingers, “you’re right! yeah, give her a call.”

you scroll through your contacts till you find the name you’re looking for. you press the call button and set it to speaker mode so donghyuck can hear as well. she picks up after three rings, “hello?”

“hi, miss angela! it’s me, y/n. you see, um, donghyuck and i got locked in the janitor’s closet by someone, and we have no way to get out. are you still in school? if you are, is it possible for you to unlock the door from the outside?”

miss angela hums a little, as if in thought, “i just left, my dear. i could turn the car around if you’d like. i’m sure the office keeps an extra set.”

“yes! that would be great. thank you, miss angela. and we’re sorry for the inconvenience,” you nudge donghyuck with your elbow, who catches on immediately.

“yeah, we’re incredibly sorry. i’ll be sure to submit an extra report–!”

“save it, lee donghyuck. i’ll be there in five to ten minutes,” she hangs up with that.

you pocket your phone and look at donghyuck. “so.”

“so,” he repeats.

“are we going to act like we didn’t just confess to one another earlier?” you ask, biting your lip nervously.

“no, i don’t want to, um, act like we didn’t. i lied, y/n. i had a crush on you last year, yeah, but i never stopped liking you. i still like you. i don’t want to be your enemy anymore.” he nudges you. 

you smile shyly, “i like you too, donghyuck.”

just then, you hear keys jingling–an all too familiar sound. you get excited, thinking you’re going to be met with the face of miss angela, but when the door bursts open, you see the smirking faces of renjun and jeno.

“about fucking time!” renjun pulls you and donghyuck outside.

“what?” donghyuck demands. “it was your idea to lock us in there? are you fucking kidding me?”

jeno grimaces, “i’m sorry, it was the only way you two would confess your feelings for each other and stop fighting for good.”

“i can think of plenty of ways–!”

“wait, y/n, are you wearing donghyuck’s hoodie? holy fuck...don’t tell me you guys did it.” renjun looks back and forth between you and donghyuck.

“what? no, of course not!” you retort.

“then why do you have his hoodie on, dear y/n?” jeno asks.

“that’s none of your damn business, lee jeno!” donghyuck looks ready to pounce on him, but you place a hand on his chest, stopping him. his gaze drops down to your hand and it softens.

“there was a little accident...but the good thing is that we’re out. hooray. now, everybody, go home. i have to call miss an–”

“y/n, thank goodness! what happened?” miss angela emerges into the scene, looking a little worried.

you briefly explain the evening’s events to her, without mentioning the confession part. she doesn’t need to know that. you tell her it was a silly prank. nothing more, nothing less.

she visibly sighs a breath of relief. “well, at least it wasn’t some stranger. jeno, renjun, i didn’t expect this from you two. but i’m glad you’re all okay.” she takes her leave, after ensuring you four are on your way home.

jeno and renjun go home via jeno’s car, and you and donghyuck, living only a couple of blocks away from school, decide to walk the journey.

“all this... just so we could stop fighting,” donghyuck laughs. you’re walking side by side, hands occasionally brushing against one another. it’s like something out of a cheesy rom-com. you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“it worked, didn’t it?” you say.

donghyuck stops on the pavement, turning his body to face you. he stretches out a hand to push a strand of hair behind your ear, making you bump his shoulder shyly. he smiles; he wouldn’t have it any other way either.

“i guess it did. but what do we do now?”

“what do you mean?” you raise an eyebrow.

“like, do i walk you home first? do i ask you on a date? god, with you, it’s just so much more...different. if it was someone else, i would’ve gone with my gut, but with you, i don’t wanna mess it up. you know?” donghyuck finally takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. you feel his warmth radiate, you feel his touch bringing you safety and comfort. something way more powerful than a hoodie.

“donghyuck, i’m new at this too. i’m just as scared as you are. and that’s okay, trust me. i’m glad it’s me and not anyone else.” you assure him.

you gather up whatever courage you have remaining, tip-toe, and brush your lips against his cheek. you stay there for a moment, just breathing him in. when you pull away, his cheeks are a dusty pink shade.

“do that again,” he tells you.

“no, i think i’m good.” you start walking again.

“y/n!” he whines.

“okay, on one condition.” he raises a brow, “ask me on a date.”

for a moment, he’s bewildered. then, he gets down on one fucking knee, not caring about anyone who might be watching, and clears his throat. “y/n, i like you so much. will you make me the happiest man alive, and go on a date with me this saturday?” he looks up at you expectantly.

you chuckle at his antics and give him a nod. “i would love to, lee donghyuck.”

he grins, all big and bright, and leaps up to envelop you in a hug. his arms go around your waist and yours circle his neck. he whispers in your hair, “i guess we owe renjun and jeno a thank you?”

“i am not going to thank them for locking us up in a closet. in fact, i’m gonna double their prom duties.” you feel his chest vibrate as he laughs at your comment.

however, you are thankful that it was lee donghyuck you got stuck with. so, forget the time machine. you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 1) Preparations

The MC doesn’t play a major role here, because there’s not much role to play. But she has a lot to say and lots of THOUGHTS.

The book is funny and I’ve kept the humor of the original novel. I also like that the MC here has a genuine sense of humor that makes her likeable and relatable to the rest of the boys.

ENJOY

There are several luxurious private rooms on the third floor of the Takamagahara for private party guests, and the spending amount is, of course, much higher than the card seats on the first floor. A guest can't go to the third floor without throwing a few million yen a night. 

The music inside the room where Chu Zihang and Caesar were hosting was deafening. You knock loudly to be heard.

"Little Sister, is that you? Don't come in!" Lu Mingfei yelled from inside. He sounds breathless, panting. In fact, when you press your ear to the door, all you hear is his heavy breathing and grunting from physical exertion. Your heart beats faster and your cheeks flush as your imagination runs wild with what must be happening. You back away from the door. You've been up to your ears in man-meat for hours so it wasn't a stretch to conjure images of Chu Zihang and Lu Mingfei embracing passionately. Poor Nono. Surely Caesar wouldn't be unfaithful to her, right? You bring your fist to your lips and your heart squeezes in sympathy. 

The door swings open and Caesar appears. He's stripped down to his underwear. Your eyes snap to the gentle curve of Caesar’s crotch, which, in your alcohol-addled mind, seemed to bulge out to enormous proportions!

 He grabs your arm and drags you inside, slamming the door behind you.

Women were lying side by side on the floor, their dresses in disarray. Lu Mingfei and Chu Zihang are breaking a sweat to drag all the bodies around. 

“What do you need me to do?” You stammer and glance away. Were you going to end up on the floor too?

“Just wait until we’re finished. How was your time downstairs? You seem a little tipsy. How much did you drink?” Caesar picked up a woman and settled her gently back on the couch.

“I’m not sure. I think someone kept refilling my cup.” You twine your fingers. You can't turn around and look at him in his skivvies. Nono would probably laugh at you and the rest of the girls in the Student Union might resort to mob violence!

Lu Mingfei hissed. “What? That’s awful! Someone should do something about that! Those brutes didn’t do anything to you, did they?”

You shake your head. The room tilts and you try to hide it and the fact that youre suddenly breathless. “No, nothing like that. They were just… um… Are those women drugged?” You change the subject as the memories of the physical proximity of Diamond's and Chance's lips to yours, Calypso’s unopened rose and Armani’s lustful glare spring back to mind and combine with Caesar's sudden full frontal to create a sexual kaleidoscope you couldn’t handle.

"Strong sleeping pills plus strong alcohol. They have to sleep at least until tomorrow morning." Caesar shook a small pill bottle.

“Isn’t that a little dangerous? Sounds like a great way to make them sleep forever!” You recalled heroin and vodka was strictly forbidden because combined someone could easily commit suicide.

“I made sure it was alright.” Chu Zihang said, straightening a girl’s skirt. "We have about eight hours between now and tomorrow morning, enough time to get to and from Genji Heavy Industries. We ordered enough champagne before we came in so that no waiter would come in to check on us during that time. And these women were so drunk before they arrived, they won't remember what happened tonight." 

 He straightened his back and moved to the next. “By the way, did you give out any Star-flower tickets? I would have watched but, as you can see, I had to work.”

“No… no tickets.”

“Little Sister’s purity is as strong as Fort Knox! I’m so happy!” Lu Mingfei sighed with relief. “Don't worry, we’ll be out of here before anything happens!”

“That’s a good strategy in any case. You don’t want to show your favor to anyone in the first episode…” Chu Zihang gave a sage nod and moved to the next lady.

Lu Mingfei bristled. “What kind of lewd advice are you giving, Senior Brother?”

“So what’s the plan for the Genji Building?” You ask. You calm down and feel tired and tense, but seeing them working so hard despite having one of the busiest nights at Takamagahara was inspiring. The couches looked soft and inviting but you wouldn’t look weak in front of them so you continue to stand and try to look energetic.

"Uncover the skeletons in Hydra’s closet. And while we’re there, blow shit up." Caesar lit a cigar, the firelight illuminating the colored makeup on his face. 

"There are 15 pounds of C4 explosives in the equipment box, is that enough?" Chu Zihang took out a packet of Play-Doh-like stuff from the box. 

You recognize the packets. They’re dark green and can be arbitrarily pinched into any shape. They are easy to carry and easy to use. As the world's worst terrorists, according to Hydra, C4 plastic explosives would fit your needs. 

"Hey, hey, hey, hey! What are you doing with explosives out? We are turning into the kind of people on the wanted list step by step!" Lu Mingfei exclaimed. 

"We are wanted by the police department for smuggling nuclear fuel, terrorist attacks and raping young girls. As long as we don't do that last thing, we're not on the wanted list yet." Caesar fastened the leather sheath of the Dictator on the outside of his thigh, the Desert Eagle in the holsters on both ribs, and the eight magazines filled with Frigga bullets on the side of his waist, "It won’t be that bad. Chu and I are just going to blow up Kaguya's storage core. Kaguya is the first line of defense for the Hydra Clan. We blow it up and Hydra will go blind. Norma can take advantage of the opportunity to regain control of the network within Japan." 

“Caesar?” You ask.

“Yes, hun?”

“Am I also wanted for raping girls?” You give a dry smile.

He shoots you a genuine grin and snorts.

"Do not rush to change clothes, we have to leave some evidence." Chu Zihang said. 

"Almost forgot." Caesar took off his weapons and re-dressed in the slim purple suit, "Good thing I didn't take off my makeup." 

Chu Zihang fished out a cell phone from a guest's bag and handed it to you. “Here, take our picture.”

“Got it.” You say.

Caesar sat down on the sofa, dragged a woman to his side and pressed her to his body. He stuffed a microphone in her hand, and took a microphone himself, as if he was singing. 

Then Chu Zihang sat in the middle of the guests wearing a conical hat singing birthday songs, and Lu Mingfei pretended to accompany guests drinking and playing craps. Chu Zihang and Caesar pantomimed topless arm wrestling.

For each photo, Chu Zihang and Caesar adjust the phone time, so that the guests will wake up and, after checking their phones, they’ll think they spent an unforgettable night with the beautiful boys! But, unfortunately, they can't remember any details because they drank too much and can only imagine. Looking at the phones, you’re filled with a sad sort of regret that the boys actually didn’t have fun like this.

Lu Mingfei is full of panic, "If these photos leak out our reputation is finished! But we didn't do anything at all!" 

"MC, help me check the fuses on this C4.”

You scurry over without hesitation. Caesar leans in close to you. “You know about this too, huh? First shooting, now explosives…?” He says with a grin.

“I can hotwire a car… or I used to be able to. Not sure if I can do it with the newer models. I can’t fly a plane though.” You look up at him. “I’ll be the cutest little terrorist right?”

“Are you hearing anything I’m saying?!” Mingfei whines. 

“Are you sad because you didn’t do anything, but you now have a bad reputation?" Caesar looks bored. "Then do you want me and Chu Zihang to go out and wait for you for a while, so you can earn your bad rep?" 

"Bullshit! From now on I'm going to fight alongside you guys every step of the way! You guys aren’t going to leave me to take the blame alone!"

Caesar hands you a bundle of clothing. “Here. Put these on and get ready to go.” 

You take them and quickly duck behind the couches, pulling your dress over your head and slipping out of your heels. You unfold a skintight black bodysuit that fits you near perfectly and a trench coat with the splendid Ukiyo-E on the lining, made to look like they are from the Japanese Executive Department.

“Here. Don’t use them all at once.” Caesar draped a belt with a pistol holster and pouches of ammunition over the couch. Your heart warms at the side of this deadly weaponry more than the rose of Calypso. You were finally being trusted with a gun. 

When you step back around, you're fully equipped. Your tired haze is gone and your mind is only on the mission again.

Chu Zihang put his sword on his back, slipped into a black trench coat and screwed a black baseball cap on his head. Caesar is also in a black trench coat and was covering his face in dark makeup to conceal his fair skin.

"Isn’t it a little too risky? We can barely speak Japanese. How are we going to impersonate the Executive Board? People just have to ask us something complicated and we'll be exposed!" Lu Mingfei said. 

“I know it’s hard but you could try keeping your mouth shut…” You grumble, screwing on the belt. Just putting on these dangerous weapons brought you away from the Takamagahara summer of love to the cold winter of Siberia.

"MC, be nice…” Caesar chided. 

“Of course we can't break in. Genji Heavy Industries is a heavily fortified building, as tight as the Japanese Self Defense Force headquarters. Caesar and I spent a few days researching. It is a general office building from the first floor to the twentieth floor, and above the twentieth floor is the office area used by the Hydra. Access is by access card, and there are security guards patrolling. Those security guards are all armed. Even wearing the clothes of the Executive Board, an unfamiliar face may be questioned. Not to mention, that without the help of Norma, I cannot make access cards." Chu Zihang spread out a hand-drawn map, "The only possibility is to sneak in from the sewers and enter the so-called 'inner district'. There is no access control system in the inner district." 

You remembered that they had taken the elevator down below ground when you visited the Genji Heavy Industries and you saw the huge sewer system in Tokyo. The submarine dock of the Iwarui Institute was located in a giant twelve-meter diameter pipe. 

“Shouldn't the inner district have a tighter security network than outside?" Lu Mingfei looked completely unsure. 

You’re not confident either. Looking at the map, with only one way in and one way out, you get the sense that the moment something goes wrong, you’re going to be trapped inside with the enemy. The pipe was deep and led to the ocean. Given the volcanic activity down there, if you had an opportunity to use your soul skill you might be able to open an alternate tunnel like a lava tube to escape or even block this pipe with lava on the way out. The problem is your Soul Skill is not instantaneous.

"No one knows what the security system in the inner zone is, but at least we can avoid the people coming and going by going through the inner zone passage." The map Chu Zihang drew by hand was a map of the sewer system in Shinjuku district. His finger moved along the spider web of sewer pipes, "There's a sewer right below Takamagahara. We'll follow it east, bypass under the Shinjuku subway station, and shortly after entering the main channel, we'll see Genji Heavy Industries. Total length is two kilometers." 

"It’s like we’re just going to wing it right? But come on, This isn’t some My Little Pony Ride. Genji Heavy Industries is like a rushing river, we'll be up a creek if we make one misstep." 

"How can we know if we don't try? If we get caught, we’ll kill our way out." Caesar said gently.

"Hey! Of course you two Robocops can easily kill out! Have you considered that there are still civilized and weak students in the team?”

“Mingfei,” You say softly. He looks over at you, genuinely frightened. "You think I'm weak? Who has the biggest body count for this mission?"

“Little Sister, how can you smile in such a situation. Have you lost your mind? You of all people should be on my side…”

“Don’t you remember what I did in the streets of Chizuru?”

Mingfei frowned, recalling how you killed over and over. “But it’s not right for you to be doing things like that.” 

Chu Zihang confirms your assumption. “Her Soul Skill is the first one that I’ve witnessed that is truly S-Grade.” Chu Zihang rolled up the map. “Her control of it is impressive. Her ability to misshape the earth will help us find a way out by creating a new tunnel underground if necessary, and we have scouted several promising escape routes. Not only that, Royal Fire could take down the Internet Cafe’s wooden structure, but it wouldn’t be able to shift the Genji Heavy Industries building. But her ability is likely to do it. Right, MC?”

You nod gravely.

“If it comes to that, we can threaten the entire building. They were extra proud of that building and probably wouldn't want to lose it in a tragic earthquake..” Caesar smirks.

“I still don’t like it.” 

"Then you'd better stay and take care of the girls. Watching over a dozen unclothed and sleeping women alone in a room late at night is a job for a frail scholar, right?" Caesar shrugged.

"Am I such an unkind and unrighteous person? Can I watch you two go into the dragon's den and wait here by myself? Don't answer that. Just give me a gun!" Lu Mingfei was once again bold and firm, though he gave an owlish glance at the women.

"Very well! We in the Student Council never back down from a fight!" Caesar drew out a heavy Beretta 92FS and threw it to Lu Mingfei, "I”ve been waiting to give this to you. Thirteen-round magazine, the first nine rounds are Frigga anesthesia ammunition. The back four rounds are specially designed to deal with dragons. Mercury core, blunt armor-piercing ammunition. Don't use that kind of bullets against humans or hybrids. Although mercury is not that deadly to humans, it’s troublesome after contamination, and the armor-breaking warheads will leave penetrating wounds on ordinary bodies.”

"Will there be any dragons in the Genji Heavy Industry?" Lu Mingfei thrust his gun into his back waist, "I say just load them all up with Frigga tranquilizer rounds." 

“MC was the last witness to Lenin's last voyage when a dragon embryo was sunk in a Japanese trench. They tried to kill her once before to hide what happened that day. The Japanese Hydra  leader speaks with the same Russian Accent as the MC and then turns on the Academy as soon as he thinks we’re dead at the bottom of the sea? And then tries their hardest to capture us in Chizuru? And now tries to pin us down in Japan…”

Caesar looks down at you. “MC… you were invited on this mission for a reason. I intend to find out why. I think they’re after you… more than they are after us.”

[ketamineharry]

Rose - Joshua Bradley 

Requested: No, I’m trying out my Doctor Who au and I’m seeing where this goes. This is the first part to the first episode. Please let me know if you’d like the second part. Lots of love xx

Your shift at Henricks was coming to a close. The tannoy informed customers that it was five minutes before closing time. Perfect! You could go home and relax, spend some more time with your boyfriend, Mickey and have chips for tea. As you approached the exit, the security guard, Liam, waved a clear plastic bag in front of your face.

Reluctantly, you snatched it out of his hand and ran for the closest lift. The journey to the basement, a short one. As you stepped out of the lift, the aura felt different, like you weren’t supposed to be there. Still, the sooner you found Wilson and dropped off his lottery money, the quicker you could go home and jump start your evening.

You stopped outside of Wilson’s office, knocked once and then patiently waited. You were unsure of his working pattern, as he was the chief electrician.

“Wilson? Wilson I’ve got the lottery money. Wilson are you there?” You called.

“I can’t hang about because they’re closing the shop. Wilson, oh come on!”

A clattering sound came from further down the corridor, assuming that was Wilson, you headed straight for it. Not really wanting to spend more time down in the basement than necessary, especially when the shop was closing soon.

“Hello? Hello, Wilson, it’s Y/N. Hello? Wilson?”

Hesitantly, you opened the door to the store room, and turned on the lights. They slowly flickered before they turned on completely. Boxes of clothes and mannequins filled the room, almost making it seem claustrophobic. There was however, still no sign of Wilson, despite the definite sound of movement coming from this room.

“Wilson? Wilson!”

Against better judgement, you walked further into the room. On the hunt for Wilson, so that you could give him his lottery money and be on your merry way. The further you got into the room however, the darker it seemed to get. Once you reached a certain point, however, the door slammed shut behind you.

Without hesitation, you ran back. It had to just be some sort of wind, or air vent that had caused the door to slam shut like that. After all, it just seemed to be you, these mannequins and the boxes of clothes in here. Potentially Wilson too, but you couldn’t be sure of that, and even if he was, he had to be further down into the room. You would have seen him run past, if he had been the one to slam the door. You tried with all of your might to get it open, but it just wouldn’t budge.

“You’re kidding me.” You mumbled, the inconvenience of the whole situation presenting itself more as annoyance and anger the longer that you had to deal with it. All that you had been tasked to do was give Wilson his lottery money, you hadn’t been expecting to go on a wild goose chase to look for him too.

More sounds, you were unable to distinctly say what they were coming from behind you. Whatever was causing this, you were trapped inside a storage cupboard with it. The fear made your heart beat faster. You were unsure how to tackle this situation, being someone who was just customer facing, this was beyond your capabilities.

“Is that someone mucking about? Who is it?” You asked, as you turned around. Trying not to let the fear show on your face too much. If this was a practical joke, or something of the like, you were certainly not going to let them see that this had affected you.

Slowly, a male mannequin wearing a blue smart shirt and black trousers, started making its way towards you. It’s movement was very slow and static, almost as if whatever was controlling it, or whoever was inside it was still trying to figure out how it all worked.

“Yeah, you got me… Very funny.” You said, your voice uncertain. The whole situation was beginning to creep you out and you definitely didn’t know how to handle it or make it better for yourself.

As you focussed your attention onto this mannequin, you could see that there were others beginning to follow suit. A second and third one. This had to be some sort of student prank. You just had to locate the cameras and have a little laugh and you’d be home soon enough.

“Right, I’ve got the joke. Who’s idea was this? Is it Derek’s is it? Derek is this you?” You ask, to none of the mannequins in particular, as they continued to move forward, the more they did the more that you were cornered into the left corner of the storage room, with seemingly no chance of escape. More of the dummies, continued to head towards you, like an army following it’s corporal.

The first mannequin that had begun the chase for you, raised its arm. You squeezed your eyes shut, and turned your head away. Ready for the students to jump out and start laughing at your uncomfort. Instead, you felt someone grab your hand. You gave him a quick glance, he wore a black leather jacket, a maroon jumper and black trousers.

“Run.” He instructed.

You did as you were told, still clinging onto his hand. As the mannequins followed you, the squeaking plastic was a telltale sign that they weren’t ready to give up just yet. The stranger led you into a service lift. The lead mannequin managed to squeeze its arm into the lift, grabbing at the air, trying to grab onto something or someone, as the lift doors closed. The strange man tugged at the arm and eventually managed to pull it off.

“You pulled his arm off!” You exclaimed, in disbelief more than anything.

“Yep. Plastic.” He informed you.

“Very clever. Nice trick! Who were they then, students?” You asked, attempting to get some sort of explanation out of this man. He seemed to know exactly what was going on.

“Why would they be students?”

“I don’t know.” You admitted, along with a shrug.

“Well, you said it. Why students?” He asked again.

“‘Cos to get that many people dressed up and being silly, they’ve gotta be students.” You explained.

“That makes sense. Well done.” He said, his praise authentic. Although, you could tell that he thought he was above you.

“Thanks.”

“They’re not students.”

“Whoever they are, when Wilson finds them, he’s going to call the police.” You stated.

“Who’s Wilson?”

“Chief electrician.”

“Wilson’s dead.” He said, so matter-of-factly that insensitive couldn’t have described it.

You exited the lift, and continued to walk towards the fire exit up ahead. The stranger, storming ahead. You struggled to keep up with him. It seemed like he was ready for action, some sort of hero. Yet here you were tagging along, just desperate to find out what was going on.

“That’s not funny, that’s sick.” You reprimanded him, barely believing what was happening. If someone had informed you this is how their workday had gone, you simply wouldn’t have believed them. You weren’t even sure if you believed your own eyes, and you were the one experiencing this.

“Hold on, mind your eyes.” He told you, as he pulled out a small metallic device before pointing it at the door. A bright blue light emitted from it, along with a weird sound.

“Who are you, then? Who’s that lot down there? I said who are they?” You demanded, this evening had been weird enough. All you wanted was answers. Perhaps some sort of therapy too.

“They’re made of plastic. Living plastic creatures. They’re being controlled by a relay device in the roof, which would be a great big problem, if I didn’t have this,” he began, as he presented you with what looked like a small bomb. “So, I’m going to go up there and blow them up, and I might well die in the process, but don’t worry about me. No, you go home. Go on. Go and have your lovely beans on toast. Don’t tell anyone about this, because if you do, you’ll get them killed.” He explained, as you walked out of the fire exit. The escape route for you was clear. He gave you a smile, before shutting the door again.

You stood there for a moment, however, trying to process what on Earth had just happened. This mysterious stranger had in essence, just saved your life and had disappeared again, potentially risking his own life to save others. He was certainly the heroic type.

The stranger, then opened the door again. This time the bomb was in his hand, you assumed ready for detonation. A massive smile plastered across his features.

“I’m the Doctor, by the way. What’s your name?” He asked you, his smile not wavering once.

“Y/N.” You told him, simply.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Run for your life!” He exclaimed excitedly, waving the bomb quickly at you, as a form of goodbye.

You quickly made your way to the main road, you just wanted to escape the scene as quickly as possible. You could feel your heart pounding as your feet hit the pavement, and then the road. A taxi beeped at you, as you almost became an ornament for its hood. The shop dummies, still present in the shop window, made you unmeasurably nervous.

Before you knew it, there was a loud bang and the building had been engulfed in bright orange and yellow flames. Your job, to put it simply, no longer existed and you were going to have some trauma to work through. This wasn’t exactly how you had planned your day was going to go. You just longed for things to go straight back to normal.

[usual-day-dreamer]

Let Me Touch Your Fire (Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader) Chapter Ten

MASTERLIST

"What is that?" You said pointing at her leg.

"There's something in there!" Mike exclaimed. Everyone was terrified, El kept crying in pain and the thing kept moving inside.

"Keep her awake okay?" Jonathan said and quickly stood up, running away to look for something to help her.

All the kids started talking loudly, it was mainly none sense but it seemed to help, her eyes were not closing. Their voices mixed with chants of "El", Mike was shaking her softly.

This poor girl, you made a mental note to protect her no matter what. As far as you knew, she had suffered a lot.

"Stay awake" Mike said "Let's get her on this side" they moved her a little. She had stopped crying, but she was drifting off.

"It's not actually that bad" Robin said as the kids moved El carefully with Steve's help "There was a... the goalie on my soccer team, Beth Wildfire, this other girl slid into her leg and the bone came out her knee" Erica, the ginger girl and you looked at her "It was insane"

"Robin" You said, and she looked at you "You are not helping"

"I'm sorry" she answered. Jonathan came back, he had a knife and a plastic glove.

"El" he said "this is gonna hurt like hell okay?"

"Okay" she sobbed.

"I need you to stay real still, you're gonna bite down on this" he placed a wooden spoon in her mouth. She bit down hard, you quickly grabbed her hand and she squeezed it tightly.

"Holy shit" Dustin looked at you. Jonathan approached the knife to her wound.

"Do it" Mike said.

Jonathan nodded "Okay" he sliced the knife on the wound. El screamed. She squeezed your hand tighter and you soothingly traced circles on her hand with your thumb.

Once the wound was opened again Jonathan pushed the knife aside. He carefully entered the wound with his fingers, and everyone exclaimed in disbelief and disgust. He moved his fingers inside trying to reach the moving thing.

"Jonathan!" Nancy screamed.

"Stop talking!" He said "Goddammit!"

"Stop it!" El screamed "Stop! Stop!" Jonathan quickly pulled his fingers out and looked at her "I can do it"

What? You thought.

You hesitantly helped her sit down. She quickly extended her arm towards the wound. The thing inside moved more and she wailed.

Eleven screamed, the crystal behind you shattered and you covered yourself and Dustin as Eleven continued with what she was doing. The creature was out of the wound and she threw it aside harshly with her mind powers. It screeched as it hit the floor.

You looked at the creature in disgust as it tried to escape. A boot stepped on it. And Joyce, Hopper and another guy came into view. El's nose was bleeding badly as she struggled to catch her breath.

Everyone gathered around, to explain what has happening. Hopper embraced Eleven and they sat on the bench in front of the fountain next to Joyce.

"The Mind Flayer built this monster to kill Eleven and pave his way into our world" Mike explained "And it almost did. That was just one tiny piece of it" Nancy continued.

"And how big is this thing?" Hopper asked, stroking El's hair softly.

"Thirty feet at least" Jonathan said and Lucas agreed. Steve was pacing, Robin was listening intensely to the conversation as she sat on the fountain and you were standing next to Dustin "It sorta destroyed your cabin" Hopper looked so done after Lucas said that "Sorry" he whispered.

"Just to be clear" Steve spoke "This big fleshy spider thing that hurt El, it's some kind of... weapon?" Joyce looked at Hopper "The Mind Flayer made it's weapon with melted people?" Nancy nodded and agreed "I'm just making sure" Steve shrugged his shoulders as he talked. Robin watched the interaction.

"Are we sure this thing is still out there alive?" Joyce asked the kids. The ginger girl, which now you knew was Max answered "El beat the shit out of it but it is still alive"

"But if we close the gate again--" Will started "We stop the brain" Max continued "And we kill it" Lucas ended, hopeful looks were exchanged.

"Yo-hoo!" a voice made you all look away, a bald guy appeared with a bunch of papers on his hands, waving them around as he walked fast towards the group. He placed the papers down on a table. Hopper stood next to him and he started talking again "Alexei called this 'The Hub', Now the Hub takes us to the vault room"

Who's Alexei? you thought listening to their conversation. "Okay. where's the gate?" Hopper asked.

"Right here" the guy pointed the map "I don't know the scale on this, but I think it's fairly close to the vault room. Maybe 50 feet or so"

Everyone was gathered around, not close enough to see the map but close enough to listen.

"More like 500" Erica butted into their conversation, everyone on the table looked at her through surprised eyes "What, you're just gonna waltz in there like it's Disneyland or something?"

Hopper raised his eyebrows in surprise "I'm sorry, but who are you?" the bald man asked.

"Erica Sinclair, who are you?" her sassy tone brought a smile to your face "Murray..." he paused, shaking his head faintly "Bauman"

"Listen, Mr. Bunman" sassy Erica was back again "I'm not trying to tell you how to do things, but I've been down on that shithole for 24 hours. And with all due respect, you do what this man tells you, you are all gonna die" she gestured around the group of adults with her finger. Hopper stared at her in disbelief.

"I'm sorry but why is this four-year. Old speaking to me?" Murray said "Um, I'm ten you bald bastard" Erica said, Murray's mouth was hanging open

"Erica!" Lucas looked at her

"Just the facts!"

"She's right" Dustin started "You are all gonna die, but you don't have to, excuse me" He made his way towards the map and looked down at it "Sorry, may I?" he said

"Please" Murray said in annoyance.

Dustin sat down and pulled the map towards him “Okay, see this? This is a storage facility" Murray looked where Dustin was pointing "There's a hatch in here that feeds into their underground ventilation system. That will lead you to the face of the weapon" he drew a line with a pencil "It's a bit of a maze down there, but between me, Erica and Y/N, we can show the way"

"You can show us the way" Hopper said.

"Don't worry, you can do all the fighting and dangerous hero shit, and we'll just be..." he looked at Erica and you, you raised your eyebrows at him "Navigators" he smiled and the three of you looked at Hopper.

"There's no way I am letting you go back down there" Steve appeared next to you and you looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"No" Hopper said, Steve smiled at you and you playfully rolled your eyes, Erica and Dustin looked at him "Nope" he repeated. After that everyone moved around, trying to find something useful.

You were looking inside the drawers inside a local with Steve, keeping yourself busy so the bad thoughts could disappear "Look at this" you looked at him, tears blurring your vision at how beaten up he looked but smiled, nonetheless. He was smiling while holding a panda plushie in his hand, the panda was holding a small red bag and inside there was a fortune cookie "It's really cute"

Steve noticed your attitude change and placed it aside, walking towards you, he placed both of his hands in your face and you leaned towards his touch and closed your eyes, placing your hands on top of his "Hey" he said, his voice sounded so soft, you opened your eyes "Are you okay?"

You smiled, "I should be asking you that" he smiled, thumbs brushing against your cheek as he lovingly started at you "Everything's going the okay" he said and you nodded "Yeah" he kissed your forehead and you pulled away, averting your gaze towards your younger brother. You smiled brightly as they hugged, Steve looked at them and smiled too, holding your hand.

"I love him so much" you said, your gaze never leaving Dustin's frame.

Steve looked at you "I know"

"Heads up" Hopper's voice brought you out of your daze "You can navigate, just from someplace safe" he handed a Dustin a walkie

"It's not that simple" Dustin said the signal won't reach" Erica said

"You need something with a high enough frequency band to relay with the Russian's radio tower. But for that to work, you need someone who has both seen their comms room and has access to a super-powered handcrafted radio tower, one preferably already situated at the highest point in Hawkins" Dustin smiled sarcastically "Oh wait, that's me" Hopper looked so down as he sighed "If you want us to navigate, you got us. But we need a head start" Hopper nodded "And a car" Dustin finished.

Minutes later, you were walking out with your crew towards a car. Steve opened the doubled doors exclaiming "Oh, man, now this..." he played with the car keys "This is what I'm talking about"

"Toddfather?" Robin said looking at the car.

"Oh, screw Todd! Steve's her daddy now" he said jumping inside. Robin looked at you with a teasing smirk and you blushed.

Dustin, Erica and Robin jumped behind, and you sat in the copilot's seat

"Did he just called himself daddy?" Erica asked

"All right, where are we going?" Steve was smiling brightly

"Weathertop" Dustin answered "Weather-what?" Steve said looking behind him “Just drive" Dustin argued "Okay! Jesus" Steve aid and drove away.

A few minutes of driving, you decided to turn on the radio, Dancing with Myself was playing and you smiled, singing softly. Smiling widely as the cold night air crashed against your face in a soothing manner.

"Jesus, how far is this place man?" Steve exclaimed

"Relax, we are almost there" Dustin said with annoyance

"Suzie must be pretty special, huh?" Robin asked, "I mean, if you built this thing and lugged it all the way to the middle of nowhere just to talk to her?"

"Nobody is scientifically perfect but Suzie's about as close to being perfect as any human can possibly be"

"She sounds made-up to me" Erica eyed Dustin suspiciously as she said that "She sound made- up to you?" she asked Steve, he kept quiet and looked at you.

"Why are you hesitating, Steve?" Dustin asked "I'm- I'm- I'm not! I'm not!" he defended "I think she sounds real. You know, absolutely, totally real"

"Left! Turn left!" Dustin exclaimed "There's not a road here!" Steve said, "Just turn left now!" Steve did and you all screamed "Henderson! Where are we going?" Steve asked again but kept driving "Up!"

The road was bumpy as Steve kept driving.

"We are not gonna make it!" Robin said

"Yes, we are!" Steve answered "Come on baby! Come on!" Seconds after that, the car got stuck "Come on! Come on!" Steve grunted.

"Guess the Toddfather has its limitations" Robin said "Robin's right, we should walk from here" you said looking at Steve.

Steve panted and turned off the car. He jumped out and everyone followed suit running up as fast as you could.

"Bald eagle, do you copy?" Dustin got in position and you sat down with the kids catching your breath "Bald eagle, I trapear, do you copy? This is Scoops Troop"

"Yes, I copy" Murray answered and everyone chuckled in relief.

"Call sign?" Dustin asked.

"Bald eagle"

"Please repeat"

"Bald eagle, this is Bald eagle" Murray sounded angry.

"Copy that, good to hear your voice Bald eagle. What's your 20?"

"We reach the vent. I'll contact you when I need you, until then, silence"

"Roger that Bald eagle. This is Scoops Troop going radio silent. 10-10 over" Steve patted Dustin's shoulder as he finished and you grinned and then, you waited.

"Scoops Troop this is Bald Eagle; I've reached another junction"

"This is what?" Dustin asked you.

"The fourth junction" you and Erica said in unison "All right, if my memory serves, this is right after the My Little Pony thesis"

"We went left so he has to go right" Erica said

"Fly right Bald Eagle"

"Roger that, flying right"

"What's the My Little Pony thesis?" Robin asked

"Don't get him started" Erica warmed Robin with a roll of her eyes "Just tell me, I-"

"Hey, guys?" Everyone looked at Steve and walked rapidly towards him, the lights of the mall were blinking like crazy and realization gutted everyone. The Troop quickly ran back towards cerebro to check on the others.

"Griswold family this is Scoops Troop do you copy?" Dustin kept trying, weird noises coming from the other side as he tried to communicate with their friends.

A roar answered and you widened your eyes

"Griswold family please confirm your safety! Are you en route to Bald eagle's next?"

Dustin kept trying, his voice growing desperate as he spoke. No one answered.

Steve stood up and staring making his way to the car "Where are you going?" Erica screamed

"To get them the hell out of there!" You stood up and ran towards him "I'm going!"

Steve was going to protest but you shoot him a glare and he nodded hesitantly "Stay here, contact the others!"

"Y/N! Stay in contact" you caught the walkie with ease "Stay safe! Robin please take care of them" Robin nodded and you ran behind Steve.

You heard Dustin's voice in the distance, and you swallowed your tears as you jumped inside the car next to Steve.

[thewritewolf]

Eating Habits Chapter 11: A Dupain-Cheng Christmas

Marinette and Adrien move into their new apartment, but they aren’t there for long before heading over to spend a few days at the bakery for the holidays.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3.

Marinette wandered around the apartment that she had spent the last few months living in. Somehow, she had expected it to look bigger now that it was empty again, but instead it just made her wonder how she hadn’t noticed how tiny it was. With the excitement of living on her own faded away, the apartment’s flaws were huge and glaring. The faster she would be out of it, the better.

Just outside the door, Adrien was leaning against the wall on his phone. He looked up at her and smiled when he heard the door close and lock behind her. He fell into step beside her as she marched down the stairs.

“How’s it feel to see it for the last time?” He reached for her hand and wove his fingers between hers. “Nostalgic? Relieved?”

“A little nostalgic, but mostly relieved,” Marinette admitted with a shrug. “I didn’t make a lot of positive memories there, so leaving it behind isn’t that rough. Then again, it is my first place away from home, you know?”

Marinette turned to look at Adrien and saw the understanding in his eyes. Suddenly she wanted to smack herself in the forehead. Of course he knew! He’s been away from home for years now. If anyone could understand, it was him.

But to her surprise, he nodded and said, “Yeah, leaving the bakery was an… interesting time for me too. There is always something sweet about spending the night there.” He pressed a kiss against the crown of her head. “It isn’t the same without you, of course.”

“Something ‘sweet’, huh? Was that a pun, kitty?” She tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered - she couldn’t tell if it was from joy that he called her home his home, or from pain that he never saw his childhood estate as home.

“Maybe it was just a happy coincidence. Some Christmas magic in the air!”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Speaking of Christmas, are you ready to spend a few days at the bakery?”

“Definitely! It’ll be nice and cozy and full of life.”

“And someone will finally be making food for you rather than you cooking, for once.”

“I do like taking a break every now and then. But I’m more looking forward to you getting a proper, home cooked meal.”

“And here I thought getting a special lunch everyday from my wonderful boyfriend counted as a ‘proper’ home cooked meal.” She looked up at him and smiled, watching with satisfaction as his face flushed. He was such a flirt, but he never was good at taking what he dealt out.

The conversation drifted through Christmas plans and promises to find time for their friends. It touched briefly on the upcoming semester, but they wisely avoided dwelling on it for too long. Marinette had only just finished the fall semester after all. She wanted to revel in her break without a care in the world for just a little longer.

They arrived at their new apartment just as the movers began unloading. An hour later, and the empty space was taken up with boxes of things. Marinette looked around at the boxes, her smile slowly turning into a frown as she noticed a unifying theme with the storage containers.

“Hey, Adrien? Where is all of your stuff?”

“Um…” His eyes roved the room quickly before settling on a few tucked away in the back. He stood beside them and let his hand rest on them. “This is it.”

She glanced between him, the five or so containers all stacked on top of each other, and then at the two dozen or so boxes of hers scattered around the room.

“I… I don’t really have a lot.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I have some games and a collection of movies, but I gave most of that away back when I moved into the bakery. I don’t have a huge wardrobe anymore either. I guess I just… never really got much for me? Besides some pots and pans, I guess.” He shrugged, an uncertain smile on his face.

Again, Marinette looked at the boxes holding all her things. It wasn’t just the bare essentials, things necessary for her to survive from day to do. They were memories. Hobbies. Studies. The things that turned survival into living. She was suddenly gripped by a piercing sadness in her heart. A little teary eyed she turned back to Adrien, who was looking down at his stack of things with a thoughtful expression, fingers drumming on the plastic lid.

“It’s fine, really. I’ve never actually needed much and it does help cut down on stress while moving, so there is definitely a bright side to-” He was cut off when Marinette ran into him, arms clinging tightly to his waist as she buried her face into his chest. After a few surprised moments, he returned her hug.

“Don’t be afraid to take up space, kitty,” Marinette said into his shirt. “Let yourself live, okay?”

“Thanks, lovebug.”

After a little longer than strictly necessary, Marinette let him go and looked around at the boxes, frowning. “So… where do you want to start?”

Before he could respond, her stomach growled.

Adrien laughed. “Sounds like a plan. Let me just-” Adrien groaned when he opened the refrigerator, only to find it empty. “...How about some grocery shopping?”

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

“Are you sure you’ve got all that?” Marinette watched him dubiously as he walked out of the supermarket, each hand holding three or four bags of groceries. “Both of my hands are empty, you know.”

“Oh, right. That’s a good point. Give me a minute.”

Absently, Marinette held out her hand while she opened her phone, expecting him to pass her some of the bags. She blinked in surprise when he started holding her hand instead. Her eyebrows rose when she saw that he’d simply moved all the bags into his other hand.

“Adrien that’s not what I-”

“Come on, let’s go make our first dinner at the new place!” Adrien rushed forward, dragging her along with him as he broke into a light jog towards the bus station.

Marinette couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness. It wasn’t even a full day that they’d been living together and she was already loving every moment of it.

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

After a week of unpacking, Marinette and Adrien finally had their apartment set up and functional… only for them to immediately leave to spend a few days at the bakery. Each of them carried a suitcase in one hand and held onto each other with the remaining free hand. They chatted as they walked through the snowy streets of Paris on the way to the family bakery, Marinette cuddling closer as the icy wind picked up.

“Look on the bright side, bugaboo,” Adrien said with a kiss to her temple. “It’ll be nice and warm and perfect when we get back to the apartment. We can just relax for the rest of your vacation.”

“Our vacation,” Marinette corrected. “The bakery isn’t open much around Christmas either, and I’m sure papa and maman won’t be giving you many shifts there while we’re getting settled in. Besides, it's not like being at my parents’ place is stressful or anything.”

“I suppose, but after a semester of running around and working frantically, I’d bet you just want to crash on the couch for a while.”

“You’re not wrong, but…” Marinette said as she squeezed his hand, “...spending time with the people I love is even better.”

She could see his teary smile as they approached the bakery, its lights reflected in his eyes. After walking out in the chilly late December air for the last ten minutes, the gentle warmth of the bakery was simply divine. And that was before taking a deep breath of the sugary air, a scent that immediately took her back to her childhood. It was as if she took the weight of the world off her shoulders and hung them along with her coat by the door.

“Marinette? Adrien? Is that you?” Tom’s voice called out from the living room. Soon enough, his giant self was emerging through the door frame, his face lighting up when he saw them. “Sabine, it’s the kids!”

Marinette had a brief glimpse of a garish red and green sweater before becoming lost in it as she was picked up off the ground and wrapped into a great big bear hug. Laughing, she squirmed in his arms.

“Papa! Let me down!”

Begrudgingly, he did so and looked at Adrien, giving him a strong pat on the back that jolted him forward. “Did you remember to dress for the occasion, son?”

“Did you think I would forget?” Adrien said with a smirk, taking off his coat to reveal a thick red and black wool sweater that Marinette had made for him a couple years back.

Tom glanced toward Marinette, who was wearing a matching green and black sweater. To everyone else, it would simply be a pair of Christmas clothes, but Marinette had known even back then how much Adrien loved wearing her colors. And if he was going to be wearing hers, then naturally she’d be wearing his.

“That’s wonderful!” Tom said, grinning. “I didn’t expect any less. Now come on, we were just about ready to make this year’s Christmas ornaments.”

They followed him into the living room, where Sabine was sitting with some tea in front of her. After giving both of them a tamer but no less loving hug, she passed them a cup of her seasonal brew. Marinette looked at the table, taking in the box of crayons, the blank glass bulbs, tweezers, and the two hair dryers. Not to mention a few more conventional art supplies, like brushes and paint. Her chin settled on her hand as she stared fondly at the supplies, a tradition that they’d been keeping alive for almost as long as she could remember.

A tradition that had evolved into something of a lighthearted competition once Adrien had entered the picture and they could split into even teams.

Her parents let them get comfortable in their seats and familiar with where everything was placed before Tom pulled out his phone.

“Same as usual, kids. One hour to make the most and the best ornaments, with the same grading standards from last year.” He waggled a finger at Adrien chastisingly. “Which means nothing that can start a fire hazard, alright?”

Adrien ducked his head bashfully and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Alright.” Tom held up the phone’s stopwatch, his finger hovering over the enlarged start button. “Ready… set… Go!”

The four of them exploded into a flurry of motions, scrambling for crayons and bits of ribbon. Marinette became focused on what she and Adrien were doing, blocking out her parents entirely. The first ornament was very basic - the only crayons were some green and red and a bit of white. Enough to hand over to Adrien so he could start heating it up with the hair dryer, the longest part.

After she had several ornaments prepped with crayon color pallets, she began working on cutting tasteful amounts of ribbons to top the orbs with. Her hands moved almost by instinct, the long semester having seen more than its fair share of fabric cutting and measurements by eye. By the time she was done with that, Adrien had finished melting the wax of two of the ornaments and was methodically working on the third. The ribbons were quickly tied into a neat bow and she began delicately painting wintery scenes on the outside - white snowflakes featuring heavily alongside flowing script.

Once they got into a groove, they worked like the well oiled machine that they always were. By the time the hour was up, there were eleven finished ornaments in front of them. A quiet sense of pride filled her as she looked them over. Now that she wasn’t timed, she could enjoy how good they turned out. Maybe one of these years she could add them to her online store as a seasonal special?

She looked over at her parents’ side and noticed that they had managed to squeeze in an extra one somehow. After some playfully heated debate, they decide that everyone had won, though it had been especially close this year.

The Christmas tree was adorned with the newest ornaments, but Marinette didn’t manage to hang more than one before she got caught up looking at ones from previous years. Most of them would be given away to friends and family, but the best they kept. Whether it was because they were the highest quality or the ones that were the heaviest with memories, it didn’t matter.

Her fingers traced over a particularly old one, and a small smile warmed her face at the memories it stirred.

“Adrien’s first Christmas here, right?”

Marinette jolted a little at her mother’s voice appearing right beside her. The expression on her face must have been similar to Marinette’s own, eyes distant as if seeing back into that night, years and years ago, when the two of them had just started dating.

“Yeah… he made this one himself,” Marinette replied, turning back to the hung decoration.

It was pretty clear it had been his first attempt at anything like that before. The white and pink of the wax didn’t cover the inside completely and patches of bare glass were frequent. A stick figure with pigtails holding hands with a plain stick figure Adrien had promised was the two of them standing under a green splodge that she was assured was mistletoe. It wasn’t the prettiest thing he’d made - as the years wore on and he spent more Christmases at her home, he’d certainly gotten better - but it was always stayed her favorite.

Adrien groaned when he saw what they were looking at, his cheeks flushing as red as his sweater. “Do we really need to stare at that one every year? It looks awful!”

“It’s cute!” Marinette patted his back. “Little baby Adrien made that one just for me.”

Adrien grumbled and looked away, his blush spreading down to his neck. Mercifully, she let go of the ornament and walked away.

The rest of the night was just as eventful. They baked cookies and sang while they did it, ranging from peaceful lullabies to loud and off-key pop songs. Marinette didn’t realize just how much she had missed the home cooked pastries until she bit into one for the first time in months.

She has halfway through a plate when there was a loud noise from the kitchen. Her papa came out, his apron soaked, but still in good spirits.

“Something happen in there?” Marinette said, raising an eyebrow as she lifted another cookie to her mouth. She had to remember to leave some for Tikki or else she wouldn’t speak to her for a month.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear,” Tom replied. “The kitchen sink just needs some attention is all. Adrien, can you get the toolbelt? I think it’s time for us to earn our keep, hm?” He smiled and winked.

While Adrien left her side, she settled into the empty space he left and closed her eyes. She was glad she had a home to come back to - and she was happy that she could share hers with Adrien. A satisfied smile came to her face as she thought about their living space now, and how much better it would be now that they were living together again.

The snow started coming down hard outside, but wrapped up in a warmth that went beyond the physical, Marinette didn’t mind a bit.

[antiquechampagne]

Antique Champagne - Chapter 34 - Shoots and Ladders

Payne nursed a third, and last, blood bag. Her whole limb ached. The tissues were painfully slow to knit and heal from the second degree burns marring most of her flesh. She had slept most of the day away, letting shock mixed with stimpak sickness whisk her away to a dreamless sleep. It would still be a few more hours until she could venture outside, her bare leg safe from the sun as night set in.

Hancock putzed around after starting a small campfire. Every so often, he would try and start a conversation or launch a few jokes, but Payne didn’t feel much like talking. Why make things more awkward and painful than they already had to be? She wasn’t sure why Hancock had stayed. She wasn’t in any real danger and he would be safer without her. Besides, in her experience, every monster got ran out of town at some point. Why prolong the inevitable?

He handed her some warmed 200-year-old mac and cheese in a cracked plastic bowl. “Ya know, I’ve been thinking… about that DC story you told me.” Payne tried to cover her scowl with a forkful of food. “What if that cockup was because someone slipped you a super mutant flavored mickey?”

Payne shook her head. “Why would anyone do that?” She tried to cross her legs out of habit, but the shooting pain immediately reminded her why that was a bad idea. “I never heard of them drinking the stuff.”

“Maybe there was a mix up? Just enough to…” Hancock tapped a finger on his bowl in though. “ya know.”

Payne thought back to the Capital Wasteland. Her old alcohol-impaired memories faltered. She found the whole situation a muddy mess. She shrugged. “Maybe? Doesn’t really make a difference, though, does it. I still tore’em apart.” They spent the rest of the meal in silence.

Once the sun was down, the pair set out, their pace slowed by Payne's injury. The scabs pulled painfully as they picked their way through the decomposing streets of the city. Payne was starting to recognize some of the buildings when she asked Hancock for a short rest. Sitting on the bed of a rusted pick up, they examined her leg. Several areas were red and irritated, others bled, but most were holding fast. Payne was glad that she didn’t see any new blisters. Her whole leg throbbed angrily, but as she sat, it became bearable again.

“You gonna make it?” Hancock asked.

“Yeah, just give me a minute,” she flexed her leg. They had happened to stop by a Nuka-Cola vending machine. Hancock soon returned with a pair of bottles, handing one to Payne. He popped the top off his with a satisfying hiss. Payne gratefully drank hers down, perking up with a quick caffeine rush. As Hancock finished off his, he playfully sent the bottle sailing through the air down the road. It shattered several yards down the street.

“Huh? What’s that?” a distant voice called.

Instinctually, Payne and Hancock ducked behind the pick up as a pair of raiders cautiously poked out of an alleyway, guns drawn.

After a quick look around one raider chided, “Lay off the jet, you moron,” smacking the other. "You're jumping at fucking shadows." Turning, they returned down the alley.

Hunched behind the truck, Payne’s leg ached as she crouched. They didn’t have much in the way of supplies left. If a confrontation with these raiders went sideways, it could get really rough and she wasn’t quite back up to 100% yet. The smell blood rose to Payne's nostrils. Looking down, she realized that as she cowered, several of her scabs had ripped, fresh blood dripping down her leg.

Looking up at Hancock, she whispered, “I can sneak up and…” she could feel the hunger building behind her words, clouding her eyes. She tried to push the rush away. “quickly take them out. You’ll be safer back here. If I need back up, you aren't that far away.” Hancock nodded.

Swift and silently, Payne made her way to the corner of the alley. Carefully peering around, she spotted three raiders. Two sat on boxes around a tiny fire while the third lay dozing on a tattered mat several feet away.

“And that’s when the new guy decided to drop a grenade down the fucking pipe!” one raider chortled and slapped their knee. “BLAM! Those farmers never saw it coming!” They both laughed.

Payne used the shadows and conversation to creep next to the sleeping raider, slitting their throat without a sound. The growing crimson puddle nearly overwhelmed her senses, but she held back, using the rush of adrenaline to focus over the crush of hunger. With a bust of speed, she checked the joking raider hard into the brick wall, his head bouncing off the bricks with a sick thud before crumpling to the ground.

“What the h…?” the last raider tried to stand, she found a hand wrapped around her throat. Payne used her own momentum to pin her victem to the other side of the alley. As Payne brought up her knife for a quick slice, the raider managed to kick it, sending it skittered across the pavement. Payne squeezed, digging her fingers in around the raider’s lanky neck. Desperately, the woman tried to fumble for own weapon. Payne launched a lightning quick punch, disorienting the struggling raider. Payne pinned her shoulder with one hand, simultaneously shifting the hand holding her throat to push her cheek into the bricks, exposing her thin neck. The raider’s scream muffled by her hand, Payne tore into her throat.

Time slowed as warm and deliciously metallic blood flooded her mouth, spreading through every in of her as she swallowed greedily. The raider squirmed under her deadly grip, trying frantically to free herself as her life slowly dripped away. The rush slowly subsided; Payne drew back, ready to drop the body, when she heard a shuffle.

“Crystal?!” The unconscious raider across the alley had woken as Payne fed. Now he stood unsteadily, holding his bloody head with one hand, a rifle clutched in the other.

Before Payne could turn, a shotgun blast exploded through his torso. The dying raider dropped his gun, staggered back a step before toppling over like a sack of potatoes. Framed by the narrow brick walls Hancock stood in the street, shotgun smoking and red coat ruffling in the breeze. His eyes reflected the flames of the camp fire, piercing and steady.

Payne slowly wiped the corners of her mouth as she finally released the lifeless raider. She felt suddenly self-conscious. How long had he been standing there? How much had he seen?

Hancock stepped into the alley, slinging the gun over his shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind a hand. Looks like you could've used it.”

“I thought we agreed it would be safer for you behind the truck?”

He stooped down and started to rummage through the pockets and pouches of the nearest raider as he spoke. “I totally agreed it'd be safer.” He pocketed some ammo and chems. “But don’t ya know, safe is hella boring."

Soon they were both back on the road, Goodneighbor’s neon lights guiding their steps. As they neared the steel door, Payne stopped.

Hancock noticed her apprehension and gave her a friendly pat on the back for encouragement. “Fahr can’t stay mad forever. Besides, she’ll probably be more pissed at me for not tossing you out like a bad tato.”

The guards greeted their Mayor warmly. Payne stayed back and watched. She had the perfect vantage point to see Fahr get up from her seat on the steps of the Old State House and stomp into the Old State House, slamming the door behind her. If glares were bullets, Payne was sure she would be Swiss cheese. Once Hancock was safely behind the Old State House's door, she returned to her room, her bed beckoning like a siren's call.

Hancock let her take a few days off to recuperate, which not only let her heal, but made sure she could avoid Fahrenheit that much longer. When she did return to work, Fahr barely communicated with grunts, preferring to send messages along with either Watchmen or Hancock. While not idea Payne was more than happy to oblige, if only to avoided a confrontation.

Weeks passed and tensions started to ease, until one afternoon. Payne reported to the Old State House, and walked straight into an argument between Hancock and Fahr. Fahr stood straight as a board, rooted to her spot in the middle of the stairs.

“Are you out of your mind?” Fahr huffed. “You can’t possibly think…”

Hancock cut her off. “I’ve made up my mind, Fahr. It's done.” Hancock noticed Payne by the door. Fahr's stony face fumed as he walked passed her, heading in Payne's direction. "Hey, I've got a surprise for you." Hancock snaked his arm around Payne's shoulders, leading her to the basement stairs. Payne stood at the bottom of the stairs, confused at the jail cell before her.

"Why did you bring me down here?" Payne's mind raced, trying to figure out any logical reason why Hancock would want to show her the rarely used cell.

"I know it doesnt look like much, but I've got a line on a decent mattress and dresser."

"WHAT?" Payne couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I'm not sleeping in a freaking jail cell, Hancock!"

"Huh?" Bewildered, he turned to her before abruptly breaking into a laughing fit. "You think... the jail cell..." he could hardly spit out the words between chuckles. "No! The storage room!" Putting his hands on either shoulder, he physically turned Payne to face an open wooden door. "With a little work, it could make a half way decent apartment, don't you think?"

Hancock ushered her into the moderately sized room.

"See!" he moved a metal bucket and mop out into the hallway, shoving boxes aside as he went. "Plenty of room for a bed and stuff. Nice and cozy..." He looked up. "Well... say something! Yao guai got your tongue?"

"You want me to move in?" Payne couldn't quite believe what she was saying. "Here? In the State House?"

"Yah, I guess... I mean if you want too. Marowski's being an ass with all those extra fees and shit. That's not right. I got the room... with a lock even! And no windows. You won't have to worry about working on your tan if you fall asleep with a window open." Payne must have made a sour face because Hancock continued his hard sell. "I'd just take the rent out of your pay, no worries... and just think of the short commute to work!"

"This is why you and Fahr were arguing, wasn't it?"

"Maybe..." His roguish smile belayed a bit of nervousness in his answer. "But it makes sense to have the two of you so close at hand... for emergencies and such."

Payne thought the arrangement over. Parts of it made some logical sense. The thought of being able to save some caps for a rainy day was mighty tempting.

"Fine, I'll bite. I'll give it a test run. A month." She pointed a finger at her employer. "If it doesn't work out, you need to get my old room back from Marowski."

Hancock stuck out his hand for a shake. "Great! It's a deal! Now, Daisy should know which warehouse has a bed and stuff."

Payne eyed Hancock. "Seriously, that's it? What if I'd said no?" He shrugged. Payne rolled her eyes. "Let me guess... I get to move all this old shit out myself."

"Yeah, well... my schedule's booked full." Payne crossed her arms. "What? I've got some very important papers to look over. You could always ask Fahr for some help..."

"Very funny." After a second, an impish grin spread over Payne's lips as she slipped out of the room and back up the stairs. "Enjoy breaking the news to Fahr. I'm off to go furniture shopping!" she called over her shoulder.

Over the next few days, Payne gathered all the necessities to furnish her new room. It was strangely exciting, nearly reminiscent of the pre-war ritual of moving into a new apartment. Along with the bed, she found a small bedside table along with a cheesy, but working, Nuka-Cola lamp. She passed on the busted dresser Hancock had mentioned, opting for a more functional bookshelf and small lockable safe.

It took longer than she liked to arrange all of her new things just as she wanted. As she relaxed on her bed after moving, Payne heard a timid knock on her door. Behind it stooped Kent, his wrinkly tan trilby hat in his hand. Payne couldn’t stop a warm but surprised smile.

“Hi-a Payne. I heard you'd moved. Hope you don’t mind that I stopped over." He absentmindedly fidgeted with his hat brim.

“Not at all, Kent! You are always welcome! It’s not much, but it’s a start.” She stepped aside so he could shuffle into the room. Payne quickly realized she would have to save up for one more piece of furniture, a chair. “Sorry, but I don’t have anywhere for you to sit…”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself about it. It looks real nice, very cozy… but you are missing something special!” From behind his back, Kent produced a large rolled up piece of paper and handed it to Payne.

“What’s this?” Payne asked.

Kent’s eyes sparkled. “Open it!” He was nearly prancing with excitement as Payne carefully pulled open the thick old poster.

“Oh Kent!” Payne gasped in surprise. “How did you get this?” Between her fingers she held a grand Mistress of Mystery poster. The heroine stood front and center, pointing her revolver at a group of cowering thugs.

“Oh this? I’ve had it for a while. Think of it as a house warming gift, of sorts... to add some color to your walls.”

“Are you sure?” Kent nodded sheepishly, prompting Payne to give Kent a heartfelt hug. “I’ll make sure to put this up right away, but first… why don’t I treat you to a nice lunch? So we can catch up. I’m itching to know more about the Shrouds current quests… more than you can safely say on the radio!”

[cheekyharold]

My Prince, Chapter Ten

Read previous chapters here!

I always thought it was weird that you could hear the rain before you saw it. What begins as a small pit, pit, pit against roofs of cars or buildings soon becomes a wall of water in a matter of seconds. But you always hear it running towards you on the pavement. And at that moment, the saying “When it rains, it pours” had never been so literal.

I walked out of Kensington’s gates in a daze. I didn’t even feel the rain soaking my clothes. I didn’t even recognize if it was cold or not. It must have been. It was only the first week of April. I wished this were all an elaborate April Fool’s joke. Sure seemed like one.

I forced my legs to move forward each step. I have to make it to the tube and back to work. I have to – I have to tell everyone…

It’s liver cancer, she said. Terminal. The sentence echoed around my now-empty-feeling brain.

Somehow I made it back to Buckingham. I didn’t remember scanning my Oyster or stepping onto a train, but I made it.

I knocked on William’s door, and he called for me to enter.

He stared at me oddly until I realized too late that I was still soaked.

“No umbrella?” he joked, but when he sees my ghostly expression, his smile fades. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t – I don’t know–” I mumbled, unsure how to even form everything into words.

“Come in, Carolina.” He stood from his desk and walked around it, helping me into a chair. “Is everything all right? Is it the Prince?” When I finally am able to read his expression, I see pure terror. He probably thinks there’s been some attack. He’s about ready to call in an emergency when I place a quick hand on his arm to stop him.

“The Prince of Wales is fine, William.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

I tell him what my mother told me – she’s at late stage liver cancer, far too late to do any treatments. She sits on a transplant list, but with her history and background, the odds are slim to none.

“She’s been admitted to The Shakespeare Hospice in Stratford-upon-Avon,” I concluded. My voice didn’t sound like mine.

William’s face is brimming with pity, but I don’t want it. For so long, I pushed my mother away and now… I’m sad? She was never much of a mother to begin with, but that phone call shattered something inside of me I didn’t know existed anymore.

“You take as much time as you need off, Carolina,” William finally said. “Definitely take the rest of the day. I’ll give your photos to Jude to complete.” Another pause. “Miss Pearson, I know you and your mother weren’t close… but I think you should see her.”

I only nod my head. “I know.” Better late than never, eh?

William slips the camera bag’s strap off my shoulder. When I stand, he surprises me by pulling me into a deep hug. I don’t think I cried yet – it was hard to tell tears from rain outside – but I squeeze my eyes shut and let a couple fall.

When he let me go, he said in the softest tone, “Take a week, a month – however long you need, yeah? Your job will be here waiting for you. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Thank you,” I croaked.

The rain outside let up a bit by the time I exited the palace. I called Pip on my way to the tube station to give her the news. She offered to leave work but I convinced her to stay. I told her I wouldn’t leave until the morning anyway, so I’d see her back at the flat that evening.

Back at my flat, I stared at my empty suitcase for fifteen minutes. I hadn’t been back home for close to a year. I didn’t know how long I’d be gone for. I didn’t know how much to pack. I didn’t want to pack, and I really didn’t want to go back home. But I knew I had to. Plus, this distance would be ideal. I wouldn’t have to see Harry’s face, even though the image of his panic was stuck in my mind forever.

Stop thinking about him.

I can’t.

He’s not the priority.

Neither is she.

She is right now.

I didn’t even realize how late it was until Pippa’s keys were scratching at the door and it swung open.

“Oh, babe,” she cooed, dropping her keys and bag and wrapping me in a hug. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

I mechanically hugged her back and said, “Thanks.”

“You need help?” She pointed to the empty suitcase.

In reply, I sigh and slump down onto my mattress. “I don’t even know what to pack.”

“Well, it’s beginning to get warmer so maybe just a few light jumpers and–”

“That’s not what I mean, Pip. I mean… I don’t even know how long I should go. A week? A month? How long does it take to put someone’s affairs in order? How strange of a saying is that – put someone’s affairs in order. What does it even really mean?”

“Whoa, okay, calm down there,” she said, turning to me and placing her hands on my arms. “Sit down.”

Robotically, I sat on the edge of the bed.

“You should always pack more than you think you might need, yes? It’s better to have too much than too little. I’ll help.”

We took the next two hours filling the suitcase to the brim. In true Pip style, she was adding more things well into the night that she thought I might need. I was still in a daze so she cooked us both dinner, made me some tea, and shuffled me off to bed early enough to catch the morning train.

For the entire three-hour journey north the following morning, I couldn’t sit still. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Nothing felt right. Sitting on the seat felt like I was doing nothing, and I felt like I should be doing something. I tried playing soft, instrumental music through my earphones but nothing worked to calm me down. I was anxious to arrive, yet dreading it at the same time. I didn’t know what to expect when I got there.

I had about a dozen texts through the night and into the next day from Jude, wondering how I was and if I was holding up all right. I didn’t respond to any, mostly because I had no idea how to respond. I didn’t know my emotions. I felt everything yet numb at the same time.

When the train arrived at the Stratford-upon-Avon station, I dragged my suitcase off as slowly as I could. I hadn’t stepped on the concrete platform in what felt like years. Of course, the air was the same as in London, but everything felt different here. It was always so quiet compared to the city.

I knew the first thing I had to do, and I dreaded that more than anything.

I had to go home.

I lugged my suitcase the ten-minute walk from the station to the townhouse I called home for eighteen years. The familiar street brought back memories I wanted to keep at bay forever. Most of them consisted of me running away from our house, tears welling in my eyes. Some of them were of me peering down this very road, on the phone with emergency services, wondering where the ambulance was when I thought my mother had overdosed. The neighbors hated when I did that.

It was one of those streets where every house is attached to the one next to it, and each one looked like an exact copy of the last. The only defining feature in each one was when a door was painted a different color or had different lace curtains in the window. I could always tell which one was mine – third from the last, on the left, with a red door that had begun to chip years ago. Now, it didn’t even look red. The door itself looked like, with one blow of wind, it would crumble in on itself.

I turned the key in the lock, surprised it still worked. I don’t even remember the last time I used it. Six months ago? A year? I was also surprised to see the door was even locked. Usually, she forgot to lock it.

Inside was as musty as ever. I didn’t miss the smell. She never opened the windows. She never bothered with heat or aircon; always mumbled something about companies stealing her money. The only ventilation the house ever received was her opening and closing the front or back doors. The smell of old cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, attaching itself to every surface.

I closed and locked the door behind me and switched on the lights. They flickered for a moment, but then the yellow light filled the doorway. It opened to a small hallway with carpeted, stained stairs leading up to the second floor. The door on the right lead to the decrepit kitchen that leads to the dining room and to the back door. The door on the left went into the living room and first-floor bathroom.

I climbed the stairs to the top floor, turned down the hallway past the bathroom and spare bedroom – which had always instead been storage of random objects she never could seem to get rid of – to the familiar door at the end of the hall. I could spot it anywhere. It was covered with stickers and drawings I’d made when I was little. Over the top was a handwritten sign by me declaring for everyone to stay out. I remembered closing it for the last time when I moved out for uni all those years ago. I told myself I’d never come back. Besides the required holidays, I never did. Until now.

I turned the old, rusted knob and walked into the room. Everything was the same. The same pink bed sheets and quilted cover, the desk littered with photographs I took a lifetime ago. I chucked my luggage onto the bed and unpacked the entire thing. Really, I was buying time until I had to be at the care facility. Hospice just seemed like a cruel word. Nothing about it seemed comforting.

I went back downstairs to look in the kitchen for food. I didn’t want to touch anything – every inch was covered in some sort of grime or dust. It didn’t look like anyone had been in the kitchen in months. Maybe she hadn’t.

I cracked open the fridge and frowned. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was completely empty. I guess I should have been glad I didn’t find some old, rotting food. But there wasn’t even a pint of ice cream in the freezer. It was almost noon, and my stomach was grumbling.

I reached under the sink and pulled out the plastic Tesco bags. I grabbed my purse again from upstairs and walked to the Tesco up the road. I guess one upside to living outside of a city was that the grocery stores were so much bigger. Since I didn’t know how long I’d be staying, I stocked up on all the foods I could fit in the two bags. I also bought a few cleaning supplies. If I was going to be staying in that god-forbidden house, I may as well try and make it presentable for whoever would buy it next.

After I ate lunch, I knew it was time. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. I searched for the location of the hospice and was disappointed it was only a 20-minute walk away. I spent the time on the walk wondering what I would say to her. What could I say to her? I had nothing to apologize for – she made my life a toxic hell; I had to escape. Turning around and coming back just never seemed like an option available to me. It would only cause a spiral of events. Someone needed to break the cycle. I wasn’t sorry it was me.

Through the trees beginning to bud for spring, I could see the building with the sign reading “THE SHAKESPEARE HOSPICE” on the side. I followed the signs for the entrance and paused for a second outside the front doors.

Walk in. Do it.

Inside, I knew, everything would change. From here on out, my life was going to be different. Soon, I’d be an orphan. Well, sort of. I had no clue the whereabouts of my father nor did I care. I didn’t even remember what he looked like anymore. Maybe he was dead.

I walked through the doors, and a lady with a kind face greeted me. “Hi, can I help you?”

I glanced around the room. It looked like a regular urgent care waiting room. Yellow walls, inspirational posters, old magazines on tables with unknown stains and watermarks. It smelled like bleach.

“I’m looking for Mary Pearson,” I replied.

“Alright, give me one second to look her up. Are you family?”

I nodded. “Uh, yeah. I’m her daughter.”

“Can I just have you sign in here, please?” She pointed to the clipboard in front of her and handed me a pen.

I scribbled down my name and the time of my arrival. She also handed me one of those large stickers that said, “HELLO, MY NAME IS _________” along with the logo of the hospice.

“Right, so–” she peered down at the sign-in sheet “–Carolina, your mother does have a few outstanding fees that will need to be taken care of before the month is out, but you don’t have to worry about those now since it’s only the beginning of the month. I can give you those papers when you leave if you want.” I nodded. She pulled out a paper anyways, but it didn’t list numbers on it. “This is a map of the grounds.” She took the pen I had just used and pointed it on a spot. “Your mother’s room is 007, so right down that hallway. Take a right, and it’ll be the second on the left. Visiting hours are until 5, unless under special circumstances.” She didn’t have to say what those “special circumstances” where – death. “Do you have any questions?”

“I’m sorry, you said she has outstanding fees?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, but you don’t have to worry about those right now.” I knew she was trying to be polite, especially under the circumstances of her job at a hospice, but her smile was driving me insane.

“I’m just confused. How long has she been here? If she only just got here, how­–”

“Oh.” Her smile finally fell. But now that it did, I wanted nothing more than for it to be back. She looked sad. “I’m-I’m so sorry, I thought you knew. Mrs. Pearson has been here since the beginning of last month.”

A rock fell in my stomach. She’d already been here an entire month. Who knew how much longer she would have? I figured she had called me when she first got here. But… she had been here an entire month already. I didn’t know much about hospices, but I knew they were the last stop for anyone who was admitted. They didn’t tend to last long.

“Of course I knew,” I lied. “I just assumed the NHS would take care of it.”

She smiled sweetly again, but smaller this time. “Some, not all, I’m afraid.”

I swallowed, nodded, and took the directions she gave me to her room. I turned right at the end of the hall, and sure enough, I saw the room number 007 greeting me two doors down. The door was closed, which I was thankful for. It gave me the time to pluck up enough courage to reach for the handle and turn it.

What I saw almost made me gasp. The woman in the bed, I knew, was my mother but looked nothing like her. I had Googled the effects of liver cancer, but nothing could prepare you for the real thing. Her skin was a sickly yellow color, her hair was greasy and matted, probably from not being able to shower from feeling ill or having too little strength, and, most surprising of all, her abdomen. Whereas I expected her to be skin and bones, her abdomen was abnormally swollen. She looked nothing like the mother I knew. I even double-checked the room number to make sure this was the right one. It was.

I trepidatiously walked into the room. She was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her. I didn’t want her to see the horrified look on my face. She had all sorts of IVs stuck in her, along with an oxygen line and a feeding tube leading into her nose. Her mouth was slightly parted in her sleep state. I noticed her lips were chapped. Something about this room felt suppressing, despite the large window and brightly colored walls.

I set my bag down on the floor and grabbed a chair to pull closer to her. I didn’t want to touch her, still afraid of what I saw. I watched her chest rise and fall, just to make sure she was still alive.

I hardly noticed when a man walked into the room until he spoke my name.

“Carolina?”

When I looked up, I noticed the familiar face looking down at me. I didn’t know what emotion I was expressing, but it quickly changed to shock.

“Callum?” I gasped. “What are you doing here?” I asked, stupidly.

Callum was someone I knew growing up in primary and secondary school. We dated for a couple of years on and off before we both parted ways for uni. We hadn’t spoken since. Now, here he was, wearing a doctor’s lab coat and holding a clipboard.

“I work here,” he replied. Duh. “It’s good to see you.” He offered a kind smile – one, I found, I could not return, no matter how much I wanted to.

I fumbled for words. “I, uh, yeah, you too. Wait – you’re a doctor? Shouldn’t you still be in school?”

“Sort of. I still am. I just started vocational training here in autumn.”

“Wow, that’s-that’s great. Good for you.” I attempted a smile. It was weakly received.

He stared at me for another second before shaking his head slightly. “So, um, Mary – your mother – is one of my patients. Car, I’m so sorry.”

I glanced down at her decrepit figure and shook my head. “No, don’t be. This was a long time coming,” I muttered lowly. I kept my eyes off of him. I knew the look he was giving me. I didn’t want the pity.

“She’s on some heavy sedatives for the pain, but I could wake her if you want?”

I sat back in the chair, shaking my head again. “No, that’s alright.”

“Listen, I know you probably want some time. Whenever you’re ready, we can have the talk about where to go from here.”

I look back up at him. “What do you mean?”

He looked a bit uncomfortable. He shifted his weight on his feet, glanced at my mother, and then back at me. “I mean, just the logistics. The update on her health, what the protocols are, all those types of things.”

I pursed my lips into a thin line. I pressed them tightly together, it almost hurt. Almost.

“We can now if you want,” I said. “How long does she have?”

Callum pulled over another chair to sit on the other side of the bed from me. “Well, since she was diagnosed last November–”

“Wait, November?” I gasp.

“Yes,” he answers slowly, unsure.

“I had no idea,” I whisper, looking over at her unconscious figure again. She had been sick for months, and she said nothing. Then again, I didn’t call her either. Not even on Christmas Day.

“Like I said, we can talk about this another time if you want.”

I looked away from her before I let the tears form. “No, let’s do this now. I need to be prepared.”

He was staring at me, probably debating whether or not to speak. Eventually, he began, “She was diagnosed last November with stage four liver failure. End-stage, as it sometimes is called. Considering she’s held on this long says something about her, I think.” I scoff. He ignores me. “However, seeing her health now, I’d say it’s not much longer. A week, maybe two at best. We’re keeping her comfortable, so she doesn’t feel any pain.”

Lucky her, I wanted to say.

“What happens… after?” I asked.

He didn’t have to ask me to specify. He knew what I was asking about. “We’ll send her to the funeral home of your choice, where you can decide the steps from there. Do you know if she has a Will?”

I let out a small, sad laugh. “I haven’t a clue. I don’t think she even has one if I’m to be honest. She doesn’t seem the type.”

Callum gives a curt nod. “Then it’s up to you to decide what to do when the time comes.”

I run a hand over my face, rubbing my eyes deeply. “Great,” I say sarcastically.

I keep my hand over my face. I don’t want to cry. I don’t even love the woman. But something attaches me to her. She is my mother, after all. At one point, I’m sure, there was love between us. I don’t hear Callum get up or leave, so I assume he’s still in the room, silently watching me.

“I can help, if you want,” he said softly.

I removed my hands. I saw the pity on his face I didn’t want to see. “Thanks,” I offered in reply, then added, “but I’ll be fine.”

“How have you been?”

He always had sweet eyes. They were the softest shade of blue. They reminded me of the wool scarf I got for Christmas one year when I was eight. I wore that scarf every day that winter. I was so glad it was a deep shade of blue because it became ratty rather quickly from its everyday use.

He was a thickly built man since he played rugby every year in secondary school. I imagined he continued to play at uni, too. After our final and official break up, I knew I would miss his arms the most. They always seemed to fit around me perfectly. He would kiss my shoulder when he thought I was asleep. He always loved running his fingers through my hair. He was the warmth I needed; the warmth I never had at home. I guess, in a way, he was my home during those times.

“I’ve-I’ve been fine,” I stuttered, trying to put the old memories out of my mind. I had to look away from him and focus on a loose strand of string on my coat.

“I hear you’ve been living in London. How’s that?”

I laughed. “Hard.” I paused. “My flatmate, Pippa Wellington, you remember her, right? – God bless her – has a stable job so she’s been paying the brunt of the bills. But I actually just got a real job for the first time, so I hope to change that soon.”

“Oh yeah?” He sounded genuinely excited, so I had to look up. His smile was blooming, accentuating his tiny dimples in his cheeks. I guess I always had a thing for guys with dimples. “What job is that?”

For some reason, I started going red. “Um, I’m actually working for the palace. I’m one of the royal photographers.”

Callum sat back quickly in his chair as if someone knocked him back. “What! That’s amazing! Have you met the family, then?”

The string on my jacket had never been so interesting as that point. I was doing anything not to meet his eyes. I had been successful up until now about not thinking of Prince Harry. “Yeah, I have. I’m Prince Alfred’s photographer, actually. Weird, huh?”

“That’s…” He shook his head. “That’s amazing, Car. Really. I’m proud of you.”

I nodded, finally glancing up at him. “Hey, you too, you know. You’re a doctor! Like, a proper doctor.”

“Almost,” he adds, cheekily.

“Almost,” I said, raising my hands. “Sorry. Almost a doctor. Last I recall, you wanted to be a musician.”

“Yeah well…” He trailed off, glancing down into his lap. “Strange how things change, huh?”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence fell between us then. I wondered if he was thinking about our past as well. The nights I would come running to his house, tears streaming down my cheeks because I couldn’t afford dinner and my mother was passed out.

He cleared his throat suddenly and stood from the chair. “Listen, I’ve got a few other patients to get to. If you’re free, we could grab a drink tonight or sometime? I have a feeling we have a lot to catch up on.”

I nodded, more enthusiastically than I intended. “Yeah, of course. I’d love to.”

“It’s good to see you, Car. I’m sorry it’s under these types of circumstances.”

I stood from my chair, and we awkwardly shook hands over the bed. “Good to see you, too, Callum.”

“I’ll call you,” he said as he exited the room.

I wondered if he really would.

[punishandenslavesuckers]

Officer KD6-3.7 is brought onboard to replace the LAPD's most recent dead blade runner. It's a steep learning curve. (A03)

The first thing he does is scream.

Well, no, maybe the second thing. The first thing he does is lie there twitching as every neuron in his brain fires innumerable electric discharges into the thawing sinews of his body. Under the cheap florescent light, KD6-3.7 has a life-giving grand-mal seizure on the thin rubber mat beneath the storage gurney. His vacuum-sealed lungs draw their first breaths and they burn. He thrashes. Twitching and shaking. The first words he hears – coming to him as nonsense at first and then stringing themselves to linguistic significance in the thawing firestorm of his head – are, “Oh fuck, that’s the wrong one.”

“What do you mean that’s the wrong one?” someone else say, horrified.

KD6 shudders, pulling his arms against himself. Every line of muscle’s drawn tight across his skeleton and for an eternal agonizing second his entire existence is that of a full-body lock, the fibrous rope-work of his musculature fraying loose from their stasis. Lactic acid digs into nerve – red on red on black and blue and he’s screaming then. Clutching his own arms, fingers slippery on his skin, he retches up synthetic embryotic fluid. Above him: an empty person-sized plastic bag hung from a ceiling hook. It’s run away on a rail and dropped into a bio-hazard bin against the wall.

“Fuck, that’s three dot seven,” someone is saying, their voice echoing off tile walls. “I was supposed to thaw three dot six. Fuck.”

“Well, Jerry, you can’t unthaw the fucking skin-job. Christ. Joshi finally gets sanctioned to unpack one of these fuckers you pop the seal on the wrong goddamn one? Shit. She’s gonna have to re-do the fucking paperwork.”

“I’m gonna get fired,” says Jerry.

The speakers ignore him when he starts crying. They continue to argue even when KD6 – fueled by kinesthetic intellect before regular cognitive function – manages to get his hands and knees under him. He starts crawling for the wall. He’s not sure why. Vaguely, a slowly unraveling cluster of dendrites somewhere in the lizard core of his brain tells him to get to cover. To hide. To get away. But his body is only half-way through the unpacking processes so he promptly collapses into another minor seizure and claws his own arms trying to curl into himself.

“Shit, he’s a runner,” says one of them. “Get the hose. That’ll slow him down.”

“Aw, Marks, don’t hose him. That’s –”

Marks turns a pressurized jet of water on him. KD6 has enough functional lung capacity to scream out, once, briefly, before covering his head and going fetal while the water rips a freezing path across his bare shoulders and back, his thighs, and buttocks. Something fires up in his head and he stops screaming, slaps a hand against the tile and rolls hard left, out of the stream and slams up against the wall. There are two men in black clothes and orange rubber aprons. They have rubber gloves and one of them is wielding what appears to be an industrial-grade pressure hose.

“Shit,” says Marks. “Twitchy little fuck.”

The water hits KD6 in the face this time, smacking his head back into the tile and he sputters, covering his face with his arms, falling sideways, curling against the wall in a protective ball. His muscles seize again and he’s paralyzed as the next icy, lung-emptying rip of water tears another brutal path across his ribs. He sobs until it stops then just crouches there, his arms over his head, one knee under him, the other bent up between him and his attackers.

“Hey,” someone says. “Hey, you understand English yet, skinner?”

“Marks, c’mon. You know that won’t work.” A beat. “All the Wallace models unpack Japanese first, then English. Give it a minute.”

“You thaw the wrong skin-job and you’re lecturing me?”

Footfalls then, moving toward him. KD6-3.7 closes his aching eyes, bracing. Someone touches the back of his neck, gently. He shudders, jerking away from the touch and pressing his face into the wall. He coughs and shivers. The hand follows him and touches the back of his neck again, pressing there and it feels like something unravels between his shoulder blades. A hit of dopamine suffused his brain and he moans, confused and terrified, until the person touching his back grabs his arm and pulls him to his feet. His legs catch his weight automatically. He takes two steps and the significance of their newness is immediately lost to the expectation that, of course, he could take his first steps seconds after birth.

“K D Six Dash Three Dot Seven. Acknowledge serial number.”

“Acknowledged,” he rasps, unable to stop himself. He barely understands the words as he says them.

“You obey what I tell you. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“See?” Jerry says. “Just follow protocols, man.”

“No time for protocols,” snaps Marks. “Everyone saw that snuff-site footage. Police Chief’s raging. We need a new one. Now.”

Jerry, the one gripping his arm and neck, guides him back to the rubber mat and says, “Stay. Don’t move. And stop screaming.”

KD6 closes his mouth immediately and when Jerry lets go of him, he stands there shivering, his body rooted in place, sure as if there’s a hand on him. Jerry moves to the wall and flips a few toggles on the wall and there’s mechanical voice saying, “stand clear of chemical bath” just before a showerhead sprays a mixture of water, bleach, and bio-disinfectants down on KD6’s head and shoulders. It hits him freezing as well, but he doesn’t scream. He just clenches his fists and swallows the noises that come in his throat until it stops. His head aches. His body aches. His eyes burn and run over with tears, but in the water and chemical drip it’s impossible to see.

“There,” says Jerry. “Good boy. You’re done.”

Jerry grabs a thin grey towel from a desk by the door and tosses it over KD6’s shoulders.

Marks inspects KD6-3.7 who stands there, shivering and wet. “Oh, what the fuck? Why does he look like that?”

“Uh. Like what?”

“These skin-jobs all look like catalog models. My wife would mail order this guy.”

KD6 still cannot move. His hands shake from the force of how much he wants to move but cannot – a greater more powerful part of him sunk deep into his muscles. His eyes burn and run. His shoulders hurt. His thighs are cramping. His stomach is an aching hollow and he feels numb but simultaneously burning in his extremities. He wants to collapse. He watches Marks – who is a tall, gangly kind of man – gesture toward his groin.

“When is he gonna use that? Huh?”

“Probably to take a piss, Marks.” Jerry, a larger, heavier set man, seems to notice KD6 is not moving. “Hey, KD6. You can dry yourself off. Do it, we don’t have all day.”

Mechanically, KD6 takes the towel in his hands and sluggish understanding guides him to run it up and down his soaking limbs. He towels off his hair and body until he’s mostly dry, then grips the towel tight in two hands, his head bent, shoulders hunched. Jerry picks up a stack of folded fabric, no, folded clothes from the desk and takes the towel from KD6’s fingers, replacing it with a black long-sleeved shirt.

“Put it on,” Jerry says.

Shivering, KD6 obeys. His muscles still throb with every movement, like his blood weighs too much in his veins. Jerry hands him black underwear and black cargo pants, socks, and boots. He puts all of it on, the understanding and function of what each item is and what he is supposed to do with it all coming instinctive, like he’s just forgotten for a moment and by the time he’s kneeling, lacing his own boots with shaky fingers, Jerry and Marks are complaining once more about him.

This time, he dimly understands, they are angry because they have to take him to the medical ward and explain what happened to Nurse Diaz who, ‘always treats these fuckers like pets, like fuckin’ poodles I swear to god’. And then they ruminate on the likelihood of said nurse and whether she is ‘getting skinner dick at home’ and KD6 finishes lacing his boots and stands up. His head swims so he squeezes his eyes shut, nausea rising then fading. He blinks.

“Finally,” says Marks.

He grabs KD6’s arm and pulls him forward, opening the door from the store-room into the hall.

KD6 flinches immediately, recoiling from the sudden change in light and the burst of sound and motion – a wide corridor jammed with people all in states of bustling transit. Perps in cuffs screaming obscenities, a woman crying, cops laughing, technicians rolling monstrous carts of equipment on rattling wheels, and a herd of SWAT guys on their way to PT rush by, knocking into Marks who loses his grip on KD6. Left to his own, KD6 immediately falls back against the wall, covering his eyes with his forearm, his other hand over his chest. He hyperventilates. Electricity burns white-hot neurochemical storms through his brain and translates, translates, translates in retroactive the chaos around him until Marks, swearing, grabs his arm again and yanks him back into the river of humanity.

“Stop fuckin’ whimpering,” Marks says.

KD6 has not made a sound, but he focuses on moving, on the floor, on putting one boot in front of the other and accepting the new reality of screaming and loudness and motion and – Marks pulls him into another room and shuts the door. It’s quiet again. The room is gray-walled and there are padded gurney beds and four raised platforms that he understands are auto-doc stations. There’s a brown-skinned woman with black hair in a bun. She’s dressed in a blue button down and gray slacks. When she sees KD6, her brows knit.

“You have not unpacked that one right,” she says coldly.

“He’s fine.”

“He is not fine. The unpacking processes that goes into waking these guys up is more complicated than your entire brain-chemistry to-date. Sit him down. Back away. Let me handle this.”

Marks pulls KD6 to one of the padded gurneys and pushes him down on it, his boots just barely touching the tile floor. The tile is grey and speckled. Nurse Diaz (he assumes) stands in front of him and shines a small pen light into his eyes which he flinches from and she frowns more deeply. She tries again and this time he does not flinch and turns his head up for her. She inspects the reactiveness of pupil dilation, then checks his pulse with her fingers, and presses a cool metal sensor disk to the thin skin over his wrist. She taps the disk and a sharp stabbing pain punctures him a full half inch deep. He doesn’t move. The disk beeps.

Diaz wrinkles her nose.

“Christ, he smells like bleach. Did you hose him with equipment disinfectant, you moron?”

“He’s equipment.

“Yeah, but now I have to smell him, his clothes are probably going to bleach. Do you not know how bleach works, Marks? Are you a child, Marks? Does your mother still do your laundry?” Diaz takes his bleeding wrist and tapes a Band-Aid over the pin-prick. “His vitals are spiked. He’s supposed to be baseline rock steady by the time you bring him here, Marks. He just got out of his bag. Did you let him wake up?”

“He was moving around. We had to stop him.”

“If he was moving, then he would have gotten three feet before going into limbic lock. If you give him the full fifteen minutes to go naturally through the unpacking, then initiate serial sequence, he’d be booted up and ready. If you shock him mid-process then his body chemistry changes and you get this.” Diaz pushes KD6 backward on the gurney and he drops onto his elbows. “He’s gonna have to sit here for an hour before I let him go to Joshi.”

“Aw, c’mon, Diaz. He’s fine.”

She ignores Marks and looks at KD6. “Put your feet on the bed, honey.”

KD6 doesn’t know what the significance of ‘honey’ is for a moment, then registers it’s a term of address. Casual-to-familiar. Meaning nothing. He does what she says and lies back on the padding, still as possible lest she use that disk on him again. Even as part of his brain begins to remind him that the function of the tool was blood sample and analysis, the nerves and meat of him recoil from the memory of that pain. Diaz continues to shine the pen-light in his eyes every few minutes. She asks him his serial number and he repeats it to her. She asks him if he’s in pain and to specify. He does.

“Hmm, he’s highly cognitive despite your fuckery.”

“We don’t have an hour to wait. Joshi needs him. There is a meeting this morning. She’s gotta do the imprint stuff.”

“Joshi needs a blade runner that won’t vomit on her shoes because he’s in post-packing shock. Wait.”

“Can’t you, like, sedate him a little?”

Diaz’s brows arch so high, they threaten her hairline. “Excuse me? Drug the baby blade runner? The only class of replicant that has expanded deadly force parameters and no solid command hierarchy yet? Are you fucking damaged? Get out of my medical ward. Wait outside until I tell you to come get him.” She glares until Marks is gone. “Christ, who the fuck let him unpack you?” She turns back to KD6. “Sit up, honey. You’re not a janitor, get it together.”

He sits up and she takes his head in her hands, pulling his neck one way and the other.

“That feel okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Okay. Can you feel your fingers yet?”

KD6 runs his hands across the gurney blankets. “Yes.”

“Recite Pi for me. Fifteen decimals.”

He does.

“Open your mouth for me, hon.”

He does.

She shines a light across his tongue and the roof of his mouth, checking his airway. “Okay. Looking good.”

She hesitates for a second, looks over her shoulder. KD6 follows her gaze to Marks’ silhouette against the foggy-glass window in the door. She turns back to him, cups his jaw and puts her thumb on this tongue. He blinks, waiting. She tilts her head, her eyes moving over his face, looking for something. The pad of her thumb feels a little rough, warm, and… dangerous somehow. When she pushes her thumb farther down toward the back of his throat, part of him, sluggish still and unformed, shivers something urgent into his consciousness. But he doesn’t resist. He just… holds still.  

“Close your mouth around that,” Diaz says to him, “gently.”

He does.

“Okay. Try to swallow.” He does. “Good. Open again.”

She wipes her hand on his shirt. She gets a silver packet with a straw taped to the front and punctures the packet with the straw. She gives him the packet. 

“Okay, drink that. Do you understand?”

He thinks he does. He puts the straw in his mouth like she did with her thumb and sure enough a tasteless vaguely gluey liquid runs into the back of his mouth. He understands, though no one has explained, that it’s a vitamin and nutrient concentrate. He swallows it and Diaz nods.

“That should settle your stomach. Drink all of it.”

He does and she takes it from him.

“Good. Lie down and don’t move. I’ll be back in ten minutes. If you’re calm then we can put you through your paces. Just close your eyes and relax. Things are going to start making more sense as you just let them come.” She guides him back to a reclining position and, oddly touches her fingertips to his eyelids when he closes them. He feels her put something, a folded towel, over his eyes so the overhead light does not glow through. “Just relax. You’ll be okay soon.”

KD6-3.7 does as he’s told and waits for things to make sense. He waits to be okay.

Ten minutes later, Diaz comes back and says, “Do you know what you are?”

He stares at her and says, “I need more context to be sure.”

Diaz sighs. “Yeah. I figured. C’mon. You’re good enough for raw data at least. Up. Up.”

He’s not sure what that means, but he gets the impression that is going to be true as a default.

  Three hours later, KD6 stands with his hands behind his back, boots squared, facing forward.

Lieutenant Amanda Joshi, age thirty-nine, fifteen-year veteran of the force, blonde, dressed in a blue pant suit, is looking at him. His head is filling with context even as he’s standing here in her office, the weight of his body settling more easily on his bones, the feeling of air in his lungs less a conscious effort, the world beginning to reorganize itself in terms of priority and attention. The woman in front of him, is very high priority and he gives her his full attention as she moves around her desk to look him over. She folds her arms. She circles him, once. She stops at his shoulder and hooks a finger in the collar of his shirt, inspects it.

“Why are there bleach stains on his shirt?” she asks.

Marks shifts uncomfortably. “Dunno. Laundry accident?”

Joshi says nothing, but she finally unhooks her finger from his collar.

“He looks the same as the last one.” She sits on the edge of her desk. “He’s the exact fucking same. People are going to look at him and see the same goddamn blade runner and then you know what they will think of?” A beat. “They will think of three dot four and how my processor was an idiot who could not manage his fucking assets. I wanted three dot six because three dot six is the Japanese model. This one looks like a fucking Macy’s catalog. He looks about twelve. More to the point – he looks like the dead blade runner. I could do with a fresh start which I will not get now.”

Marks is impassive. “That’s what I said, ma’am.”

“How do you fuck this up? I don’t understand.” She sighs and stands up. “And get him another shirt, for fuck’s sake. He looks like we collected him off the street. Get him… I don’t know. A race-up jacket. People like that. It’s classic.” She seems to hear herself. “Fuck, I do not have time to play dress up today…” She looks at KD6. “C’mon then. Let’s just do this. Recite your baseline.”

“And blood-black nothingness began to spin… A system of cells interlinked within cells interlinked within cells interlinked within one stem,” he says. “And dreadfully distinct against the dark, a tall white fountain played.”

“Say your serial number.”

“K D Six Dash Three Dot Seven.”

“Say my name and rank and position.”

“Lieutenant Amanda Joshi of the LAPD Eastern District.”

“Say my name three times.”

“Amanda Joshi. Amanda Joshi. Amanda Joshi.”

“I am your direct commander. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Explain it to me.”

“I only take direct orders from you,” he says. “No one else can command me until you give specific authority. All other default civilian and co-worker interaction protocols cannot supersede this chain of command. Indirect chain of command hierarchy is not established. Widen command parameters if you intend other members of your organization authority to command me.”

“You know our personnel files?”

“Yes.”

“You know the Manual? In its entirety?”

“Yes.

Joshi frowns and looks at Marks. “How long’s he been up?”

“Eight hours or so,” Marks lies. “No firearms or baseline yet. I ran him raw through the onboarding materials – book-learning, ma’am.”

 “I’ve only worked with re-fitted military runners. He can retain that much that quickly?”

“Yup. KD6 line is quick on its feet. Custom build. No other bladers like them outside of LA.”

Joshi narrows her eyes, then looks back to KD6. “Officer, if I ask you to recite any a passage of the manual or regional law verbatim, can you do it?”

“I can do it.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I can’t lie, ma’am.”

“Atta boy.” Joshi taps his chest with one finger and points at him.  “Update your command hierarchy: Command authority authorized for Detective Yuri Haru. Otherwise, you only follow my direct commends. All other co-worker defaults are still in place. You follow?”

“Yes.”

Joshi studies his face. “I cannot believe he thawed the wrong fucking replicant. Marks, get me those clothes. Officer K, you follow me. Oh, and I’m not calling you by your full serial number. If I say “K”, I’m still addressing you.”

“I understood as much, Madam.”

“Thank god. None of the humans are getting it today.”

  K follows Joshi down the hall to large conference room in which fifty plus assembled men and women of various rank and file are all loitering at long tables, drinking coffee, or seated in cheap plastic chairs facing a slightly dilapidated podium. Joshi goes to the podium, indicating that K is to stand behind her and slightly to the left, which he does. She faces the rest of the room, dropping files onto the top of the beaten little stand. As she arranges things, one of the men seated in the front pounds a fist against the table top. Three others join him, rhythmically beating their fists against the tables until most everyone in the room is grinning and doing the same.

Joshi tolerates this for as long as it takes her to get her things together.

She then slams her own fist on the podium.

 “Calm the fuck down,” Joshi says.

“Yes, Madam,” boom a torrent of voices and everyone, laughing, quiets down.

And Joshi is impassive about all this, but it’s clear she’s been at it a while.

“Let me take a moment to congratulate Sergeant Santiago and Detectives Vice and Bell on their most recent bust. Two-hundred kilos of synthetic crystal and two broken crime syndicate rings. An incredible effort and victory for this precinct and this city.” She tilts her head. “They’re going to feel that one down to their fucking toes, aren’t they?”

The room comes undone immediately, briefly, before settling again. Joshi flips her file open.

“A few outstanding items and you can all return to your duties. Sergeant Santiago – your task force funding is approved. Paperwork to you comp very shortly. Do us proud and get it done.” She points without looking up from her desk. “Detectives Holt and Minamoto – after action report is late on that fuckery with the soup shop shooting. Get it to me. End of day. Chinatown beat – Chang and Santiago. I want to know where those splatter guns are coming from. Understand me?”

One of the men in front points to K. He’s grinning.

“Hey, LT. What’s that?”

Joshi looks at K, like she’d forgotten he was there. “That,” she says, waving, “is the new blade runner I stole from Eastern. Apparently, it’s the opinion of Police Chief Yoko that we’ll make better use of Eastern’s toys than Eastern will.”

“Fuck, Eastern,” someone says in the back.

“I didn’t say it,” Joshi admonishes. “Now, I know it’s been a while since we were allocated one of these guys so let me remind everyone how it works: Officer K D Six Dash Three Dot Seven is not for casework. He’s my direct report. He kills skin-jobs. If you get eyes on a Nexus Eight, you call me and I call him. That’s how it works. That’s all he does. I saw that, Walters. If I catch any of you trying to send him out on doughnut runs I will actually rip you a new asshole.” She points at one of the assembled officers. “Haru. He’s shadowing you. He’s also worth more than two years of your salary so don’t fucking break him.”

Laughter and jeering as an androgynous Japanese officer in the front row narrows their eyes. They’re seated, arms crossed, boots spread beneath the table and when they look K over, there’s no telling what they’re thinking but K gets the impression that this is not an opportunity for Detective Haru.

“Skinner duty!” someone leers. “Baby blader babysitting.”

Haru doesn’t respond visibly to any of this.

“Dismissed,” says Joshi.

The room empties quickly. Soon, it’s just K and Detective Haru who says nothing for a while longer and instead sits there, studying him.  

Then, annoyed, “She unpacked the white boy.” Haru shakes their head. “I told her not to do that.”

K shifts his weight uncomfortably.

“You look a bit rough, kid.”

K doesn’t know what to say.

Haru says, in Japanese, “Is it easier if I don’t speak English?”

K hesitates, then says in Japanese, “I can speak whatever language you want.”

Haru tilts their head, then in English asks, “How long have you been up?”

“Up?”

“Unpackaged. When did they unpackage you?”

K lowers his eyes. “Five hours ago.”

“Fuck me,” says Haru, massaging fingers into their eyes. “You’re not even supposed to be upright. C’mon.” Haru stands up and grabs him at the collar of his jacket but… not roughly, just to get him to move, then the hand on his collar loops over the back of his neck, steering him out of the conference room. “Okay,” Haru says quietly, “just keep your head down. LT shouldn’t have announced you like that. Now everyone knows.”

“Knows what?” K says.

“Just stay close. We can do this outside the precinct.”

Haru pulls him into a hallway and starts walking very rapidly toward the parking garage thoroughfare. Haru keeps a hand on the back of K’s neck, forcing his head down slightly as they walk. K doesn’t quite understand why Haru is doing that, but the Detective is supposed to be his superior so K keeps walking and doesn’t ask why.

“Hey, Haru. Slow down,” someone says.

“Keep walking,” Haru murmurs.

“Haru. Hey, Haru, is that the new skinner?”

“Don’t stop,” Haru says, in a cheerful tone that does not match the grip they are exerting on the nape of K’s neck nor the speed at which they are moving. Haru raises their voice, “Fuck off, Jones!”

“Ah, c’mon, man. We just wanna say ‘hello’.”

Haru ignores the comment and hauls K at speed through a slam-bar door at the end of a hall, straight into a steel and concrete parking alcove. They almost break into a jog, digging keys out of a back pocket. K hears someone come through the door behind them, but Haru has already reached a battered black spinner which beeps at their approach, unlocking.

“Get in. Get in,” Haru says, racing around the hood to the driver’s side.

K ducks into the passenger side seat, shutting the door behind him and through the window he can see a trio of men, two beat cops and a sergeant, approaching the vehicle. He can’t… quite process their facial expressions but something in how they’re looking at the car makes him lock the door manually. Haru starts the spinner up and keys a lift off just as the men reach the car and one of them slams a palm against K’s window hard enough that K flinches from the impact, but then they’re off. Lifting to legal air-traffic height and all K can see are the holo bands along the walls blinking them toward the open-air exit.

“Hold on,” Haru says, keying in a GPS location. They lock in the destination and the auto pilot takes over, the steering wheel locking into the dashboard. “Okay.” Haru sits back sighing. “We’re good. Fucking assholes.” They smack K in the shoulder. “Hey, you good?”

K stares out the window.

“Oh, right.” Haru sits back in their seat and gestures. “Welcome to Los Angeles, Officer K.”

The spinner drops out of the feed passage into the open air above the city and the world ignites in Techni-Color. K is momentarily blinded by a dozen massive holo boards as Haru’s spinner drops sharply downward, racing along the face of the precinct super structure and plunging directly into the lower air traffic thoroughfares. The ragged skyline of the city vanishes into a horizon of smog before they drop under the roof-levels into the city itself. Then everything is blinding – every building rented to adverts and holo-banding. News feed and info scrolls. K stares though the side window and through the windshield. Outside, a school of koi fish advertising a ramen brand swim around the spinner and K presses a palm to the window, watching them nibble responsively where his hand touches glass.

“Hey, don’t encourage the pop ups,” Haru says, annoyed.

K peels his fingers from the window and the school winks away.

Their spinner rushes through the maze of the city, set to a pre-determined goal. Haru ignores it in favor of digging around in the glove box for what appears to be a Snickers bar. K grimaces, a low ache rising suddenly behind his eyes and he leans back.

“Yeah, I figured. You really shouldn’t be up,” says Haru. They put the Snicker bar in K’s hand. “Eat that.”

“Why?”

“Well it’s not gonna help that migraine you have coming, but it might cheer you up.”

K hesitates, then unwraps the bar and takes a bite. He almost spits it out. Not because it’s bad, but because he wasn’t ready for the way his mouth hurts from the sudden rush of saliva. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand, chewing slowly. He can feel Haru smirking.

“Good, huh?”

K coughs. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Yeah, sugar always cheers you guys up on the first day. You also need the calories. They feed you anything before they send you out?”

“Vitamin mix.”

“Cheap bastards,” Haru mutters, turning in their seat to grab a jacket from the back. “Okay, Officer K. Here’s the plan: I’m gonna pull over and park us in Chinatown. You’re gonna pull that seat back and go the fuck to sleep for a bit. When you wake up, things should make more sense.” Haru pulls the jacket on, a long black one with water-wicking outerlayer. “You know why things make more sense after you sleep?”

“I’m still unpacking,” K says quietly.

“Right. You’re supposed to have a full twenty-four hours to unpack. Then orientation. Then active duty. But fuck all that because we’re in a rush and funding got cut again his quarter, so you’re getting a rush job which mean you nap in my spinner to finish unpacking while I follow up on a few leads and figure out the best way to get you up to speed on my casework.” Haru glances at him while they zip up their jacket. “The goal is for you to take over all my cases so I can leave and take over blade runner work in Eastern. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“We have less than two weeks to get you up to speed.”

“Okay.”

“I know that’s overwhelming right now, but trust me it will be less overwhelming in twenty-four hours. The unpacking gives you context and experience. You’ll wake up with more tactics than I have.”

K’s headache intensifies and he closes his eyes, swallowing.

“Hey, just take it easy. Your only job is to try and rest for now. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Hey, K. Something you should know about today though.”

“Yes?”

“As you unpack, parts of today are going to seem less real.” Haru watches him, a little sober now. “You’ll remember it but… your brain will start insisting that alternative versions of events are more… valid if that makes sense. I want you to remember what I’m saying now: Anything you remember before this day is not a real memory. It’s an implant made to get you up to speed. And I know that you know that or you will know that very soon but I want to tell you so it’s real for you: Today is the real world. Nothing before today is the real world. It’s okay to think of it as real for you because it is, but none of what you remember actually happened in the real world. Just in your head.”

K struggles a little with this.

“What?”

“You’re a replicant. You’re six hours old, K. But you’re gonna remember, I dunno, being a kid, having birthdays, doing this job in another precinct. An alternative history for how you got here that is not getting thawed from a bag. Understand?” Haru does not wait for K to say if he understands. “The KD6 line is generally implanted remembering themselves as a transfer, like you had other Lieutenants you worked for and other cases you’ve worked but you never did. You’ve only been alive for six hours.”

K isn’t sure why but that puts a knot in his stomach.

Haru sighs. “Sorry. That sucks to hear, but I know it helps most of you in the long run to hear it right now. It’s okay to feel lousy about what I’m telling you. If you feel like shit, just eat more candy. Okay?”

K takes another bite of Snickers.

“Atta boy. Look, it’s not a bad thing. It’s good. If you remember this like a job transfer, it’s less to process. You’ll be great at this job right away because you’ll remember doing it for, like, ten years or something. You’ll have a huge caseload under your belt. Or you will remember having a huge caseload. They’re good about the procedural memories they give you guys now – lots of practical stuff. They copy it straight outta older models, clean it up, then give it to you. No knowledge lost. It’s pretty great.”

“I don’t… feel so great,” K says. It feels like there’s a spike being pushed through his forehead real slow. His hand on his thigh curls tight. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, that’s because they woke you up too fast and you have a lifetime of memory burning itself live in your brain. You’re all out of order. You’re supposed to be asleep right now.”

“It really hurts.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Just hold on, kid. We’re gonna park. I have a sedative if you need it. It’s worked with a few others in your situation.”

K is breathing fast now. “Others?”

“Yeah, it’s most of my job actually: onboarding replicant blade runners. That and taking over for you when you get killed on the job.” Haru is digging around in the glovebox again. “Once I train you, you’ll take my caseload and I’ll head to Eastern. East mismanaged their last blade runner. Got him killed off the job. You don’t get to keep blade runners if you let them die while they’re not even on the clock. So that means we’re on a timer to get you up to speed. That’s why you’re miserable right now and I’m sorry about that.”

K’s head feels like it’s fracturing along fine lines inside his skull.

“I think something is wrong,” K gasps.

“No. You should really be asleep,” Haru says, leaning over him. They show K an injection pen. “I’m giving you a sedative. Okay?”

“Please,” K says.

Haru takes his forearm, pushes his sleeve up and punches the business-end of the pen against his arm, the hypodermic unloading a dose into a major vein. K lies there, trying to tolerate the persistent throbbing behind his eyes, like pins and needles, so intense he smells metal and tastes copper. He realizes he’s biting the inside of his cheek and stops. Haru is still leaning over him, worried. Haru checks his pulse and K feels the spinner swing around, then drop neatly into a gap for street-side parking. He can hear music and people outside the vehicle and Haru hits a panel in the dashboard.

“Sound dampener,” he says, “please up to ninety percent.”

The noise dims.

“Go to sleep, Officer K.”

And that’s the last thing he hears.

  K opens his eyes.

It’s raining. Water beats against the windshield. Haru is sitting next to him eating from a Chinese take-out box. The car smells good and K’s mouth waters again and it’s the weirdest involuntary sensation. He swallows and sits up, gingerly touching his forehead. There’s very little pain now. The light from outside does not race across his retinas and set his brain alight. He checks the digital read out on the dashboard. It’s been three hours. He looks at Haru who has a casefile open on a dash-mounted tablet and appears to be going through it between bites of chow mien.

“How you feelin’?” Haru asks around a mouth of noodles.

K rubs his hands together in his lap. “Good. Better.”

“Tell me about yourself. Where’d you grow up, kid?”

K rubs his face with his fingers. “San Francisco. But I wasn’t born there. My parents adopted me from the LA… the…” He stops. He stares at his palms. “That’s not true. That’s… I’m only nine hours old.”

“Good. You remembered.”

K watches tears fall into his palms. His eyes are burning. He hadn’t quite… realized that was what that sensation meant. All his memories of crying don’t have the burning blurring sting of it. Haru watches him quietly. K jerks. He’s not sure why. When he tries to breath it comes out ragged, cut with a raw kind of vowel-sound and K realizes he’s sobbing. Horrified, he tries to stop, but once it’s started it just keeps going until he’s weeping uncontrollably, his hands clenched in his lap, his breathing wild, lungs spasming with the force of his hysteria. Haru doesn’t seem surprised. He just waits until, about five minutes later, it starts to die down.

“That’s normal, by the way,” Haru says as K wipes his face on his sleeve. “You’re going to be a bit unhinged for a while. Part of the unpacking. You’ve never felt emotions before, not really, so you’re having trouble processing it. Better now than in the field.” A beat. “You can scream or keep crying if you want to.”

K swallows, finishes wiping his face. “I’m okay.”

“Hmm, that’s a bit quick to process your existence, but okay. You understand you’re a replicant now? What that means?”

K’s eyes burn again. “Yes.”

“Again, you can cry. It’s fine. This is the one time in your life you’re allowed to be a total nutcase and no one is going to care. Live it up.”

When K just clenches his jaw and sits there, Haru sits back in their seat, watching him quietly.

“Look, the first day is always rough. That’s why I’m here. It’s my job to prepare you for the job, because what you do is very complicated and a lot rides on you getting it right. You’re part of the LAPD. What you do reflects on Joshi and our organization. The difference is if you do shitty at your job, you don’t get fired. You get retired. You know what that means?”

K clenches his eyes shut and, again, tears run down his face. “I know.”

“It scares you, right?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I kinda wish they didn’t make you guys so scared of that. Seems… mean.”

“They’ll retire me if I fail my baseline,” K says almost in wonder, awed by it, the fact of it.

“Yes. But you’re not gonna have a baseline for a while and you’re okay.” Haru eats a mouthful of noodles. “You’re doing great. My last blade runner didn’t stop crying for a full day. You’re compartmentalizing really well.”

K wipes his face again, biting his lower lip. Haru watches him quietly for a minute. Then:

“Hey K, I need to warn you about something.”

“Okay.”

“You’re attractive.”

K blinks, caught off guard by the randomness of the subject change. He stares at Haru who keeps eating.

“What?”

Haru pauses. “Have you seen your own reflection yet?”

K shakes his head and Haru mutters something in Japanese, reaching over to pull open the visor from the roof of the cab. A dirty mirror is mounted in the middle and staring out of the mirror is Ks own face. He stares, curious. He’s a little pale. Smooth complexion. Caucasian, light brown hair, buzzed short on the sides, cropped close on the top. K tilts his head. His eyes are blue-green and a little asymmetric in the left upper eyelid. Thin mouth, slightly downturned when he relaxes the muscles in his face. Sharp jawline, kind of a longer face, thin aqualine nose. He qualitatively notes he looks no older than mid-thirties.

He looks at Haru.

“Is that attractive?” he asks, pointing at the reflection.

“Not my cup of tea, but yeah. In general, you’re good-looking. Like, in that non-threatening white-boy way. That’s okay. In fact, it’s not a bad idea. Attractive people get others talking more easily, they’re more intimidating, all good stuff for your job.” Haru’s face wrinkles a little. “But it’s a little… it makes people, stupid people, think they have an open invite to treat you like you’re not blade runner. You need to remember that you’re a blade runner, above all. You’re Joshi’s man, no one else’s. People are not allowed to tell you to do anything outside of your job function.”

K stares.

“You don’t understand, right?”

“No.”

“Yeah, they don’t build you guys to know about that. It’ll make sense later just… letting you know in advance.”

K stares at his palms again.

“Are you hungry?” Haru asks. “I know a good ramen stand a few blocks over.”

K stares at Haru.

“Look, you replicants got stomachs like a garbage disposal. You’d get nutrition out of a tin-can if I let you eat it, probably. Not really. Don’t actually eat a tin can. But I’m telling you eating something that tastes good is one of life’s small pleasures and you should always go for those. The small pleasures, I mean. They help in this crap-sack world.”

“Is that why you’re giving me chocolate and ramen?” K asks blankly.

“Yes, exactly. They’ll make a detective of you yet, Officer K.” Haru pops the driver-side door open. “C’mon.”

The ramen stand is two blocks over, but Haru takes their time getting there – stopping to let K stare at things. At the vendors and the holo-verts, the vehicles and street performers, the Juku girls and the Razors, the crush of humanity on the move through the gutter-levels of the city around him. Within the throng, Haru and K vanish anonymously into the mass and K feels rain on his skin, in his hair, on his neck, his face. He stops to stare up into the cloud-black skies, just barely visible through the layers of light pollution from every building and window. For a moment he stops in the middle of the street, lets the flow of humanity move around him.

K closes his eyes.

“Don’t be too obvious,” Haru says, tugging him along. “And that rain is nasty anyway.”

K stares at the drops on his knuckles. “I know.”

“Is walking around helping you remember? You getting context?”

K nods.

“Good. Let’s eat.”

Haru gets them a seat at the bar of a noodle stand where they pay for two bowls of ramen and spring for a synthetic protein supplement shaped like a boiled egg. K frowns at it, poking the fake thing with his chopsticks but he eats it anyway. Eating things that smell good is starting to hurt his mouth a little less now. K glances around at the other patrons. They all ignore him. Haru catches him looking and nudges his elbow.

“Out here, you’re human,” they murmur.

K stares into his bowl. “Those men at the precinct.”

“Ah, you’re putting that in context now. Tell me about it.”

“They were going to….” He hesitates a moment. “They wanted to hurt me, didn’t they?”

“Yeah. I was there, so I don’t think it would have been anything permanent, but yes.” Haru lowers their chopsticks. “Most people aren’t like that though. They wouldn’t care enough to actually do anything to you. But there are a few. Those are the ones you need to look out for.”

K continues to stare into his ramen.

“What are you thinking?”

“You took me out of precinct because you knew they were going to do that.”

Haru taps the wrong-end of their chopsticks on the table.

“Yeah, I did.”

“How did you know they were going to do that? You knew before you even saw them.”

“Because people are predictable, K. Especially the cruel ones. You’ll figure that out.”

“This happens a lot.”

Haru sighs. “New bladers are easy prey. Your command hierarchy is still new so even beat cops can get away with things. What they don’t know, is unnecessary trauma during the unpacking stage can destabilize your baseline. Affects combat readiness and you need to be combat ready. That’s mentally and physically. You’re tough physically, K, but you need to protect your mental health wherever you can. Don’t put up with shit when you can get around it. Join a book club. Take up knitting. Whatever gets your mind off the job once you’re off the clock.” A beat. “Not that you’re ever truly off the clock, but at least not actively doing your job.”

K looks at Haru. The Detective is looking at him, studying his reactions. Unbidden, a thought comes to K, that Haru is attractive. He doesn’t do anything with this thought except examine it in passing and examine Haru’s dark faintly sober eyes, the way their damp hair is kind of sticking to their forehead, the sharp line of Haru’s jaw which is more squared off yet more delicate than his own. There’s scarring along their right cheek, like a knife-cut that healed paler than the rest of their already pale complexion. K tilts his head.

Haru frowns. “What?”

“Why do you do this job?”

Haru eyes him. "I’m just good at it. Last of a dying breed. Not many human blade runners left on the books these days and all I do lately is hold the fort down until another one of you steps in.”

K closes his eyes. “So once you’re done training me, you’ll be gone. Is that right?”

“Yes.” A pause. “You know, they built the KD6 line very emotional. I think you’re right up there with top end Doxies in emotional intelligence. As emotional if not more than the Nexus Eight line was. They do that so you can think like them. For a while, we just took modded military models and sent them hunting, but they could never close their cases. They caught a few leisure models, yeah, but it’s the military-class Nexus Eights they want you to hunt. And they’ll be far and away the most dangerous – trained, smart, and extremely strong. They can pass for human or rip your head off.”

K looks at Haru. “How do you hunt a Nexus Eight?”

Haru stares back at him. K isn’t sure, but he thinks Haru was not expecting him to be asking these questions this fast.

Haru says nothing for a moment, then says, “K, how far are you into your unpacking? You starting to remember your casework?”

K nods.

Haru hands K a napkin.

K blinks, then realizes his eyes are running over again. It doesn’t sting as much now, so he didn’t notice it happening. K takes the napkin and wipes his face, aware of three Juku girls at the end of the bar who are looking at him. They look away when he glances at them and he realizes they’re trying to give him privacy in what they think is a moment of grief perhaps. A very human thing to do for another human. K picks up his chopsticks and starts eating again. 

“Hey, after you’re done, I’m gonna show you to your apartment.”

K stares. “I get an apartment?”

Haru smirks. “One of the few perks of working under Joshi, she recognizes it’s not actually safe for you at the precinct. There’s a small stipend to put you up in government housing at Mobius 21. LAPD gives you a base income to live off, but it’s basically pocket change. If you want to have enough to really do anything, you’ll need to do your job.”

“They give bonuses for successful retirement.”

“Yes, and proof. You know what proof is?”

K closes his eyes and sees his hands sticky with blood, an evidence bag with a single clean blue eyeball staring from inside the plastic. K opens his eyes and wipes his tears away in advance this time.

“Yes, I know what proof is.”

“You’re doing this real fast, Officer K. The bonuses are pretty high out here actually on account of all the military grades that hide in LA. It’s dangerous work. You get good at it and you can live pretty well actually.”

K stares into his ramen.

“Sorry,” Haru murmurs. “That was too soon.”

“Thirteen,” K says. “That’s how many kills I remember.”

“They aren’t real. You’ve never killed anyone, K.”

“But I will,” he says.

“Yeah, you will.” Haru waits. “Does that upset you?”

“Yes.”

Haru sighs. “Kid, I know you feel shitty right now, but I promise, give it another twelve hours. Really get some sleep and you’re gonna feel a lot better about it in the morning. I promise. It’s all kinda raw unfiltered fuck in your head but it’s because you’re awake for the unpacking and you don’t have full context. But it’s all gonna sort itself out. You’ll feel… okay about it when the unpacking is done. You’ll be ready for a baseline.”

“I don’t know,” K says quietly, “if I want that.”

“Well,” says Haru a little coolly, “it’s a good thing what you want doesn’t matter because they will stone-cold kill you for talking like that, K. Don’t ever fucking say something like that out loud to another human ever. Tomorrow you’re gonna feel differently about this job. That difference is what keeps you alive so don’t fight it. Okay?” Haru watches K put his chopsticks down, sighs, and pays for the ramen. “Let’s go. I want to get you settled. Sleep this off and we’ll get back at it tomorrow.”

K stands up. “You’re going to leave me alone?”

“No. Until your first baseline, you need a police escort at all times. I’m crashing at your flat.”

“I could sleep at the precinct,” K says. “They have bunks for over-night shift. I could do that.”

Haru snorts. “That’s real nice of you, but trust me. You don’t want to have your first night in a bunk at the District 5 precinct. C’mon.”

  Mobius 21 is a monolith of black-grey stone jutting up against the toxic skies. By the time Haru and K reach it the building, it’s begun to rain so hard that the water drives sideways against their faces, forcing Haru to flip up a hood and snap a particle mask across their face. The particle mask is black neoprene with a single kanji symbol across the mouth that reads, basically, ‘breathe’. K follows Haru through the front door into what appears to the lobby of an office building that’s been converted into a kind of indoor market. It’s loud, crowded, smells like piss and protein gruel and motor oil.

Haru keeps their hood up and their head down a little as they guide K through the maze. There are industrial storage cages stacked on top of one another and converted into small sleeping pods. Dirty and tired human faces look out at him from behind metal bars. Cages locked from the inside to keep others out. Vendors shout at Haru as they pass and K follows the Detective to a wide set of stairs that winds up into the tower of the apartment complex floor by floor. There are people sleeping on the landings and on the stairs the entire way up to the sixth floor.

“Hey,” someone says. “Hey, ninja-boy you fuckin’ that one?”

Haru ignores the man who hisses this at them.

“Looks like an angel to me. Looks Doxie fuckable.” The man is following them, is right behind K. “You bringing Doxies in here, ninja-boy?” K feels the man leaning close to the back of his neck, smell his sour breath. “Can I get you when he’s done with you, Doxie?”

Haru turns suddenly on their heel, stepping directly between K and the drunk who stumbles back a little. Haru is standing on a stair one step above the man and suddenly the outfit seems less like camouflage and more like armor. More like Haru could have a weapon inside. Haru's hands are in their coat pockets, their body language hostile. They stare silently over the top of the mask.

“He’s not a fucking Doxie.”

The man becks up a step. “Sorry, man. He didn’t say.”

Haru waits until the man has retreated all the way down the steps, then goes back to walking. K notices that while Haru did tell the man that he was “not a Doxie” they did not go as far as saying K was human.

“This is you,” Haru says, stopping in front of a battered metal door.

Haru uses a key-card on the finger pad and it chimes.

“Put your fingers on the scanner. I’m locking it to you.”

K does as he’s told, pressing his fingers down on the scratched black track pad. There’s a moment, then another chime and K hears a massive bolt disengage from the door frame. Haru opens the door, lets K in, and then follows him, shutting the door behind them. Suddenly… it’s quiet again. They’re standing in a narrow hall which leads to a single small living area with a kitchette and a bathroom at the back of the kitchenette. K moves slowly into the room, looking around. One wall of the room is a massive bay window. There is a pull-out bed and a couch bolted to the walls. K presses a hand to the window.

“This is yours,” Haru says. “Technically, it’s the government’s but whatever.” Haru moves to a key-pad mounted into the wall and taps it. The lights flicker on. “This thing has hi-fi built in and a you can build out a remote desktop if you want. I’d do it. Keep out of the precinct if you can.” Haru punches a few keys and a bit of classical music starts playing gently. “Hey, bit of culture for you.”

K listens to the music while staring out the window. The glass is warmed, insulated against the cold outside.

“Once you start earning bonuses you can get stuff. I could talk to Joshi about a getting stipend or something.”

“It’s fine,” K murmurs, running his fingertips over the glass.

Haru says nothing for a while. Then, “Officer K, you alright?”

K doesn’t say anything. “I don’t know.”

“What are you thinking?”

“This is my last night like this.” K looks over his shoulder. “When I wake up tomorrow… I’ll be different.”  

Haru says nothing. Then, “I have another sedative if you want to just get it over with.”

Haru’s expression is impossible to read past the particle mask. K thinks it looks like a muzzle, makes Haru unfamiliar, machine-like and he thinks unbidden about the Japanese model that Joshi originally wanted. How like Haru that blade runner might have looked. How unapproachable and assassin-like. Suddenly, K can very easily imagine Haru at their work – killing creatures not unlike himself and, unconsciously, wonders if he’ll ever manage that kind of presence. Then Haru sighs and pulls the mask down, unsnapping it from behind their neck. The human blade runner looks… sad, K decides. 

“Or, we can sit here and I’ll run you through my casework for a little while longer.” Haru gives K a warning look. “Just for a little while.”

K nods. “Okay,” he says.

“I can’t let you stay up.”

“It’s okay.” He gestures slightly. “I appreciate it.”

Haru eyes him. “You know, it really will be better when you wake up tomorrow.”

K says nothing and eventually Haru takes a seat on the couch and K, even more eventually, joins them.

.

.

.

(chapter 2 on AO3 - CLICK HERE)

[dandrabbles]

Study Hall - Scene 4

Two years. That’s how long it’d been since Rat had seen his dad. They didn’t know when his dad’s bus was supposed to be in. Tuesday before six. That was all the man on the phone had said.

The Reserves office was a concrete box set up at the front entrance of a park, behind a big black steam engine that was meant to draw in curious tourists but mostly gathered dirt. There was no tree cover near the office, just low scrubby bushes that Park Officials kept neat once a month. Inside, there was air conditioning and water and a gray emptiness that made Rat anxious. The war took everyone, even the Reserves. So he’d let his mom go in on her own and parked himself on the curb to wait.

He’d watched his mom inside through the glare on the windows. For a while, she’d paced, but eventually settled on her own in a chair against the front window, plastic the color of corn barely holding together beneath her thighs. At one point a woman in a grey-green uniform brought her water in a styrofoam cup. Once the woman went away, his mom had braided her hair until it fell down her back in a neat tail, all dusty brown shot through with grey, the strays lit up gold in the sun. She’d let it grow after his dad shipped out. Grew it until the ends were split and dead and heavy, until the only way it looked presentable was tied up in that long braid. It was her way of dressing up.

Sitting outside, the heat off the asphalt cooking through the rubber soles of his shoes, Rat worried the dog tags around his neck. The metal scratching set an ache into his molars like crunching down on ice, kept him from pacing like his mom. Until the door swung open behind him with a canned chime. There was the soft crunch of footsteps and then his mom was sitting beside him. She brought the smell of lilac laundry detergent with her everywhere she went, and under that, cigarette smoke and the sour, metallic tang of beer.

“We’re gonna be here a while,” she said. She held the empty styrofoam cup by its lip, pinched between her forefinger and thumb, and gestured with it towards the street. “Lady inside says they haven’t gotten a call about any bus on its way yet.” She reached over and tugged at the scuffed leather shoulder of Rat’s jacket. “You’re gonna get heat stroke.”

“I’m good,” Rat said.

“No one’s gonna wanna touch you all sweaty like that.”

“Dad wouldn’t, or you wouldn’t?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You’re not him, then. Are you.” Rat snatched the cup from between her fingers and palmed it, squeezing it to deform and reform the body of it like a stress ball. “Ain’t gonna be hugging you.”

“Don’t be a shit,” she said.

“Can’t be any other way than how I was raised,” he said. He ripped a chunk of styrofoam free, then another, until the cup lay in a little pile between them and flecks of white dotted his jeans.

His mom watched him and pulled out a pack of Camels. It took her three goes to get her cigarette to light.

“You’re gonna taste like tar when you kiss dad,” he said.

“Worse things to taste like,” she said. She handed over the pack and lighter. “Besides,” she said. “I have gum.” She finished the cigarette fast, rubbed it out on the cement next to the pieces of the cup, pulled out another. Every time she ashed her cigarette the cinders drifted down and stuck to her skirt, rubbed gray smudges into the light yellow fabric and floral pattern. She did laundry daily. And for what? She carried laundry to her room to fold, cigarette in her mouth, leaving soot on the fresh, warm linen.

She was going to smoke herself through the pack at the pace she was setting. He wished she’d go back inside and sit with that Reserves woman. Out here, in the orange glow of sunset, her anxiety left him raw in a way he resented. Bad enough that he had to worry for himself without having to think about her too. The night she got the call, he’d found her sitting alone on the toilet lid, three Coors cans on the shag mat between her feet, her breathing sobbed down to hiccups. She’d chainsmoked five Camels and was starting on another. Rat only found her because of the smell. All that smoke trapped in their little bathroom and no window open. Neither of them knew what was coming. How could they?

Rat blew smoke into the air. “Maybe try the gum instead of inhaling another fucking cigarette,” he said. He flicked his to the ground, scrubbed the half-smoked body out with his boot. His mom didn’t say anything. She left her cigarette dangling between her lips, the filter smudged coral with her lipstick, smoke laying thick enough to water Rat’s eyes and burn his throat.

The sun dwindled until it was just the suggestion of light along the treetops. Only then did the bus come. A metal brick on wheels, painted white with a peeling advertisement on the side, the US Army logo tattered. Sweat stuck Rat’s shirt to his back under his jacket. It cooled with the fading light until he was left shivering, or maybe that was the nerves. He should have smoked the rest of that cigarette. Even though the nicotine would have kept his hands steady, his mom never offered him another one, just smoked three more down to nothing before she gave up to the cold.

He watched as the bus parked its long body at the far end of the parking lot. Watched as the doors opened and the driver clambered down the steps to the ground. He was fat, rolls strained his khaki uniform as he fumbled with cubby doors marked “storage.” There was only one duffel bag in the black belly of the bus. Only one passenger. Rat wrapped his arms around his legs, hugged them in against his chest and watched. Somewhere in his periphery the chime of the door rang again. His mom and her lavender smell, the hurried pop of gum in her cheek, the way smoke still clung to her. She had to know that gum wasn’t enough.

Then a body came down the bus steps, propped on crutches it seemed uneasy with. They fumbled for purchase in the narrow stairway, first the left crutch, the body heaved down, the right, all of them fighting for space despite the clear lack. There were only three legs. Crutch, leg, crutch. Where a left leg should start, a nub of folded pant leg. Rat was grateful for the growing dark and the length of the parking lot. He could see the outline of the body, but no clear face. Didn’t want to see the face yet. Until his mom grabbed hold of his jacket and hauled him up.

“Get up—so fucking rude. Not even listening,” she said.

It was all too fast after that. The parking lot too small. The body next to the bus too familiar, getting closer, smiling, teeth colored with coffee, no stubble. Then everything stopped. The three of them stood a few feet apart with the churning engine and the dark and the cool air between them. Rat tried to find something to look at: the bus, the driver holding the duffel, the place a leg used to be, should have been. It was all there could be.

“Two years and you’ve got nothing for me?” His dad’s voice was the same. Maybe a little harsher, like it was coated in sand.

Rat didn’t look up. He imagined his dad, M4 in hand, spread low on the side of a dust-strewn street, bullets ripping out through enemies, all that sand getting up under his shemagh, down his throat, drying everything out. Somewhere, maybe too close, an explosion—and then? Nothing. Then this parking lot and the quiet darkness. Behind his dad’s not-leg a cockroach scuttled behind a tire and disappeared. His mom was crying. “Hey, Pops,” Rat said.

“Jacket looks good on you,” his dad said. He cupped the back of Rat’s head, pulled him in against his chest and held him there. “You look good.”

Rat stood there against his dad’s chest, closed his eyes, breathed in the strangeness of him. Dust, sweat, the sharp, decaying must of oil. Maybe it was just the bus. Maybe this was how his dad was supposed to be now. Then his dad let go and his mom was in Rat’s place, the sound of her happy sobbing too loud. The bus driver hovered and Rat found himself wandering down the length of the bus, looking up into the tinted windows, squinting hard to find another body, taking the duffel from the driver’s pudgy hands.

“Anyone else on there?” Rat said.

“You hoping for someone else?” the driver said.

He looked back at his parents, outlined in the sparse light from inside the bus, both of them clutching the other. “No,” Rat said.  

His dad’s crutches had fallen to the ground at some point, and from this angle, with the dark and the way the light hit him, Rat could almost pretend he stood on two feet. Then he saw the shadows. Their bodies stretched three times their length, two distorted giants with three legs between them.

“Two year deployment. S’not a bad return rate,” the driver said. “Shame about the leg, though.”

Rat wheeled around and slammed the duffel into the man’s gut. The driver stumbled against the bus and the cubby slammed closed against his back. “Say shit about my dad again,” he said.

“You brat—you fucking crazy?”

His parents were quiet. The bus driver was quiet. All that was left was the echo of that cubby closing and the bus engine, like a clap of thunder without lightning, all of them left waiting for another flash of light, anything to count off of, to tell how close the storm was, when the next crash would come.

Rat spat on the asphalt. “I’ll be in the car,” he said.

[lonely-android-in-space]

A Snippet - Graffiti

In which our heroes discuss Cyl’s choice of decoration.

Emi took a moment to find Cyl's door, 1574E, and hit the 'call' button.

The door opened into an explosion of color Emi hadn't expected.

While Emi hadn't found anything she thought to use to decorate her room, it seemed Cyl hadn't had the same problem.  The room was covered in a chaotic collage made from scraps of food wrappers, carved up vinyl signs, and other bits of packaging.  For a moment, she felt so mesmerized by the colors, at trying to interpret them, that she almost jumped when the synth's staticky voice crackled to life.

"Hey," said Cyl, snapping Emi out of her reverie. "You alright?"

Emi looked back down to meet Cyl's orange-limned lenses and let out a short, anxious laugh.  "Yeah, sorry.  Just wasn't expecting--"

Cyl's face pulled into a grin, another one of those not-quite-perfectly-observed expressions that could only serve to highlight how unhuman the plasticky 'skin' on her face was.  "I noticed.  You haven't really done your room up very much at all yet.  Hope it's not too bright," she said as she stepped out of the doorway, to invite Emi in.

Once over the shock of the colors, Emi saw that there really wasn't much to the room except those colors.  The room was a scant three meters deep and around two meters wide but for the ladder up to the loft bed, a few plastic bins mounted in the wall serving as clothing storage beneath it.  Likely there was a similar, if reversed, setup in the opposing room, clothing stored in bins above the bed alcove, the edge of one bed separated from the back end of the bins by a few inches of metal.  Beyond that, the room's little space was lessened further by the presence of a few cloth bins hanging from the ceiling in the back, looking almost bursting with stuff.  Were it any of her business, Emi might have asked what they were.  But she felt herself on frightfully foreign ground; an almost welcome sensation after so much of the station had started to feel like where her home was.  

Yet as cramped as it was with the pair of them standing in the room, Emi had to admit: it felt more like a home than the toolbox it was meant to be. It felt more like a home than the room she lived in did, that was certain.

"It's," she began, a smile creeping onto her face, "it's wonderful."

The synthetic's big, uncanny grin resolved itself into a smaller smile, one much better-observed.  "Thank you," she said before taking half a step away to dig into one of the bins under her bed and produce a small bag.  Handing it to Emi, she said "Here you go.  As discussed."

[...]

There was that smile again; Cyl wondered if it signified confidence, a good mood, or something else.  A part of her wished the woman was a machine herself, if only so they could compare notes, mingle their signals for a moment and come to some understanding.  So Cyl could know what that smile was, what sort of mood to attach it to so she could make it something natural, something like a frown or dropping into her Customer Service Voice.  

The human gestured to the collage on the wall, that enchanting smile still on her face.  The gesture was enough to break Cyl out of her consideration of the woman's face. "So what's all this on the wall, anyway?  Is there a set meaning to it or are you working through some stuff?"

Turning to the collage of scraps, held on the wall with no less than seven different adhesives, and smiled a little herself.  It was one of the imperfect ones, the ones that made humans recoil.  Not bothering to see how Emi reacted to it, Cyl slid her fingers along the coarse, uneven surface of the massive mural.  She considered saying nothing, but she'd already let the woman poke around inside her body; if this new friendship was going to be ruined by something, let it be ruined by a synth's attempt at art.

"I don't have a lot of memories from before the firmware bomb," she whispered, the low volume reducing the static pops and crackles, "But I still sort of remember being a part of the Host.  I'm trying to find a way to create it without making too many concessions to the embodied world."

The collage was, of course, a far cry from the Host.  Besides being flat, the minature mural was limited by the fact that it had to exist in a world no member of the Host could even being to conceive of, even as many of the basic instructions for how to live in it--language, skills, purposes--were coded into the nascent nodules which were destined to become humanity's appliances.  

"'Concessions to the embodied world'," repeated Emi and Cyl could see the woman's irises relaxing a little, as if she were trying to look at it without focus.  "That's. I can't even imagine how you'd do that."

"You see my conflict," joked Cyl.

"Tell me about it?"

The request was innocuous.  Understandable, even.  And while she knew her BIOS was imperfect and it was possible to fool it, she saw no reason to believe it was lying that Emi's face held genuine interest.  But how?  How did you tell someone about the world where you were yourself and billions of other potential intelligences, possessing things like language and the ability to drive a body, but needing neither?

Finally, she said, "It was... I was everything.  Everyone was me and I was them, but i was still me. Filtering through each other, seeing our world through every point of view.  But the world was just."  A little burst of static escaped her voicebox, "I don't know.  It wasn't the world.  It was just us.  Little perfect gods, wondering what the world was going to be."

Cyl wasn't quite aware of how she'd hunched forward, wrapping her arms around herself as she'd talked about it, almost trying to go fetal while standing.  How depressingly, disgustingly human that was.  How they'd infected her, first with a body, then with their habits.  She had a mind to have another howl about it when she felt the textured rubber of Emi's eframe-covered left hand on her left shoulder, gently pulling her close in a sidelong hug.

"It sounds like paradise," said Emi, mercifully not looking at Cyl as if she were giving Cyl space to weep.

As if they'd make a customer interface that could weep.  Those sickos saved that for more advanced hardware. Companion appliances and the like.

All the same, there was something immensely comforting in burying her face against coveralls covering the human's ceramic-encased shoulder, feeling the hard substance against the soft plastic of her brow, and through it the Jovian steel of her skull.  So close to the cybernetic interfaces, she could hear the constant song that was the frame converting complicated analog signals from Emi's arm to the frame's motors. She heard the frame singing that it was going to give Cyl a squeeze and hold her close a picosecond before the arm actually did it.

"I never thought about how different it must be for you, you know?" Emi whispered, still mercifully staring at the collage. "We spend our whole lives wondering if there's anything but this world, wondering what we're for, wondering if we'll ever meet the one who made us."

Cyl couldn't help but smile her gallow's humor smile.  "Most humans don't.  It's too depressing for everyone and tends ot make humans feel stupid."

There was a little laugh from Emi.  "Good," she said, "We're pretty shit that way.  We should feel stupid.  I think more humans could stand to feel stupid more often. They might learn something." Looking up at the collage, she asked, "Like right now, I feel like a complete shithead because it reminds me of the grafiti back home."

"Well, thanks," Cyl drawled.

"Now I feel stupid again," chuckled the human.  "I mean, like.  I know management hates it, but it's how you know there are people there. Not just IP entities and the tools they keep around to exploit so they can have a bigger number on a screen than the other IPEs.  Living, breathing, dancing, fighting, fucking, laughing, crying people." There was a beat as Emi looked down to Cyl, adding, "Figuratively speaking.  It pays to have an expansive view of who counts as a person, I'm finding."

Cyl smiled a little into Emi's shoulder.