#my throat is killing me and there is Zero energy in any limbs and i slept for shit

[izzy-b-hands]

shout out to ND for making it incredibly hard to get caught up on COVID boosters; I think that may be why this time having COVID is kicking my ass so hard

[mushroom-for-art]

I don't know what came over me but uh, don't mess with Axels family and probably don't read this tbh it's nasty

Grunts moved quickly packing up boxes and supplies with clumsy inefficiency as a superior admin barked orders for them to hurry up and get everything taken down and shipped 10 minutes ago. They needed to get out of there quickly if they were hoping to survive.

"Stop fucking about! Get those boxes moved now, go go go! We haven't the time for you to be a pansy!" the Admin snarled at a stumbling grunt who had just dropped a small stack of boxes they'd been moving, they skittered past the doors of the main entrance, their neck snapping at the speed and velocity of the doors blasting inwards and becoming lodged into walls saving them from what was going to occur.

Time slowed as the Mewtwo floated into the room gliding in eerie silence as his tail swayed.

"Where, is my family. " His voice was more of a growl in his throat as he spoke and projected the words outwards, the snarl echoed painfully inside of the skulls of those present causing many to double over in sheer agony at the psychic voice probing their minds and tearing into their thoughts.

Limbs locked the Admin couldn't grab any of the Pokeballs secured to her belt and she felt psychic energy burning into her as the mewtwo zeroed in on her, she sneered at him past the pain inside her skull.

"I won't be intimidated by you. You won't find them if you kill me."

Her body was lifted slightly from the floor and floated up to his eye level slowly as he loomed in front of her his expression dark and unreadable, his eyes bore through her laced with unspoken threats and an awareness of control and power.

"If that is the knowledge you want to put your faith into." he lifted arms to the side casually his hand doing a flourish, "just know," his fingers moved closing into a fist before his arm flicked forward as though throwing something, bones slammed into a wall breaking on impact as the sound of tearing flesh and muscle registered to the admins ears, a grunts body stood for a second completely torn open from the inside outwards before their boneless husk slumped with a sickening slap of blood, brains smeared slowly down the walls from where the skull has smashed open on impact.

"You won't be granted the same quickness or relief."

Eyes staring on in horror the mewtwo produced a sharp quill from his inner wrist pulling it out from his flesh, he held it in his fingers twirling it before pointing it to another nearby grunt who let out a soft hiss as the quill cut a small line in their cheek. They started to hyperventilate before the toxins even took hold, the blood seeping from the cut became putrid and contaminated turning into yellow pus as the surrounding skin turned to shades of blue and purple and ultimately darkening to a deathly black.

The psychic restrains let up on the grunt who stumbled quickly, they tried to speak spraying spit as their tongue swelled causing them to hack and cough struggling for breath as it started to block off their airway, they were in hysterics crying and choking, dying flesh wetly slid from their muscles and bones sloshing on the floor beneath them filling the room with the horrid stench of death. Their gurgled quiet screaming and choking as their tongue rotted out from their mouth had fear soaking into the Admins very core as the grunt fell down onto their side. For a moment she thought dead but their wheezing told her they hadn't received that mercy yet.

The mewtwo had not broken their gaze from watching her even as his tail swayed behind him, she watched the fur shifting intertwining around itself morphing into a pointed shape like a syringe, there was an audible hissing of steam as see through organic pipes grew out and back into the mewtwos tail flesh. With a flash that nearly burned her irises, red hot flowing liquid pumped through the structures, almost like Kyurems biological tubes as they changed their form the way they pumped energy. Tail stabbed forward past her shoulder into the last grunt behind her, and he hollered in agony immediately.

She couldn't turn her head to see, but she could feel it was hot suddenly as there was another hiss with the mewtwos tail returning to its original state, screaming never ending behind her and the smell of burning flesh and flooring. She could barely swallow as she stared forward a horrid red hue illuminating the mewtwo from behind her as he looked at her but his expression was still dark.

"They were sent to another facility! In Unova! We only wanted the Haunter! The Gengar was just in the way!" She barely recognised her own voice for the terror in it.

"I know."

She found her breathing difficult as she stared at him.

"I was one of the most powerful pure creatures to ever bless this planet, and I am now a bastardized chimera of that purity that violated the boundaries of limits set by Arceus." His expression was almost a deranged grin.

"Do you really believe your thoughts are your own and private? That I couldn't rip out that information, why do you think your head hurts so much." His teeth gleamed in the unnaturally hot red fading light behind her.

"Why are, why are you still here then?! Wasting time! That family of yours must not be so precious-" Her voice choked as her lungs were squeezed in a way that forced all the breath from her, her vision blackening at the edges as her compressed lungs fought to gain any air, if this was how she went then she'd accept that. Unfortunately the air forces back into her lungs brought her back from the cusps of unconsciousness.

"You don't get to die that easily, don't presume about the importance of my family when I know what you did to my daughter and mate. I've seen through your eyes what you did to her. How you tormented my love in the process." His spoken words were venomous as he stared down at her in pure hatred, she was faintly aware of the weakening wheeze on the floor near her.

His hands came up casually and she felt like her aura was being pulled out of her body like her soul was being separated before witnessing the projected double helix swirling around before her.

"They say mew are the ancestor of everything, classes as the genetics pokemon, so very fitting" his finger idly touched over a strand of dna and she felt her skin begin to crawl from uncomfortable to painfully as it seperated from her muscles as though the connective tissues were dissolving, before he flicked his finger over the strand again and her skin stopped trying to peel from her body though it still hung just a bit looser than it did before.

"When me and my brother were younger, not in full control of our powers we used to play this game with other pokemon." another idle adjustment, the backs of her eyeballs burnt as her eyes weeped her ears ringing loudly painfully in a way that blossomed pain across her whole temple in a brain splitting migraine.

"We'd fly past and," his fingers moved adjusting changing her dna structure, she hitched a quiet scream as her muscles spasmed in her arm breaking her forearm bones as her fingers twitched against her control, the bones in her fingers began to deform subtly but quickly deforming her fingers and cracking through the skin, "of course we were only little and we could only change phenotype expressions making fur scales and that different colors, or grow faster, straighten curl." he let out a sigh.

"In hindsight, what cruel little bastards we were, mini gods tampering with things that they really had no right to for our own amusement, of course we meant no harm and didn't intend harm but I do sometimes wonder." Her vision went black as the genetics in control of her sight were altered, blood vessels popped and blood mixed with her tears streaming down her face. She could feel her organs moving, growing shifting inside her as well as he altered her biology casually in a way that shattered her concept of pain, leaving her with only searing burning nerves.

"I was pretty blind to the cruelty of mews when I was one, maybe I wouldn't have ended up like this were my brother kinder, but I see now how rotten we can be but we still had our naivety at least that kept our innocence, the disconnect from mortals that we couldn't properly sympathize to or understand." Her spine popped bones growing out from her skin but she could still feel everything as more muscles broke in spasms.

"I don't have the excuse of innocence or naivety anymore, I can see with mortal eyes everything I do and the effect it has, and how wonderfully ironic that in place of that innocent evil the rot of humanity has replaced it, giving rise to the ability and enjoyment of hurting others and how to make it worse. I am the worst of humans and the worst of mew." He looked at her almost gently with a smile that mocked her as her bloody eyes met his, blood dribbled from her cracked lips.

His eyes roamed her for a second as he fiddled with the very core of her person altering her genetics irreversibly.

"Did you know that there's a lot of uncategorized pokemon that exist purely inside others?" his finger hovered over her stomach "it's fascinating actually the organisms that have specialized in your gut, and they're so intertwined with you that no one realized they're there. Why don't we let you be the first to say hello?" psychic energy glowed from his hand and she felt the breath leave her again as she almost wretched.

Something inside her began to writhe, she could feel hundreds, maybe thousands of squirming legs pushing on her stomach and small intestines and a sickly burning pain that would've had her double over did the psychic energy not keep her restrained. He lowered her body slowly and her legs flopped uselessly like a ragdoll as he slumped her down on her legs unnaturally. She couldn't move still.

A piece of glass levitated to him and he put it in her hand, "here, since you did tell me eventually I'll give you this mercy to end this suffering." he closed her hand around the glass shard as her arm remained held out for his psychic ability. He turned leaving her there, the grunt finally still but bloated and missing chunks of flesh that lay gruesomely on the floor.

His psychic restraint released and the admin raised her hand quickly to thrust the shard into her throat. Her fingers went numb and the shard slipped smashing by her feet as her arm slumped body collapsing to the side, she could breathe but only barely and she could move her eyes but nothing else.

"Guess you didn't act fast enough." the mewtwo had stopped at the busted doorway just to look back and mock her, "ah well, ever heard of parasitic Beedrill? I'm sure you'll make a very comfortable flesh womb meal combo, you'll get to enjoy feeling them grow inside you while unable to speak or tell anyone. Maybe they'll die inside you and the sepsis will take you out or maybe they'll adapt to keep you alive even after you should die, after all your insides will have been their comfortable little home for so long they won't want to part with it. You'll be their hive their playground protection from the real world in your chest cavity nuzzling into your ribs. Congratulations Admin. This could be the rest of your life." his smirk was simple as he flew away with force that caused the trees to bend and sway.

The admin lay there stomach twisting in knots, eyes in a panic darting around at the sight of the corpses around her as the horrors crept into her mind of what would happen, her thoughts spiraling into gibberish as the hours passed decaying her only ability to even try to communicate as her eyes flicked around in circles, death burning into her vision and the stench crawling over and seeping into her skin and senses permanently.

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  I love your witcher in need fic! For a prompt- maybe a monster or robber or something tries to use jaskier as leverage over geralt? Or as a hostage? And geralt realizes how scared that makes him?

/shrugs. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good hostage fic.

Mentions of this fic.

Geralt and Jaskier spend the next few days in town upon Geralt’s stern insistence, the latter wishing to allow Jaskier a chance to fully rest and recover from a nasty wound received after a rather terrifying encounter with a couple of Kikimora soldiers.

However, while Jaskier’s wound slowly heals, his health takes a turn in the opposite direction, leaving him with harsh, barking coughs and a near-constant fever that’s got him bedridden, more so with each passing day. Geralt’s initial fear was infection, but Jaskier’s wound isn’t an angry swollen red, but rather a faint pink around the edges, leaving Geralt to settle for Jaskier’s insistence that he merely caught a chill after being pulled under water by one of the Kikimora soldiers, though Geralt has his doubts with Jaskier’s rapidly deteriorating condition.

Geralt’s taken to the town each day Jaskier can’t find the energy to move from bed, asking around for a mage, a doctor, any single person who has even the slightest ounce of medical knowledge, yet the small town proves sparse in the medical field. Still, Geralt goes out each day, moving along a hint of desperation, and when he’s not asking each and every person he crosses paths with, he’s trying to make sense of Jaskier’s many medical books, finally pinpointing on a section detailing an infection of the lungs. His eyes dissect each symptom, and he applies each to Jaskier: the alarming coughing, the gripping fever, the inconsistent chills, the fatigue, and more recently, the rattle coated along each wheezing breath.

When he wakes on the fourth day to Jaskier’s harsh, labored breathing, face pinched in discomfort, Geralt doesn’t hesitate to slip into his clothes and seek help, medical book in hand. He moves about the town for hours, and those who do agree to stop and hear him out only offer non-descriptive medical help, instead detailing vague accounts of their own children who were stricken down with the same illness. When one woman tears up, claiming this apparent infection of the lungs claimed her seventeen-year-old son’s life a year ago, something pulls in Geralt’s stomach, a clear sense of uneasiness and fear that twist and mold together until he’s starting back to the inn to ensure his bard is still breathing.

When he steps into the inn, despite moving through familiar motions, the uneasiness in his stomach grows into a pit, his senses chasing an odd feeling that something feels terribly off. He takes to the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, before he’s throwing the suite door open, eyes zeroing in on the empty bed.

“Jaskier,” he growls, hand instinctively moving over his shoulder, fingers brushing against this hilt of his sword. He can still make out the lingering smell of Jaskier’s illness, of sweat and pain, but there’s a second smell mixing in the air that has Geralt creeping to the bed, light and quiet on his feet. The comforter is knotted on the floor, and the sheets have been pulled half-off, revealing the old, worn mattress underneath, the bed showing clear signs of a struggle.

Geralt rests his hand atop the sheets, taking note to the faint, damp warmth that coats his palm. Not long ago, he thinks, and he moves through a quick sweep of the rest of the suite, checking every inch and coming up empty with every narrow drag of his gaze. The pit in his stomach grows, fear swirling to the center, and his fingers curl tightly around the hilt of his sword as he bounds down the steps, stopping before the inn-keeper.

“My companion is missing,” he announces bluntly, pulling the inn-keepers attention toward him with a deep growl.

“A man stopped by, said he was a doctor here to help.” The inn-keeper’s voice is distracted, her attention already flicking back to her book, but Geralt presses, voice deep, threatening.

“There are no doctors in this town.”

“Maybe he’s from the next town over.”

“The next town is three days away even on the fastest horse--”

“--look, Witcher,” the inn-keeper spits out, voice colored in a clear tone of annoyance. “I don’t know where your lover went, but maybe it’s for the best.” She drags a slow gaze back to her book, and for the briefest of moments, anger sweeps across Geralt’s vision, but just as quickly, he blinks through it, sighing lowly as he moves away from the wooden counter and out the door.

He pulls a narrow gaze around his nearest surroundings, relying solely on his senses, and he starts toward the woods surrounding the small town, figuring he would have already heard a commotion if Jaskier’s been taken through the center of town.

His instincts prove accurate when he walks around a few trees and spots a series of faint footprints in the mud, one set unsteady and pulling in a different direction compared to the other even set. He moves with the footprints, often losing them at times, but he keeps in a single direction, taking note to leaves ripped from vines, to small tree branches looking as if they’ve been unwillingly broken, a second sign of a struggle.

The uneasiness shifts to a muted burn of desperation within his stomach, moving and mixing with the fear up to his chest, past his rib cage to fight against his slower heart beat. His hand brushes against the sharp edges of a broken tree limb, and then he hears an incredibly faint yet frighteningly clear sound of muffled coughing that’s got him moving quickly toward it.

The air around him, though fresh and clear, is beginning to take to a familiar scent that has hope trying to push to the front of Geralt’s thoughts, and he chases the sound and scent, through bushes and around towering trees until he’s stumbling into a small clearing where a lean man with a pointed nose has Jaskier pinned to his chest by a knife pressed to his throat, just hard enough to warrant a small trickle of blood.

Jaskier’s eyes go wide with relief, yet they’re still clouded in fear, glassy with fever, and he mutters Geralt’s name around the cloth tied against his mouth, a few, ragged coughs following. Geralt can hear the deep rattle with each, struggling breath, the shallow, choppy inhale and exhale through Jaskier’s nose, and he tries to will his mind and heart to steady so he can fully assess the situation.

Moving may prove fatal for Jaskier, so while he keeps his shoulders squared and he tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword, he doesn’t move, only offering a small tilt of the head in silent question.

“You are quite difficult to track down, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt recognizes the voice, and he casts his eyes down to the dirt below him as if searching for an answer along the mud, brief patches of grass, and footprints.

“You don’t remember me.”

Geralt pulls his gaze back up with a frown, and the man groans, pressing the knife a little harder to Jaskier’s neck.

“Three years ago? You killed my brother.”

For a brief moment, Geralt’s mind chases the new information back to a small town three years ago, a town he had been sorely unwelcome in the second he and Roach stepped foot into their territory, specifically to a small group of men known as the tavern regulars. Though small, the town was quite rowdy, and he remembers sleeping at the inn, only to be pulled awake by a knife piercing his shoulder. He remembers moving on instinct, reaching for his sword, and then he remembers pulling a knife from his shoulder, the scar still prominent to this day. He remembers stepping over lifeless bodies, and he remembers tipping the inn-keeper well.

“Your brother and his friends tried to kill me.” He finally says, blinking away the past.

“No, they only wanted to rough you up!”

“I think my sheer act of self-defense having been woken by a knife to the shoulder was severely warranted,” Geralt presses, voice low and eyes dangerously narrow.

“They were never planning on killing you!”

Geralt remembers now, those same words being yelled at him as he had pulled himself up to Roach’s back.

“They were just,” the man starts, voice abandoning the squeaking cry and turning to a darker, malicious tone, “roughing you up a bit, just as I’m doing.” He presses the knife deeper against Jaskier’s neck, eliciting a small whimper from Jaskier that Geralt clings to, fear now gripping at his heart.

“Rough me up, then. The bard’s done nothing to you.”

“No,” the man draws out, a devilish grin tugging at the corners of his lips, “but he’s my ticket to you.”

He moves to make the final press to Jaskier’s throat, to slice clean through the small, bleeding slit, and suddenly, Geralt’s potion is weighing a hole in his pocket, but he can’t reach for it, he can’t move against the pure, icy, terrifying clutch of fear that’s pushing against him, freezing his limbs in place, but then Jaskier’s swinging his head back away from the knife, bashing the back of his head to the man’s face, and Geralt takes the brief moment to snag his potion, ripping the lid off with his teeth and dumping the contents down his throat in one, long swig.

His eyes coat to a deep black, and his veins jut out underneath his skin, and then he’s moving, drawing his sword while pulling Jaskier away from the man while the man’s staggering a few feet away, cradling a bloody nose.

Jaskier hits the ground, coughing miserably and wincing at the pain that jolts up and down his arm, his sutures pulling against the sudden jerk and pressure. He drops to his side, and he can barely watch as Geralt moves effortlessly along the effects of the potion.

Geralt moves without thinking, swinging his sword until the man’s running off into the woods, sobbing and leaving a pooling trail of blood, and only when he’s sure the man’s gone, listening closely to the fading footfalls, does he turn to Jaskier, movements aggressive, desperate. He yanks the cloth from Jaskier’s mouth, and Jaskier struggles to suck in a ragged breath, lungs quaking, failing, and then he’s coughing over and over until blood trickles past his lips.

And true, unaltered fear hits Geralt like a crashing wave in an ocean, fear of Jaskier’s condition, fear of losing Jaskier, an endless push of fear that Jaskier’s death would be his fault. He scoops Jaskier into his arms, so quickly it’s almost dangerous, and he spins on his heel, stopping when black eyes lock onto sharp, purple ones.

“Yennefer?”

“Looks like your bard’s dying,” Yennefer starts, sighing, “again.”

Jaskier’s unconscious in Geralt’s arms, barely breathing, chest moving in quick, shallow motions, and Geralt brings a gaze from Yennefer, to Jaskier, then back, and his voice is shaking despite the potion bleeding strength to every crevice of his body.

“Can you--”

“--yes,” Yennefer interrupts, already turning sharply on her heel. “I’ll save your lover.”

Geralt doesn’t think of anything other than the shivering bard in his arms, and he follows Yennefer back to the inn. His potion begins to wear off when he sets Jaskier into the bed, and he backs away, Jaskier’s ragged coughs sounding far too loud to his ears, until his back hits the wall across the room. He slides down the rough wood, hitting the floor with a low thump as Yennefer works through touch and magic. He watches with bated breath, only exhaling when he hears Jaskier suck in a deep breath, no rattle clinging to his lungs. He can hear Jaskier’s heart beat slow to a steady, rhythmic thump, and he cranes his neck to see the pained, flushed expression fade to smooth lines and pale cheeks.

“He’ll sleep for a while, but he should be well when he wakes,” Yennefer announces, heels clicking against the wooden floor as she turns from the bed and starts to Geralt. “I even worked on the wound. Some of the sutures ripped out. It’ll scar, but,” she pulls her gaze over her shoulder to the sleeping bard before dragging it back to Geralt, “it will be healed when he wakes, as will his neck.”

“I can pay you,” Geralt starts, voice still shaking slightly. “I’ll do whatever you would like to repay you for this,” but when he moves to stand, to retrieve the money he’s earned from jobs, Yennefer stops him with a single sharp gaze, a single hand raised.

“I don’t want your money, Geralt,” she draws out, sighing, voice tinged with slight annoyance. “All I want is for you to realize that your kind doesn’t mix well with his kind.”

“What--”

“You’ll get him killed one of these days.” She walks out of the room, and Geralt listens as the faint sounds of her heels disappear, her words pushing around his mind as he slowly gets to his feet. He stumbles to the bed, crawling in beside Jaskier, desperate to drift off to the comforting sounds of Jaskier’s beating heart, but then Jaskier rolls over until he’s facing Geralt, and his eyes flick open.

“Jaskier--”

“She’s wrong,” Jaskier whispers, voice thick with sleep. “You won’t get me killed. I trust you completely.”

You shouldn’t, Geralt thinks, but he only pulls Jaskier to his chest, pressing his lips to the top of Jaskier’s head. “Rest, Jaskier.”

[uraharasandals]

Hey could I have a request for Akutagawa and his female s/o also being work partners in the port mafia and her ability is fire, like Dabi from BNHA? Like it damages her body when she uses it cause she isn't immune to her own super strong flames? And angst and fluff?

Hi anon! First off, I know you requested angst and fluff but I'm sorry I went a bit overboard with the angst and there's probably zero fluff available here! Nonetheless, I hope you like it :) and it hopefully does stick to what you were looking for <3 feel free to request again if it doesn’t!

Also there’s apparently a formatting issue that prevents me from separating paragraphs. Just for clarity’s sake, I’ll add in // to show that it’s meant to cut off there. 

  He knew you were more than capable than taking care of yourself. That was one of the main reasons you caught his eye after all; he wouldn't even cast so much a glance towards the so-called 'strong', and definitely not the weaklings. Furthermore, you were to be his partner. The notion of doing otherwise would be ridiculous. 

  Akutagawa supposed that, at the beginning, your strength was what attracted him. And that was true; he didn't care for something so flimsy such as feelings. But as time passes, he felt...some kind of warmth from his chest whenever he looked at you. And somehow, he had became captivated. The flowing ink of your hair. The determined fire kindling in your eyes. The lithe form of your body, resembling that of a hunter as you fight. Most importantly, the outline and flash of flames as you release your ability, and the writhing form of the enemy in agony, before crumbling to ash. Beauty in its rawest form. 

  (People often say that Akutagawa was a ruthless killing machine with no regard for human emotion and aesthetics. That wasn't true. It takes a certain aesthetic to captivate him, and somehow, you were it.)

   And captivate him you did. He always thought that fire had a strange beauty in it; a fiery flare of glory and then dying down just as quickly. Exactly the way he meant to be in battle; and the irony of his partner wielding flames as her ability did not escape him. He lives, he fights, and he dies. What more joy would a partner holding the same principles bring him? 

   Except, the irony of your ability was not felt much, much later. 

//

      It was a stupid thing. The most stupidest thing really, but he had been so accustomed to you watching his back and fighting alongside to him that he had no qualms about tearing his eyes away from you, and the lack of necessity to protect you made having a fighting partner so much more easier. Until Akutagawa - he who does not have faults in battle except the occassional temper and frequent coughs - stumbled, and somehow found himself surrounded, paralyzed. How did that happen, again? 

   And like an emergency flare, you came to his escape in a burst of fireworks, anger and worry taking over, successfully incinerating the enemies in columns of fire. What he did not expect, however, was you burning up as well. 

   " - gawa-senpai! Are you okay? I heard a scream - ________-san!" 

   Higuchi's gasp was as annoying as ever, but for once was he glad the woman was there; cradling your body, his mind was in such a state of shock that nothing made sense to him except the heat of your frame, much warmer than usual, as if your flames were coursing through your very own veins. Thankfully, your body was intact, but Akutagawa had been through enough battles to recognise first and second-degree burns when he saw them. His hands felt cold - probably so damn hot that his system couldn't handle the shock - but he ignored it. Because nothing mattered at the moment except reviving you. 

   For the first time, Akutagawa felt a sudden panic seize his heart. 

    "Akutagawa-senpai." Someone was shaking his shoulder. He was still in shock, looking at your limp form, the feverish red on your face, the patches of pink skin on your wrists where the flames were the strongest, the movement of your chest that reassured him that you were, at the very least, alive, the -- 

    "Akutagawa-senpai. The medics are here." 

    He unwillingly let the medical team take you away, lifting your body onto a stretcher and carrying you onto a white van. What he only registered though, was your hand dangling over the side of the stretcher, the soft and warm skin that he had loved so much to caress and hold between his own now littered with burns and the red characterizing heat. For a split second, he thought he could see faint growing crimson lines where your veins were; another blink of his eyes told him it was his imagination. 

    "Akutagawa...senpai?"

     Only Higuchi's quizzical face made him realise that he was still  kneeling with his ears ringing, and his head full of confusion. Akutagawa stood up, stumbling slightly - but waving his assistant away as she surged forward to help him - and shook his head to clear his thoughts. Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the invading smell of smoke that just brought back memories of your burnt body, he cleared his throat, and spoke. 

    "I'm fine. You're in the way, Higuchi." 

    "I-I'm sorry, senpai!" 

    Annoyance. That was what caused a sharp surge of heat inside his chest, before he felt a stab of guilt. Ryunosuke! Treat her nicely, will you? For some incomprehensively stupid reason, your voice suddenly surfaced from the back of his mind, chiding his apparently 'distateful' behaviour towards his subordinate. How could you be so mean to a girl?! 

    Strange. He'd never really paid attention to how he treated Higuchi, not exactly. After all, she was a pawn of the Port Mafia and someone expendable. Besides, it didn't matter exactly how well or how bad he treated her, because it made no difference.  But now, as he straightened up and glanced back, just slightly, he saw a flicker of hurt flash over Higuchi's face before she re-composed herself. 

   In that split second, he thought he heard you scolding him again.

//

   Loneliness. For the first time, possibly since he was born, Akutagawa started to have a sense of hollowness spreading from his chest, and numbing the rest of his body. He wondered what it was, before a teasing remark by Tachihara gave name to it. 

   At first, he thought it was ridiculous. How could he feel lonely? But then, after staring at the never-ending pile of paperwork stacked on the desk in front of him, Akutagawa felt a sense of ache in his heart, and he couldn't concentrate on his work. Not any more. Not when all his head was full of was you.

    Usually the go-to situation for anything remotely like this was to initiate a sparring session with someone, anyone in the Port Mafia. Or even in the Detective Agency, because despite their love-hate relationship, Akutagawa had to grudgingly admit that a fight with the man-tiger left him somewhat...more refreshed than before. But apparently, that solution wouldn't work today. Not just because of the fact that you were stuck in the Port Mafia hospital and he wouldn't want to go anywhere else (forcing him back into his office already took  a ton of energy and he had Higuchi to thank for that, yet again), but also there was a sense of strange weariness clinging to his limbs, dragging him down and making him listless. The sense of tiredness reminded him of that time he fought with Chuuya, when he was hit by gravity and forced onto the ground. This wasn't like that either, though. At the time, he was pumped full of adrenaline (likely because it was in the heat of battle, but still) and was determined to get back up. Now, he felt like lying down and not getting up, not even to ease the strange ache in his chest. 

    Akutagawa wondered if there was something medically wrong with him, and whether he should head to the hospital for a check-up. However, instead of freaking out over him like she always did, Higuchi merely placed a cup of warm tea by his side, gathering some of his completed paperwork, before quietly slipping away. Oh well. If Higuchi thought it was no big deal, then surely there wasn't something too serious with him.

    For the first time, he yearned for your presence next to him, in the office, by his side. 

 //     "Ryunosuke, I recently figured out how to properly use my ability! Do you want to see it? I'm sure it'll be great in supporting you in battle." 

     "Later, ________. I need to finish a report for the Boss - " 

     "Sure! See you at the practice rooms then! I'll ask Higuchi-san to - " 

//

    To what? That was a long ago memory, and when Akutagawa came to he found that he was still at his desk, but head side down on the wooden surface. The blasphemy of falling asleep at work didn't even occur to him as he blinked sleepily, before realising the sun had gone down and it was dark outside. He shifted, attempting to sit up straight, before feeling the weight of something on his shoulders. A blanket. Someone must've snuck in, saw him all tired, and drapped a blanket over his shoulders. 

     And that someone had left a note at his desk as well, in Higuchi's neat handwriting. Before his brain could fully wake up, Akutagawa was already out of the door after skimming the message through once, bolting down the corridors to the hospital, with his mind full of, and only about, you. 

     ______-san had waken up. You can go see her now.

     He didn't notice the small darkened dots on the paper, already dried, but clearly discernible as tears. 

//

     "_________" The first thing that left his lips was your name, right after he burst through the doors like a madman. The hospital staff remained unfazed even from the commotion, and merely left the room silently, leaving him alone with you. 

    You. Akutagawa had been yearning for your touch ever since the day you were taken from him, but somehow at the sight of his partner bandaged up and confined to the bed he froze up, limbs suddenly uncooperative. At the sound of his banging around and the sudden departure of the medical staff, you weakly raised your head to see what was going on, before focusing your eyes onto the man in front of you. "Ryu....nosuke?" 

   The weakness in your voice made his heart felt like it was going to break into a thousand pieces, though he held it in with a swallow, before forcing himself forward.  "It's me." Akutagawa perched cautiously onto the chair at your bedside, before mentally chiding himself for the lame reply. "H...how are you feeling?" 

   "Like I'm banged up in ten different parts of my body." Somehow, you still managed a weak smile in that kind of situation. "I'll be fine though. I heal soon." 

    He supposed you wanted to cheer him up, though the false sense of cheeriness was overwhelmed by the slight trembling in your voice. "You should rest. You were pretty hurt earlier on." Akutagawa insisted, and there was a weak chuckle letting itself through your lips. Looking at your severely injured state, he suddenly felt a surge of anger. "Hey, _____. Who amongst those bastards did this to you? I'll go back and hunt them down."

     "No one did, Ryunosuke." Was it his imagination, or were your eyes strangely bright under the light? "It was me. My ability did this." 

      "Do you mean your ability defected - " 

      "No." You cut him off, and turned to look him full in the eyes. It wasn't his imagination then; your eyes were suspiciously bright, and a tear spilled over, trailing down your cheek. Before he knew it, Akutagawa had reached out to brush it away, and you caught his hand midway. "It's a stupid side effect. If I use it too hard, it'll come back to hurt me." He was startled at the sudden revelation, caught off guard and wasn't sure what to reply. Apparently you took that as his silent rejection, because your trembling hand had let go of his. "I know. It's a defect that rendered me weak and defenseless. I know you don't like people who are weak, Ryunosuke, so - " 

    Akutagawa wasn't sure what had came over him, but instinctively he had surged forward and kissed you. Maybe it was the habit of you doing so to shut him up endearingly that caused him to do so. Maybe he was trying to release that pent-up sense of exhaustion and frustration from the afternoon. And yes, maybe he was desperate. 

   When he finally pulled away, he saw that the sadness in your eyes had already given way to surprise, before a sense of love that he'd only saw when he was heavily injured or sick. Which was strange, because you were the one heavily banged up now, and yet...

    "Thank you," You whispered, tears already spilling over onto the bandages. "I'm sorry." 

     At the feeble apology, Akutagawa felt his heart torn apart again, but the words struggle to get through his mouth, getting stuck in his throat and effectively choking him. So he didn't say anything of substance. Instead, he planted a palm onto your hair, patting it somewhat cautiously and hoping you wouldn't feel much pain. "Get some rest, ________." 

[lily-blue]

CODE Z3RO | CODE 06

characters: BTS & Red Velvet genre: thriller, futuristic au warning: death summary: The twelve most ambitious and promising university students are welcomed in Choego, the world’s first entirely artificial intelligence-driven city, to compete for five job contracts that could change their life. But what if something goes wrong? What if they get trapped? What if the city suddenly turns against them? Can they find a way out before the countdown reaches zero? words: 4,3K tagged: @philosopher-of-fandoms​

➼ Chapter Index

In the blinding light of the rising Sun, Park Jimin and Jung Hoseok were walking towards the bridge that separated Choego from the nearest city along South-Korea’s western coast, the one and only exit route from the artificial funhouse where they had been trapped inside. They were tamed lions roaring on a deep red podium, animals that meant nothing in the human eye and it made the younger man’s blood boil hence even without Kim Taehyung being around, the atmosphere that embraced them was cold and kind of suffocating. 

‘Aish!’ Jimin mumbled under his nose when the recorded voice on the other side of the call once again informed him about the weak or nonexistent signal and the fact that he was unable to reach the other party until it stayed unstable. His long fingers clenched around the useless device with anger as his knuckles changed their colours from tanned to pale white. The young heir hated nothing more than to be powerless therefore he refused to give up. Taking a deep breath, he dialed his father’s number for the fifth time within the last twenty minutes.

‘What’s wrong?’ Hoseok asked when the engineer let out a frustrated sigh, swallowing back an inappropriate scream that truly scratched his throat now that even his battery was ready to laugh at his face, a few percents from the verge of ultimate death. When the older’s worried question eventually reached the back of his mind, he wanted to kick into his phone, throwing it onto the ground or simply drop it into the first trash can, they might have found in their way to the port. For a passing moment, he wanted to get rid of it so badly to show his superiority over the tool that he almost did throw it metres away but he yearned for the outer world and his mobile data way too desperately therefore he shoved it into his pocket instead. He was willing to give it another try once he managed to calm his tense nerves down.

‘There’s no signal therefore I can’t reach my father nor Miss Raina. This shit really drives me crazy,’ he admitted, not wasting his energy on turning towards the Sociology major who walked a few steps behind him with his gaze fixed on the back of his head.

As it usually happened when people didn’t share common interests nor significant personal traits, the boys were stuck in silence and spent the next twenty minutes with their own thoughts, awkward and wordless.

‘Is he…’ a weak voice spoke up, slowly fading into nothingness as its owner had lost his initial confidence. Park Jimin cleared his throat then stopped and forced his company to do the same as he lifted up his left arm, stretching his fingers wide and putting his palm onto Hoseok’s chest. For a few seconds, they looked at each other firmly, on Hoseok’s part, a slightly confused, before Jimin would have opened his mouth. ‘Well, you know. Is Seokjin really dead? Are you sure, it wasn’t just a cheap trick or something? Maybe they knew it all along. Maybe they assumed that we’ll try to hack the cameras and they prepared for it in advance with believable footages,’ he said and Hoseok had to admit that regardless of the desperation in his voice, the boy’s reasoning sounded pretty logical. The scientists, who had been working on the breadth and depth of this research for long months if not years, were ones of the smartest brains in the world. They must have known how risky the human variable could be. They must have been prepared for everything.

Yet, all he could force through his lips was ‘It did seem believable… those bloody tears and his body frozen in agony.’

Swallowing an unpleasant remark, Jimin let go of the Sociology major and fished his phone out of his pocket to keep his mind busy before it could have gone into overdrive. He didn’t want to think of the possibility of Seokjin being dead. It was too awful and frightening. 

So they took the remaining distance without talking which meant another ten minutes in utter silence. The only sound that filled the atmosphere was the younger’s frustrated sigh that left his mouth whenever he failed to reach his father or his decorated secretary. As he clenched his teeth, he couldn’t wait to leave this awful place behind and complain about this simulation to his friends via social media. He had an enormous follower base - handsome chaebols like him were the newest sensation in the industry because young and poor people liked them almost as much as they liked talented actors and idols - and he was so ready to use them, the public to expose how poorly this company treated their candidates. They had clearly no idea whom they had been picking on. 

‘What do you think, what happens when someone tries to invade a zone that had been already shut down entirely?’ Hoseok asked seemingly out of the blue although as soon as Jimin lifted his head, he could see the older staring at a thick, white panel on the concrete. It was nothing dangerous, but it did make them halt a few centimetres from the transparent border.

‘Dunno,’ he answered honestly, scratching his nape. According to that not-so-useful map they had found in the computer room with Yoongi, the bridge was on the opposite side of the city which they planned to reach by following the river and then the seashore. Since this damned, artificial city wasn’t on any available online map nor their phones were functioning to begin with, they could have gotten lost in Choego easily in any other way. It was time-consuming but rational. It was their best shot.

Therefore Jimin took the first step towards the abandoned zone and looked at his company from above his shoulder with a smug smile, showing off his bravery.

‘Let’s find out,’ he said and made his features look firmer as he clenched his lips and speeded up his pace. The younger boy walked with confidence regardless of his jittery heart that crashed into his rib cage screaming, begging him to think it over one last time. Because deep down he wasn’t entirely sure that the researchers were indeed clever enough to think about every possible hardship that their project might have faced with in the final phase. Though, he wasn’t a coward and didn’t intend to reveal his fear to someone as lame as Hoseok. He had pride, he was better than that.

‘Be careful,’ the Sociology major asked him quietly but Jimin just shushed him with a scoff and kept going.

The closer his feet got to the panel, the more uneven his breathing became and it was insane, he knew it, but he couldn’t help. He didn’t want to share the same fate as Seokjin if he had indeed died. On the other hand, even the idea of a bunch of creepy scientists in their stupid white coats watching them bleed out in a gas cabin was absurd. Killing a man in daylight during a live stream. How insane it was.

With his heart in his throat, he stepped on the thick line. Nothing happened.

‘See? Everything is just fine. I told you,’ he said with a victorious smile as he waved with his right hand, encouraging Hoseok to follow him towards the sea. Truth to tell, he couldn’t have recalled another time when he’d felt this relieved before and suddenly he felt stupid to feel uneasy and think about death in a city like Choego. Although there were lots of things the researchers needed to upgrade like the shitty signal, this place was the future. ‘Damn. I bet, Seokjin’s already drinking his consolation morning coffee with the researchers somewhere in the headquarter. Dead bodies, my as—’

With the next careless step, Jimin fell on the ground mid-sentence.

‘Hey! What’s wrong? Jimin, what’s happening?’ Hoseok screamed at him as the first wave of shock had washed over him and his frozen body. He ran to the guy paying attention at the white panel then sat on his heels within an inch from the boy whose body was slightly shaking and whose skin seemed surprisingly red like roasted meat. The characteristic smell of his favourite bacon burger made him feel queasy hence he had to lift his hand and held back his breath.

He looked at the occasionally trembling body for long minutes before he dared to touch him with the sleeve of his jacket. He felt hot even through the thick material.

‘Dude, it’s not funny. Open your eyes, you hear me?’ he begged fighting his tears but his voice was faint, barely audible as he stood up and took a few unsteady steps backwards. When the realization finally hit him - that Jimin was dead and there was no way out -, he stumbled and fell. He wished, the physical pain had been the only thing he could have felt. But the dread was stronger and almost unbearable.

‘Shit…’ 

By the time Hoseok got back to the hospital, the rest of the team was nowhere to be found therefore he ran across the park that separated the abandoned building from the research centre and rushed inside, not caring about the cap that fell out of his pocket due to his hasty movements. He looked for familiar faces on every floor but fifteen minutes later when he eventually gave up and walked out of the electrical door, he was still on his own.

Lungs burning because of overexertion, the Sociology major was on the verge of fainting when a few corners from the green area his gaze shifted from the enormous buildings to a small group of moving shadows. The boy was panting heavily, his clothes soaked in sweat, but he scolded his tired limbs and kept going.

‘Guys, wait! Please, slow down!’ he shouted as soon as he was close enough to be heard, relief invading his aching body as a few people halted upon his plea.

Hoseok almost fell onto his knees when his shaky legs stopped a few inches from Wendy, tears brimming his puffy eyes. Scanning all the remaining members of the team, a part of him couldn’t believe that he had indeed managed to find them before another tragical accident would have taken place in the monstrous city, though they were all alive. Thankful, he gave in to the growing pain and kneeled on the ground.

‘What are you doing here, dumbass? I thought that you’re too noble to team up with a jerk like me. Did you finally realize that you’re nothing better than a dog on your own? All bark, no bite,’ Taehyung asked with his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking down on the grown up crybaby both literally and in a figurative sense as he took a firm step forwards.

Hoseok snapped his head at the boy, lips clenched and palms in trembling fists by his sides. No one said a word.

‘Shut up, you asshole or else…’ he started angrily, eyes boring deep into the other boy’s spiteful eyes. He wanted to prove him and everyone else wrong so bad yet his weak threat got cut off by a mocking retort that had meant to be provocative.

‘Or else?’ Taehyung asked with his left brow in the middle of his forehead, words being cruel on purpose, malice clinging onto them tightly the same way leeches would have clung onto a lively human body. The lopsided smile that took shape on his attractive mouth sent a jolt down Hoseok’s spine. It was cold and terrifying.

A few ephemeral seconds later it was Namjoon who first noticed the young chaebol’s obvious absence or who had enough guts to voice out the question that had invaded everyone’s mind. 

‘Where’s Jimin?’ he asked as his long fingers found his girlfriend’s sweaty palm and taking a firm step ahead, his body shielded Wendy from the upcoming storm. Rationally thinking, he knew that he wasn’t strong enough to protect the girl if all hell had broken loose but it didn’t meant that he couldn’t have tried. He was ready to take a few punches if needed thus he absolutely refused to let the girl go even though he was aware of her independent strength. Aish. How much he hated the heated tension between Taehyung and everyone with actual thoughts.

‘Considering this one’s low IQ level and serious lack of essential social skills such as humour, he might bored him to death,’ Taehyung mused out, poking at the said boy who rocked himself back and forth on the ground, murmuring incoherent words under his nose. He seemed so out of it as if he had been in a completely different place and those who were familiar with the common patterns of human behaviour knew that something terrible must have happened. Otherwise Hoseok would have stood up and have screamed at Taehyung’s face for being so annoyingly cocky.

‘He died but it wasn’t my fault. I swear, it wasn’t me,’ he cried out when the silence became too suffocating and vivid memories of Jimin’s roasted body came back to haunt the one and only witness of the accident. Looking at his own shoes, Hoseok couldn’t stop his warm tears from running down his crimson cheeks.

‘See?’ Taehyung asked, mocking, when to his biggest surprise, the Sociology major’s words were followed by nothing but barely audible whispers and a few frustrated sighs. Walking beside Hoseok, he sat on his heels, wondering whether the others had truly believed his story. Had they really thought that this shaking idiot was innocent regardless of his claim about Jimin being dead? Were they really stupid and naive enough to let him stay? It was utterly ridiculous.

The Marketing major was about to voice out his opinion when Yoongi elbowed his way through the mass.

‘Okay, everybody, calm down!’ he said and his steps made a halt a few inches from Taehyung who looked up at him with a frown. To his mishap, the IT guy seemed unbothered by his behaviour. He kept his eyes strictly on Hoseok. ‘What happened?’

The addressed boy snuffed and wiped his tears off his cheeks.

‘In one minute, we walked towards the bridge, more than ready to leave this hell behind for good. In the other, he walked across a transparent field and died. His whole body was shaking due to the electricity and that smell. He smelled like roasted beef,’ he told the older weakly with slightly shaking hands, gaze fixed on the concrete because he couldn’t look neither of his teammates in the eye. Thinking of the chaebol felt painful even though they hadn’t been friends just unlucky acquaintances and the fact that he had to enlighten them didn’t make his life easier. He had long regretted not rejecting this opportunity when his girlfriend hadn’t been accepted by the company. He should have stayed with her and then now he would have melted in her gentle arms instead of him wrapping his own around his figure. 

‘Splendid! Who the hell thought that it’s a good idea to set up an electric fencing system in the middle of the city? Are they completely nuts?’ Taehyung snorted as he stood up and turned around. He was pretty disappointed when he scanned everyone yet failed to find someone who could have shared his anger.

‘At least their security system is well-designed and lethal. Choego is promised to be the safest place on Earth for a reason,’ the boy with the dark brown locks said, earning another snort with his irritating comment. Jungkook hid behind Wendy and scratched his nape out of uneasiness when his gaze met Taehyung’s. Obviously, he hadn’t meant that building deadly electrical systems was right but blaming the scientist for everything might have been a bit too much. If someone had attacked the city, these fences would have been useful. They hadn’t been set up to mean harm, not for them at least.

‘Safest place, my butt! I need to take a breather,’ the Marketing major said and turned on his heels walking towards the fountain in the middle of the park with markedly furious steps. He didn’t give a damn when Yoongi raised his voice, giving him a brief time limit for everybody’s sake. He didn’t want to take unnecessary risks just because of some cocky idiot who couldn’t keep his emotions - especially his anger - in control. At this point, he would have turned his back on him and kept searching for a possible way out without guilt.

‘Sure but be quick. According to the pattern, they shut down a zone in every hour which means we have to reach the main computer as soon as possible since we don’t know the order. This zone might be the next.’

Regardless of the distance between them Taehyung couldn’t let the opportunity go and looked back at the bunch of losers from above his shoulder with a smug smile on his lips.

‘Or the one we plan to run into, completely blind,’ he said eager to see their reaction, a pinch of anxiety that could have eased his heart. His gaze shifted from Yoongi to Hoseok then to Yerim who had a hard time finding her balance without his overprotecting brother, shoulder leaning against Wendy desperately. Taehyung smirked. Hell, this was the response he had been waiting for ever since the Sociology major’s sudden appearance. Something alive, something human under the seemingly balanced surface.

‘Could you shut up for once?’ the redhead girl asked with anger although the boy didn’t bother with an answer. He shrugged and walked away.

Wendy pulled the youngest closer and fondled her left arm to soothe her nerves at least a little after the enormous amount of shock that she had received during the last few hours. Truth to tell, the med student wasn’t sure that Yerim would be able to process the pain in the near future or ever. If Namjoon had been the one who stuck in the lab and she’d had to watch him bleed out, she wouldn’t have been able to move on not to mention dealing with the hardships, Taehyung constantly maintained with his pessimistic attitude. 

‘Although, he’s not wrong,’ Yoongi had to admit, his statement pushing Hoseok to his limits. The Sociology major’s gaze became blurry while his skin shifted to an unhealthy shade of light green.

‘I think, I’ll throw up,’ he said and not long after he indeed puked a few inches from the IT guy’s boots. After a while, when he vomited enough for his stomach to be empty, all he was doing is retching and spitting up bile.

‘Don’t worry. We’re safe for now,’ Seulgi said quietly earning a confused glance from Yoongi when Wendy pushed him farther and vehemently sat on her heels by the trembling boy’s side with a bottle of lukewarm water in her hands.

Joohyun leaned against a pole, muscles tense and mind in pain from overthinking, while her gaze shifted to Jungkook who sat next to the sobbing Yerim quietly. As far as she could remember, this was the first time the boy acted considerate in the young girl’s presence ever since they had crossed the border of Choego, offering her a tissue and a bottle of water that she accepted with a forced smile and a quiet thank you. They looked lovely but watching them felt surreal and out of place all of a sudden considering the loss their team had suffered. Slowly but surely she had to accept that it wasn’t a silly game anymore. It was very much real, the death, even if some of them still believed in fairytales. 

‘Don’t you think that his story is too good to be true?’ an amused voice asked her a bit mockingly and her shoulders jumped at the suggesting question. There was no need for her to turn towards its owner, by now she would have recognised Taehyung’s raspy tone out of a dozen of other voices since he talked too much and never once held back his opinion. 

The girl raised a brow.

‘What’s so good about it? That Jimin is dead?’ she asked back as she crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying to keep her nonexistent cool as she refused to look at the disturber. Yet, it didn’t restrain the boy from taking a step forwards, his chest fitting close to the girl’s back. Taehyung leaned near Joohyun’s ear and whispered into it while he looked at the same direction, letting his warm breath to fondle the girl’s smooth skin on purpose. He wanted to make her feel uncomfortable because people in general were weaker and easier to manipulate when they were pushed out of their comfort zone.

‘That he’s out of the game,’ he stated with a content smile and stepped next to the girl, remaining within a close proximity. He chose his words carefully just in case someone had been watching them from the shadows although he doubted, anyone would have had enough time to kill with such an act. The smartass IT guy was busy with taking Seokjin’s place, Hoseok was still throwing up with Wendy by his side and her monkey at her heels while the little girl cried her eyes out like a pathetic child and Golden Boy gave in for his guilt, comforting her after pushing her brother into a grim reaper’s welcoming arms. Oh, and Miss Invisible stuck with being a ghost.

‘What do you want to say with this? That Hoseok killed him on purpose just to get one of those freaking contracts?’ Joohyun asked facing the boy with the devilish smile. He looked handsome in some ways she had to give it to him but his attitude was the one that pecked the girl’s interest. He acted like an annoying douchebag, a cruel one without an actual human soul from chlicé, young adult bestsellers who didn’t care about anyone except for himself and of course the mysteriously innocent love of his life. Yet, he had taken the energy to talk to her dropping the smug attitude and the offensive act. If she hadn’t taken the topic they had been discussing into consideration, he would have sounded friendly as if he had had enough of being the only person in their group without an ally. As an excellent psychology major, she could understand his reasons. People couldn’t be without company for long. It was against their nature. Everyone needed someone, something to talk to.

‘Why not? Do you really believe his story about that accident? The Rich Guy wouldn’t have been so stupid to walk into a dead zone carelessly,’ he stated with confidence and for a sheer moment, he sounded persuasive enough for the girl to keep her mouth shut. She raised a brow and shifted her gaze to Hoseok in the distance still shaking from the huge amount of bile he had splitted on the concrete. He looked harmless like a big crybaby who was too weak to even survive on his own. The assumption that he had killed someone was ridiculous. But weren’t the most innocent looking people the most dangerous ones? They had the ability to hurt others because in their company no one expected to get hurt.

Joohyun shook her head. No, it was still nonsense. She couldn’t let Taehyung to conquer her thoughts. 

‘We’re not murderers. You’re insane,’ she said firmly, a part of her ready to turn her back on the boy yet his firm grab stopped her from doing anything hasty. She looked at him, eyes boring deep into his, and clenched her lips, the rosy flesh slowly fading into a single, white line.

‘Don’t talk to me so mighty. I saw you smiling with pure satisfaction after you got that lamp out of the door’s way. You walked away with Sooyoung’s bracelet in your hand,’ Taehyung claimed before he let go of the girl’s wrist and took a step closer. He stood in front of Joohyun within such a small proximity, the girl’s heart skipped a beat when his breath fondled her cheek. The boy tilted his head towards the youngsters and smirked like a wild animal, a predator eyeing his prey. ‘You also let everyone put the blame on Golden Boy when in reality, it was you who killed that annoying girl.’

Joohyun’s legs trembled and became wobbly when she tried to stretch the distance between herself and the boy and also between herself and the crime, she had indeed committed. But back then she hadn’t known that her selfish actions would have caused the mentioned girl’s death. She hadn’t have the slightest clue. She wouldn’t have done it if she had known. She wasn’t a murderer, was she? 

With panic in her eyes and fear clinging onto her voice, her shoulder crashed into the pole, chest bouncing like crazy. She hadn’t put the blame on Jungkook intentionally, it had just happened. Why would have she corrected the others when the boy himself thought that it had been all his fault? Why would have given a reason for the others to despise her? Why? It made no sense, all she had done was thinking rationally. It didn’t matter who had left the rich girl behind, she had been already dead. Honesty wouldn’t have brought her back.

‘What do you want?’ she asked, weak, on the verge of a panic attack. Taehyung took a step backwards to let her breathe. Such a nuisance. 

‘The same as you. One of those freaking contracts as you said,’ he informed the girl with his gaze on her fragile figure. Well, he obviously hadn’t assumed that his words would push her towards the edge. Yet, he kept going. ‘And darling, there is no such thing as too high price for it.’

With that, he walked away, not giving a damn about Joohyun who had to hold onto the pole and go on her knees to set herself free from the burdens of suffocation. She counted to ten, to thirty, to one hundred. She counted until her breathing became even and Yoongi’s well-calculated plans put an end to their compulsive break.

➼  VII. chapter

[noa748]

Do you have the Trigun Si posted anywhere?

nah.  but for your amusement, here’s what I have so far…

The sky is an unbelievable shade of blue.

The observation sparked a sense of déjà vu in him.  The temperature was unusually mild today and the sunshine more cheery than severe.  It almost felt like he was being mocked.

That’s right.  I remember thinking the same thing the day I met…

…The day he met that terrifying man in the white jacket.  The last person he had met that made him feel such an utter lack of control.  He felt like he was unraveling today, just like he had back then…

Another step.  His feet felt like they were weighted with lead.  History repeated itself, didn’t it?  Here he was, alone all over again.

His brother was gone.  Vanished.

Well, that wasn’t right.  He was certainly somewhere, but there was no trail to follow.  He hadn’t even taken his gun, which was unthinkable.  Had he been in his right mind?  Still injured, he posed a threat mostly to himself—but fully healed, he was a threat to humanity.

Vash the Stampede wasn’t sure what to make of it.  He just knew that the moment he lost track of Knives, he had to leave everything he had built for himself behind.  No one he loved was safe with his brother on the loose.

Rem… how could I have been such a fool?

His pack felt heavier than normal; his shoulder was already getting sore.  He wasn’t used to traveling like this anymore.  He had practiced shooting and worked out every morning for the past six months, but he had still softened up.  He hadn’t realized how much he had been hoping for it all to finally end… until it hadn’t.

He was thinking a lot about the past today, as he trudged step by step through the desert to the city of Octovern.

The girls, at least, were safe.  They were going to be angry with him for leaving, for doing this again, but they were safe.

One night, back then, they almost hadn’t been.  The night he’d taken a life to save them.  How much more would it take to protect the ones he loved?

God helps those who help themselves, friend.

He could hear Wolfwood chastising him even now.  It was the truth; he would just have to keep moving and hope for the best.  He was just so damn tired… couldn’t he be shown some kind of sign, some kind of pat on the back telling him it’d be okay in the end?

Just as he had this thought, he crested a hill and caught a glimpse of a crumpled figure on the other side.  For a moment his breath caught in his throat and he forgot his weary musings; then the figure shifted weakly, and he unthinkingly broke out into a run.

—-

Hey.  Hey… miss—are you okay?  

It was hard to differentiate the voice from the hazy dream I’d been having.  Was this another hallucination?  Blond spiky hair, red coat, bright blue eyes… I knew him.

“Vasss th’ zampeede,” I managed to mumble, squeezing my eyes shut and then opening them again.  My tongue felt swollen.  There was sand in my mouth, in my eyes, jammed into every crevice in my body.

He froze for the briefest of moments, but then I saw him shuffle around for something in his coat.  Something touched my lips and then water, glorious water was flowing into my mouth.

I grabbed at the waterskin and managed to take a solid swig before he tore it out of my hands.  The water stayed down for about two seconds before my stomach revolted and I threw it back up.

“Easy now,” he said quietly, lightly rubbing my back.

When I shakily reached for the waterskin a second time, he kept a firm hold on it and let me have a little at a time.

—-

Who is this girl?

She knew his name.  That alone was coming as less and less of a surprise nowadays, as people started to learn the full story and hear his name associated with more positive deeds.  Without Knives actively working against him, the tides had begun to slowly turn.

But something about her was so strange.  First of all she was carrying no pack, just a small purse slung over her shoulder.  She wore jeans and a t-shirt—nothing to shield her from the desert sun, which was made even more evident by the sunburn she was sporting.

Nothing to shield her save for the cap she wore, a style he hadn’t seen in a long time.  The logo on the front of it read “Patagonia”.

Her shirt had a logo on it, too.  It said “Anchorage, Alaska” and had picture of what looked like… were those mountains?  He had only seen mountains in the books he’d read as a kid.  Alaska…

“The last frontier,” he muttered to himself.  A memory was stirring, though it was hard for him to sort out his thoughts with his mind muddled from exhaustion.

She was still severely dehydrated.  Her short hair was mussed and full of sand from the desert wind; she was sunburnt and her lips were cracked.  He could think about these abnormalities later.  First order of business was to get her out of the sun.

Octovern was still a few iles away…

Oddly enough, he found a little more pep in his step now that he had someone to support.  She would die if she was left out here; he couldn’t afford to drag his feet.

So Vash set off at a much faster pace for the city, the strange girl slung over one shoulder.  For the time being his problems were on the back burner.

—-

For a while the stranger-but-not-a-stranger carried me, and for a while everything was dark.  Time seemed to blur together and my perception of events was hazy.

Then, finally, everything became still and I felt almost centered again.  I was made aware suddenly that I was lying in a bed, eyes closed.  Sunlight was filtering in through my eyelids.

I awoke to see a fairly plain, generic looking room with white walls and wood flooring.  There was a glass of water and a tray with a few medical instruments on the nightstand next to me, so I guessed that maybe I was in some sort of clinic.  A tall window to my left was open, and the sheer white drapes hung over it blew in the warm breeze that was coming in.

There was a man sitting in an armchair against the wall.  He wore brown pants and a white button up shirt, his blond hair slightly messy but still standing in near vertical spikes.  His eyes were closed and he was propping his cheek against one fist.  I noticed a small beauty mark under his left eye.  Such a small detail, but so telling—suddenly I was absolutely certain that I knew this man.

Of course I knew him.  I had spent half of my awkward early teens idolizing him.  

There were a few vague memories coming back of an endless desert and the unforgiving sun… and a man in a red coat, leaning over me.  It was definitely him… but how was it him?

Water.

Suddenly I remembered and the need hit me like a freight train, but my limbs wouldn’t cooperate the way they were supposed to and I flailed so hard trying to reach the glass by my bedside that I fell clean out of the bed.

The man in the chair woke up with a yelp and was fussing at my side in an instant, though all I could muster with my dry vocal cords was a disgruntled groan.  After lying there grimacing for a second, I made grabby hands at the glass of water that was still out of reach.

The blond sat me up and placed the glass in my hands.  I gingerly took a few sips, suddenly remembering throwing up back in the desert.

“Jeez, you scared me,” the man said, sinking to the floor to sit beside me.  He ran a hand through his hair.  “You okay, miss?  Oh, man, I told the doc I’d watch you, he’s gonna kill me…”

I coughed, swallowed another gulp of water, and then chanced a smile.  My cracked lips hurt.

“I’ve been better,” I admitted.  “Where…?”

“The city of Octovern,” he replied.  Then he let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Sorry.  I’d introduce myself, but it seemed like you already knew me back there.”

I blinked.  Had I said his name back there?  I must’ve.  Octovern?  And the desert… what the hell was going on, anyway?  Was this some kind of elaborate dream?

“Guess so,” I mumbled, brow furrowing.  I pressed a hand to my forehead.  “Sorry.  Um.  Vash.  My name’s… my name’s Brittany.”

“Brittany…” he tested it out, and then looked over to smile at me.  His eyes practically sparkled as his voice dropped a note.  “That’s a very pretty name.”

“Thanks…” I blinked.  It was literally the most common name ever.  Was he trying to flirt?  I didn’t have the energy to figure it out.  “Uh, do you have any food?”

His face fell but he was quick to recover, jumping to his feet.  “Right!  You must be starving!”  He bent down to scoop me up, catching me completely off guard, and placed me back on the bed before dashing out of the room with a quick “Be right back!”

I was left with a brief moment of peace, sitting there on the bed in the quiet room.  My brain was still fighting to catch up.  Octovern… Octovern…

Wasn’t that a city in the manga?  It had been so long.  And that was Vash, so the desert setting made sense, but…

I pinched myself.  Pain.  I glanced around the room, focusing on my senses—the sterile smell of a clinic, the warmth of the breeze coming in through the window, the sound of kids playing outside…

Leaning forward, I peered out the window for a better view.  My room overlooked a busy street.  There were in fact a group of kids kicking a ball around out there.  Across the way was a bakery, and I caught a whiff of what smelled like fresh baked bread.  My stomach growled.

…How could this be a dream?

Staring at my hands in my lap, I fought to remember just what I had been doing before waking up here.  Wandering in the desert…

Suddenly I stopped.  I frowned and felt a cold feeling in my stomach as unwanted memories came back.  Why…?  Couldn’t I just not dwell on shit for one second?

I had just been so depressed, so bitter, so done with the charade of my life… nothing I did ever seemed right or good enough, and I was sick and tired of everything.  The last week of my lease I finally snapped, sold almost everything I owned, and packed the rest in my car.  I quit my shitty job, and that shitty man, with zero notice and got in my car and drove.

That was right… the last thing I remembered was crossing the state border, sobbing, wishing things could’ve been different.  Wishing I could’ve been stronger instead of running away.  Wishing for a sign, any sign, that things were going to be okay.

And then, somehow, I was wandering through the desert, sunburnt and dehydrated.  If he—Vash, if he was Vash—hadn’t found me, I would’ve died.

Footsteps coming back up the hallway.  I looked over just in time to see the blond come back through the doorway, wearing a bright smile.

“Here.”

I reached out to take a steaming bowl of soup from him.  It looked disappointingly brothy, but I understood that that was probably the best I could manage for now.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quickly, pulling the chair up closer to the bed and sitting down once more.  He examined me for a moment before continuing.  “What were you doing wandering the desert with no food or water, anyway?”

I shook my head, idly stirring the soup.  “I don’t really remember.  Last I checked, I had a vehicle and I knew exactly there I was.”

“Where was that, exactly?”

“Um…” I stared at him dubiously.  “White River Junction, Vermont.”

“…Vermont?” A blank stare was all I received in return.

“Yeah, you know, east coast?”

I knew I was still weirdly in denial… but seeing the look on the man’s face gave me a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Despite all the evidence to the contrary, couldn’t this just be a dream?  The implications of it being real were too terrifying.  I had wanted to escape, to run away, but this…

“The shirt you were wearing when I found you…” The blond was frowning, brow furrowed.  “It said ‘Alaska.’”

“Yeah, I have a friend who lives in Anchorage,” I replied, attempting to seem nonchalant.  

Where were my clothes, anyway?  After glancing around the room for a moment, I saw them washed and folded on the shelf below my nightstand.  My Patagonia hat sat atop the pile, mocking me.  I would’ve much rather ended up in Patagonia than stranded in a godforsaken desert.

He was staring at me hard, his blue eyes piercing.  With his cheery façade dropped, I found it difficult to meet his gaze.  The silence felt like it lasted forever.

Then he suddenly reached into his pocket, pulling out a small card with a sheepish grin.

“So where’s New Hampshire?”

“Hey!” I nearly spilled the soup, lunging to snatch the card back.  “Where’d you get my license?!”

He both hands up in a gesture of surrender, leaning back a bit.  “Hey, hey!  Careful!  I just found your wallet and was trying to figure out who you were, that’s all!”

“Coulda said that from the start,” I huffed, clutching the license protectively.  A tiny bit of hot soup had sloshed out and scalded my thigh, and I was trying to hide my pain.

I looked down at the license, and my picture stared back at me.  It was a small bit of familiarity, reassurance that I wasn’t actually going insane.

After some hesitation I opened my mouth to reply, but the sound of footsteps caused us both to look up.  A stocky middle aged man with salt-and-pepper hair had stopped in the doorway.  He was wearing a white lab coat, so I assumed he had to be the doctor.

“Ah!  So she’s awake at last.  Thanks for the help, Vash.”

The blond rubbed the back of his neck.  “Heh, it’s no trouble.”

“How are you feeling, miss?” the doctor asked, turning his gaze on me.

“Um, I’ve seen better days… but I’m holding up okay.”

“Well, I’ll mark that as an improvement,” he replied, smiling.  “Vash, may we have a moment?  I’m sure Felicia would be happy for a hand in the kitchen.”

“Oh—of course!  Right away, Doc!”

I watched as the blond straightened up and was out the door in record time, a dopey grin on his face.  It didn’t take a genius to notice that he had been a little too excited there.  Felicia was probably pretty, whoever she was.

The doctor chuckled, shaking his head.  “For someone who bears the namesake of such a dangerous outlaw, he sure is predictable.”

“You don’t believe he’s really Vash?”

He snorted.  “Do you?”

“Well…”

“Don’t fret over it, in any case.  He was kind enough to bring you here from the desert, after all.”  He paused a moment, frowning.  “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners.  My name is Stanley Ross; I run the clinic here on the east end of Octovern.”

“My name is Brittany Furness,” I said, subtly tucking my driver’s license under the sheets of my bed.  “I’m sorry for the trouble.  My memory’s still a little messed up…”

“That’s to be expected.  You were showing early signs of heat stroke when that young man brought you in.”

He reached over to press the back of his hand to my forehead.  “Your temperature has stabilized since, but I’d still advise you to take it easy for a few days.  I’d like to monitor you for another twenty-four hours just to be safe.”

I stared at the soup in my lap.  That was probably good, considering I literally had nowhere else to go…

A hand on my shoulder.  I looked over to see the doctor giving me a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t worry too much.  You’re still recovering; I’m sure things will seem much clearer by tomorrow morning.”

Feeling dread settle in the pit of my stomach, I forced myself to smile back.  “Thanks… you’re probably right.”

We chatted for another minute while he checked my vitals and made sure I really was okay, and then he left me to finish my bowl of soup, which was now growing lukewarm.

My hands were shaking enough that it took some concentration to spoon the broth into my mouth.  I felt a strange mixture of emotions, though most of all I figured I was disoriented and in some degree of shock.

I thought about the life I had abandoned.  Wasn’t this what I had wanted—a complete change, a new start?

But I hadn’t asked to leave my entire world…

Even though I had shut down and left New Hampshire, all of my friends and family had been a phone call away.  I hadn’t wanted to turn back, but I could have if I needed to.  But now all of those options had been snatched from me and I felt like I was stranded…  

This couldn’t be real… this couldn’t really be happening.  How could this be happening?!

I put my head in my hands, but I had spent so much of the past month crying that I had no energy left to do even that.  When could I just catch a break…

—-

How can this be real?

Vash stood at the counter of the kitchen downstairs, methodically cutting vegetables for the doctor’s daughter.  Felicia was indeed cute—there was no doubt about that—but he really had just jumped at the opportunity to sort out his thoughts.

Well, there was also the fact that she was an absolute pro at acting oblivious to his flirting.  He’d mostly given up, but it was still entertaining to try every now and then.  For now he was happy to have a task to keep his hands busy while he tried to figure out just what mess he’d gotten himself into this time.

“Mr. Vash, are you feeling all right?” Felicia had stopped her task, seeming to take note of his silence.

He forced a cheery smile.  “Hmm?  Oh, yeah!  Heh, I guess it’s just been a long couple of days.”

“That’s for sure.  You’re the most interesting newcomers we’ve seen in a while.”  She returned the smile.  “Well, hopefully we can all sit down for dinner together tonight.  Could you dice these too?”

He took the carrots he was handed with a nod.  He knew his smile looked fake and she probably saw through it, but he was too tired to put up a good front.

Brittany Furness… who are you?

Vash trained his eyes on the cutting board once more, brow furrowing.  The young woman’s meagre belongings were safely stored in a cabinet in the room he was renting.  He had gone through them in an effort to find some sort of information about who she was and where she had come from.  The more he had looked, the more confused he had become.

That ID card in her wallet had her name, photo and what looked like an address… but the address named a town he had never heard of.  The corner of the card read “NH – USA” in bold letters.

There was currency in the wallet that read “UNITED STATES OF AMERICA,” as well as other plastic cards bearing her name.

There was a red pen in the purse with the name of an inn written on the side and the words “Jackson, New Hampshire”.

And there was a strange rectangular device with a screen in the purse as well—he had been shocked to see the screen come to life when he pressed the button on the front.  It had displayed a time and date, and when he pressed the button again, it prompted him to input a passcode.

That in particular was advanced technology he hadn’t seen in a very, very long time… not since he was a child.  Which begged the question… who was that woman?

He remembered some of the books Rem had shown him a long time ago, books about her home, where all of the humans of this planet came from—a place called Earth.  Rem had been from a country called the United States.

And—he remembered.  Her hometown was a place called Juneau, in the state of Alaska.  That was why the girl’s shirt had stirred something in him.  He had been so fascinated with the book about Alaska and its dramatic, dreamlike landscapes and cool nicknames, like “the last frontier” and “land of the midnight sun”.  Back on the SEEDs ship, it had seemed impossible that such a land could exist… and it was infinitely amazing that Rem had grown up there.

But Project SEEDS had been formed because Earth’s resources had been depleted… and its creation had occurred nearly two centuries ago.  Was Earth even habitable anymore?

No—unless… unless one of the cold sleep pods had survived the crash, and she had only just now woken up?

He shook his head.  That didn’t explain that handheld device she had.  There was no way it could’ve survived this long and powered up so easily.  And why would someone have boarded a SEEDS ship dressed and equipped like they were just going for a quick outing?  None of it made sense.  She was a mystery.  

What a nightmare… with Knives on the loose, he didn’t want to get involved with anyone.  But there was no way he could just ignore this.  It was too dangerous for her to be around him, but he might be the only one that could help her.

Damn.  He shouldn’t even be here right now.  But he needed to get information, and the city was the place to do it.

He paused in his task for a moment as another thought came to him.  Whatever the explanation… if Earth was all she remembered, how the hell did she know who he was, especially on sight alone?  

This just got more confusing by the second…  

[chisie12]

Dance of Silver - Chapter 9: Vampire Mayhem

Finally... Another chapter! As usual, I haven’t gotten around to properly checking everything! But hope you enjoy :D 

---

Monstrous roars echoed through the dead hallways before thunderous crashes boomed. The white hallways were empty, void of any lifeforms, yet the echoing roars were enough to send shivers down the spine. Heavy, slow footsteps tapped against the floor; One hand lightly tracing the wall on his left as his right hand held a giant silvery steel hammer. The weapon was nearly as tall as the robust man himself with the hammer’s head twice the size of his biceps, but he easily carried it as though it weighed as light as a feather. On one end of the hammer’s head were three holes shining a bright yellow glow; the rocket propulsion ready to fire at any moment. The scar carved on his left eye made the older man’s expression grimmer, especially since there was a smaller, petite woman crouching behind his much larger frame. In her arms was a sniper rifle but her gaze was still as sharp as ever despite only seeing through one good eye, the other covered by an eyepatch. She exhaled deeply, calming the nerves and adrenaline pumping through her veins, but more so to catch her breath.

“Meine Maus, are you okay?” Reinhardt whispered worriedly as he glanced back at her.

Ana inhaled and smiled sweetly at him. “I’m alright. It was just a really long flight.”

Reinhardt frowned and twisted around to lightly run a thick finger down her cheek before cupping her face. “If you need to rest, you should go.”

She leaned into his touch, her smile softening even more. “It’s alright, my love. I can’t let you go in alone.” The warmth on her forehead brought forth a sensation of bliss, and though it lasted only ever so briefly, his kiss was enough to invigorate her. This is worth it.

Her return back to Zurich had been rushed and the fastest flight was already over 24 hours long with a single stopover, even after hurrying through her research and investigation of the secret chamber and leaving earlier than expected. Rushing through immigration and customs declaration, she met up with Reinhardt with a heavy heart, but it wasn’t only her; Reinhardt also had a bad premonition. A quick hug and a peck, the two rushed towards the car and sped back to the Ziegler’s house which was still a good 20 minutes away. With the tap of the keycard, the couple brandished their weapons as they warily made their way in, only to be met with furious roars and snarls — inhumane roars and snarls.

Walking past the living room on the ground floor and through the hallway leading up to the medical room, they saw —

“Angela!” They cried out simultaneously upon seeing the slumped figure by the wall. Her head hung low, a streak of blood dripping from the corner of her lips and her Angelic artifacts were strewn some ways away from her.

Reinhardt took a decisive step forward and held out his arm to block Ana from moving forward when another roar shook the walls. Distraught, Ana furrowed her brows as she readied her biotic rifle and Reinhardt lifted his rocket hammer. They inched closer and closer towards Angela, their eyes and bodies facing the viewing glass panel. Despite the sunlight rising over the horizon, the house was eerily dark. When the roars came again, they felt it firsthand how the glass vibrated, how the walls shook. Ana bent down and checked on the fallen blonde while Reinhardt continued to stare at the glass viewing panel, an uneasy feeling sinking into him. He gripped his hammer tight, muscles pulling taut. From the dim emergency lighting of the medical room, he saw faint traces of the battle aftermath through the glass; Of broken shelves and broken glasses, of disorderly equipment strewn about, some fallen over, of the strong stench of medicine and drugs, and the big black block of shadow before him. Rising and falling. Rising… and falling.

Breathing.

With heavy pants that now seemed to echo in his mind.

Reinhardt steadied his breathing and widened his stance, arching his back downwards a little and watched the unknown silhouette warily. It was the muscles, the body's frame and some shadowy image of that unruly hair that made him hesitate, that gave him a sense of foreboding danger. He inched forward, only to jolt in surprise when the pair of bright red eyes glared at him in the darkness, sharp and piercing into his soul. The black silhouette abruptly turned around and kept staring at the large man before letting out a soft cry. Reinhardt’s subconsciously loosened his grip on the hammer when he heard that deep, slightly rough voice. His eyes traced the silhouette’s figure, from the head to the shoulders… his back, despite the danger ringing in his head, this person… There was oddly, a sense of familiarity.

Its head tilted slightly towards the unconscious blonde in Ana’s arms and then cried again, this time a rasp of words, melancholic enough to even shake the old couple’s hearts. “A-Angie…”

Reinhardt straightened his back. “Jesse?”

A mournful cry. They warily watched Jesse stand and clutch at the viewing glass. “I’m sorry… I-I’m sorry…” He knocked his head upon the glass as his back hunched in despair.

“What happened to you?” Ana spoke up as she placed a finger to Angela’s nostrils, relief flooding her system at feeling the slow, ragged breath upon her fingertips. Her hands patted at the blonde’s head, feeling the bump there and checked for any other external injuries.

“I-I don’t know… I really don’t,” Jesse croaked when a lump became stuck in his throat. Breathing constricted, eyes warm and watery, he slowly slid down the wall and curled up into a ball. What had happened? He wasn’t even sure himself. All he felt was a heavenly whilst floating before recalling a memory from six years ago when an intense pain burned and crawled up his neck. Starting from the old vampire bite mark, the pain travelled through his veins and towards his other limbs, leaving behind a path of numbing burns. His throat became parched, goosebumps littered his skin as the temperature began to drop tremendously; From mid 20’s to the 10’s, before steadily staying at the couple of degrees above and below zero. His bones started to pound and ache, muscles spazzing and writhing.

The next thing he knew, his conscience woke up to Angela’s tears above his face and her already scarred arm clamped between his jaws. Her beautiful blonde hair was dishevelled and matted with sweat, but her pained stubbornness was vivid in his memory.

Then the excruciating pain came once again as her blood started to flow into him. There was the sounds of glass shattering and something crashing into the wall, and when he refocused, Angela was already lying on the ground, as still as a corpse. Just like his step father and step grandfather.

“Did you say it was Angela’s blood flowing into you, Jesse?” Ana perked up. The couple still stood some ways away from the newborn vampire, preferring the weak barrier the glass viewing panel could provide than entering and checking up on him. Caution sailed a thousand seas after all.

“Yes, it was.” Jesse lifted his head while trying to steady his breathing. Everything still burned, ached, hurt, but he refused it. Refused to believe he was turned into a vampire. Refused to believe he hurt his own sister. Refused to believe he bit her.

“It was her Angelic blood… It’s the Angelic blood!” Ana whirled around to pull out an ancient book in her backpack she hadn’t removed. A relic she retrieved from the secret chamber in Egypt from what seemed to be a tomb at that time. She had seen and deciphered some writings on the wall, but seeing Jesse like this, recalling something from the past…

“Oh Gods…” The old woman suddenly exhaled and stared at Angela. “I think I know.”

“What is it?” Reinhardt’s steady voice calmed her nerves.

“Six years ago, Jesse was bitten by a vampire. Normally, he would have turned into a vampire when that happened, but he didn’t.” Ana turned her attention onto the young man in question. “You didn’t. Why?” The last word came out more like a whisper, a rasped word in her shock.

“I don’t know! How am I supposed to know! I didn’t know six years ago and I still don’t today!” Jesse cried agonisingly. “I remember getting bitten. I only remember a vampire biting and killing the vampire that bit me. And Angie trying to stop my bleeding!”

“But she was bleeding too,” Ana added softly, but audible enough for the two men. “Her right arm was injured that day and she was bleeding. Her blood got mixed in with yours from that bite. Her Angelic blood was the most potent in all the generations and from this, I’ve recently found out that the blood is a natural suppressant for the vampiric cells in vampires.” Lifting the ancient book, she continued, “That was all detailed in this book. From the little I could read, Angels could suppress vampires centuries ago was because of their blood. It minimised the appearance of newborns and was used as part of their weapons. But years came and went, and the bloodline thinned, making the Angelic blood weak.”

“Until Angie came along…”

Ana nodded in agreement and Jesse groaned when the injury on his neck flared with pain, his hand shooting up to tightly clutch at it.

“Barrier, activated!”

In a split second, Reinhardt tensed and swung the metallic lion’s head that hung on his shoulder forward, swiftly activating the barrier field as a light blue energy shield stood in between them and Jesse. Immediately just as the shield lit up, a large force broke through the thick viewing glass and slammed towards it. Reinhardt groaned and gritted his teeth under the immense pressure. Animalistic snarls filled his ears and he fiercely met Jesse’s crimson gaze with his own. Ana gripped onto her rifle, agilely reloading a chamber with a special bullet that dimly shone a bluish silver metallic sheen under the shield’s glow, but instead of a conical shaped tip, it had a three-centimeter slim tube with a diagonal cut tip; Just like a syringe. Jesse raised a clawed hand above his head and Reinhardt readied his hammer, the rockets lighting up as the head started to redden and heat up.

“Rargh!”

Jesse brought his hand down just as the energy barrier disappeared, with the old soldier instantly swinging his hammer out and a fiery crescent wave collided with the claws. The newborn cried out when the fire strike scorched his skin and sent him flying backward. Flipping in mid air, Jesse stabilised himself on the broken window panes and was about to lunge when there was a small prick on his raised hand. His snarls died down, confused sounds coming out muffled and jumbled as the sight before him blurred. He lifted his hand to his face, scrutinising the metal syringe sticking into his palm like a massive splinter when his blurred vision tilted.

Reinhardt was awkwardly holding the reactivated energy barrier up as he watched the young newly-turned-vampire man tilt forward and unceremoniously drop onto the floor. He flinched at the loud thump, seeing Jesse having fallen face first. “Oww.”

Ana huffed apathetically, hefting the rifle higher onto her shoulder.

Reinhardt chuckled faintly with a small shake of his head. Looking back at the medical room, he trudged on carefully as the older woman stayed by Angela’s side with the rifle ready. Slowly, Reinhardt used his hammer to push the door open. Gentle like a feather, as quiet as a mouse. Broken glass clinked as the door moved and he crept into the room cautiously. Shield still strong before him with courage still the same from his golden days, he fully opened the door. Everything was still dark before him with the absence of any windows nearby, but using the glow of his shield, he lifted it higher and observed his surroundings.

…

“Meine Maus! I found Altherr and Wendell!”

That day, the University Hospital of Zurich was given a surprise when they had to tend to the three Zieglers that were just admitted. The hospital was sent into a panic; Crazy rumours of assassins attacking the famous Zieglers started to spread and there were versions where vampires infiltrated the hub of vampire hunters and were about to inflict chaos upon them. The neighbours living next to the Zieglers definitely didn't help, having heard the snarls and sounds coming from the house.

…

When Angela finally opened her eyes, she felt a throbbing pain in her neck and skull. Turning slightly to the sides, she noticed both her grandfather and father resting on hospital beds with steady breathing

But…

“Jesse?” Her voice was hoarse, scratchy at the throat and she couldn’t help the fits of coughs that escaped. Where was he?

“You need to rest, Angela.” She glanced at the door where Reinhardt stood with a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand. Her lips twitched in amusement at the sight before it fell. Seemingly reading her mind, the old soldier walked to her bedside and added the flowers into the vase as he whispered, “He’s a Jungspund, he will be alright.” Then with a mocking sigh, he grinned, “All the Jungspunde these days, they’re so healthy and energetic!”

Angela giggled softly, though it sounded wet and sullen. She appreciated his gesture of trying to cheer her up, but she saw firsthand, how Jesse became a vampire, became… the very monster he hated, the monster he hunted. Reinhardt smiled sadly and gingerly caressed her cheek, ignoring the wet drops that dribbled down his calloused finger.

———

“ The Zurich monster was last seen in the forest 40 miles from the city… ”

A lithe figure leapt off a branch before nimbly landing onto one a few meters away and quickly vaulting off once more, leaving behind only a streak of bright green that camouflaged amidst the trees.

“ Burnt corpses were found… they were the missings people from …”

He quickly arrived at the crime scene. Security tape cordoned off the area and a group of policemen surrounded the place. Hidden in the shadows high up in the forest trees, Genji watched and observed the happenings below. From the markings of the trees to the smell of burnt silver tinting the air, he knew one thing that the reporters didn’t know: The Zurich Monster’s identity.

Is she okay?

Recalling the scene that happened just yesterday, he shut his eyes as his heart thumped a dull ache.

Why do I hurt like this?

In the middle of his thoughts, a policeman’s voice sounded.

“Why do you think this is happening?”

“I don’t know. Crazy things have been happening. I heard that there’s a vampire outbreak in Japan…”

Genji flinched at the news. Japan? It couldn’t be… It wouldn’t be, right?

“Ouch! Shit, man! I accidentally cut myself!”

“Stop whining like a sissy. It’s just a cut.”

“Ugh, a vampire wouldn’t show up and suddenly eat us right?” The injured policeman darkly joked.

“Nah, Zurich’s literally the hub for vampire hunters. There wouldn’t be any vampires nearby.”

The sweet, metallic smell permeated his senses and he groaned. Swaying on his feet, his eyes flashed between red and black. His repressed instincts stirred within his veins, swimming through his nerves and his fangs tingled with the itch to bite. Just. One. Small. Bite. To drink. To feast. Oh, how long has it been since he feasted? He needed to taste that sweetness that slid down his throat, dripping down his lips as he savoured every, last drop. He wanted to – no needed — Just — !

NO! YOU CAN’T!

Drink! … So! Much! Blood! You don’t need her!

NO! NO! I CAN’T!

HEHEHE FEAST!

The tree trunk dented beneath his claws, splinters breaking off and falling to the ground. His eyes switched between the colours faster and faster, as though a seal was about to be broken. Just how long has it been since he had a proper meal? Oh, so long…

I can’t — no — don’t —!

Why do you even care! Maniacal cackles echoed in his mind. Just drink! Driiiink!

Genji clutched at his throat, feeling it becoming more and more parched with every second, his control worsening the longer he smelled the smell.

“You don’t deserve to be hunted.”

Her voice suddenly appeared in his mental battle and he found his attention shifting subconsciously. A memory of old, yet actually still so recent, began to play. He remembered his restraint, of him holding back from wiping her tears away, and he remembered of the pain he felt at seeing her pain. But it was that one time that… Genji groaned and clutched at his head. With a roar, he leapt off the branch, further into towards the forest and away from civilisation, leaving behind a group of frightened policemen.

“Even so… Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Letting me feel like a human again.”

———

Peach blossoms eyes flitted open and a pair of dull onyx eyes glimmered in the ashy darkness. There was only a stream of moonlight that peaked in from the window overlooking into the dojo, landing on the silvery green hair of its tail. It lifted its serpentine head, long thin whiskers caressing the wooden bamboo flooring and the cold blood running through his veins suddenly thumped in the dead of night.

“ Awoooo! ”

A desperate howl echoed through the traditional Japanese hall. Sadness, despair. Loneliness. Those emotions rushed through the long, slender dragon, giving him the sudden urge to wake up, to live . It clawed agitatedly at the wood to the small roof of the shrine in the dojo hall, but it never left a depression on the old wood. It knew and understood how important the shrine was to itself and to —

Dark almond eyes slowly gazed up at the small meter long dragon howling atop the shrine. Calm, collected. Quiet.

Solitary, yet with a sense of sorrow in that broad, straight back.

The man wore a slim fitting waistcoat of a striped grey colour with deep navy sides and the same striped pants, emanating a firm and steady aura as his silhouette was painted by the soft halation of the dojo’s paper lanterns. By his kneeled legs were a bow and a quiver of a colour matching his suit filled with arrows. Jet black hair of his undercut was styled to the back with a strand that dangerously — attractively — hung in front of his eyes, a solemn expression sat on his chiselled face. Despite a charismatic, handsome Asian visage, he showed no other emotion in his uptight posture and straight face, but if one looked closely enough, there was a hidden pain and hurt clouded in those eyes as they stared at the green dragon.

“What is it?” A deep, silky voice with a magnetic pull.

“ Awooo… ” The howl dimmed into a soft cry as the dragon hunched and stared at the moonlight from the window. It circled once around the shrine’s roof, worry and anxiety clear in its cries. Its blood felt it, the lull of its connection. It had come and gone like the wind, a strong gust that swept at its face, the force terrifying enough to make it fall, yet it then abruptly disappeared, like an illusion; a figment of its imagination.

But it was there. It felt it.

The green dragon cried into the darkness and the man’s lips parted, the question hanging at the tip of his tongue, when the reptilian creature leapt off its hind legs and flew off through the balcony windows, leaving only the soft swish of the winds and a cold shadow of its absence.

Beneath the shrine’s roof and further down the torn, bloodied scroll displaying a strong, beautiful calligraphy was a bamboo katana holder lacquered dark and sleek. The displayed damaged katana still gave off a sharp aura as the man mentally sighed and returned to kneeling before the blade. He placed his hands on his thighs and straightened his back, his tired expression disappearing after a moment of vulnerability.

“Cold winter’s moon glow,

A dragon’s cry, hidden tears,

Genji, please, will you…?”

From behind the small pedestal the katana holder stood, appeared twin dragons similar to the green one that had flown away, but rather than a shimmery green colour, they were a soft glow of striking blue. They stared at the kneeling man, their dark eyes curved down in sadness, before walking towards him, their sharp claws lightly scratching against the tatami flooring. He ignored their affectionate nudging and remained unmoving like a boulder; Stern and upright. Like two kittens, the dragons rubbed their heads and bodies against him, but he was already immune to their shameless, cutesy actions for centuries. Hanging their heads, the dragons could only whine and settle with curling up against his legs and burying their heads into his warmth.

It was a tranquil silence, with only the occasional winter’s breeze whispering, and the slight snoring of the two dragons. A sudden cry cried out in the night, followed by a few more, and the tranquillity was broken Footsteps rapidly thudded against the tatami flooring. Unwanted visitors rushed into the Shimada Dojo. The twin dragons were jolted awake at the presence of the newborns trespassing their grounds. In the next second, the vampires were already within fifteen meters of the trio. The two dragons’ scales bristled as their hair stood in aggression. Fangs bared while growling, they circled to either side of their master. In the second, the vampires were ten meters away. The dragons crouched, ready to pounce. The third second. Five meters away.

That’s when he moved.

He nimbly got to his feet, swiping up his bow and three arrows as he turned. With the arrows already nocked on the bow upon facing the bloodsucking creatures, he let loose. The sharp arrows pierced the sides of the first three vampires’ necks, through and through to three more vampires behind them, stopping squarely in the heart of one and the necks of two others.

Fourth second. He took a step back closer to the katana holder as he kicked up an arrow, catching it easily with his left hand and nocking it. Unlike the other arrows, this was a little more special; Its arrowhead split into threes when the bow was fully pulled. The remaining vampires neared, the closest at four meters and the furthest at ten. With the arrow pointed at the closest vampire, the crosshair aim shifted from the vampire’s pale face towards the area before their feet. Wind whistled by the man’s ears as the arrow flew. He turned around calmly and kneeled again, indifferent as the arrow divided into six fragmented parts upon hitting the tatami floor. A fragment ricocheted off the floor and pierced the vampire taking point in the eye and through to its brain, the other fragments ricocheting off the walls at the sides and accurately killing the other five newborns behind it. The two dragons scoffed and huffed at the dead vampires before returning to curling up beside their unscathed master.

“Flowerbeds of blood,

Death, solitude. Forgiveness,

A dragon’s sadness…”

[insane-control-room]

The Concept, Chapter Three

Lobotomy

To lose a section of one’s brain via an outdated and inhumane, and clearly murderous surgery for mental illnesses.

Several warnings, dear reader; depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, murder, death, loss of limbs, blood, graphic description of a corpse, drowning, child loss, another attempted rape, and painful words.

Chapter One - Chapter two

He could not hold the ink vial steady.

Jittery, oh so shaky. His hands shook and trembled, and he constantly had to adjust his grip on the pen as he drew the cartoons. He tried not to scream. Every moment, every day, he tried to hold back the aching cry in his chest, clawing at his lungs.

He tried for so hard for so long, and he was so tired… so so tired… he could sleep forever… and ever… and never wake up….

He wanted to see Aramis again… he wanted to see his father again… he wanted to join them, wherever they were, he wanted to be with his family, his family that was torn away from him so quickly, so young… he was so young, and he felt so old, so tired, his bones creaking, his muscles failing, his head aching, his hands stiff and shaky, everything so ruinous and decimated. So corrupted, so disgusting.

What a waste of space.

Johan stayed as far away from the binary computer as possible, hiding in the corner of his bed as the bright, toxic, addictive green beckoned him, he hating every time he gave in to the temptation, giggling the night away as numerical dopamine filled his brain and limbs.

He would never amount to anything, only ones and zeros.

Henry filled his dreams, his, unreal, ghostlike, lips pressed to his, and Joey regretted ever allowing him to kiss him, now trapped by this reminder that they could never be together.

He drank often, now not only using the invisible drug but also the alcohol to drain away his emotions. Bertrum tried to get him to talk, Shawn tried to cheer him up (he accidentally snapped at the Irishman, guilt flooding his system, apologizing a day later), Susie offered to take him to a nice coffee shop (when was the last time he left the studio?), Grant asked if he wanted help with his math, everyone spoke quietly about him behind his back, discussing if anyone should go out and find Henry and get him to visit them, as Joey was clearly losing his grip on reality, if he ever even had one.

He was lost, confused, and more alone than ever, the loneliness of being surrounded by people you do not dare tell your problems to.

So many names flooded the desk with the computer on it, the ink machine always hungry for more souls to chip away at.

Black, black ink, swallowing him up, drowning him.

He drowned himself in his work, creating more formulas on his computer to help him do more work in less time, like the insomnia code, the two times speed code, all little bits and pieces to create the toons faster.

He hated Alice Angel.

Not really.

Hatred is when one destests something, as an eye color or a sickness, hatred is a severe aversion to something, as to the sight of blood or the mentioning of higher beings, hatred is a passionate desire to see something utterly removed, like competition or step siblings.

He did not hate Alice Angel. He felt melancholic toward her, feeling saddened and hurt.

She did nothing wrong, afterall, she could do nothing aside from what she was made to do.

It hurt to draw her.

Such a lovely character, such flow, such grace, so beautiful. Everything Henry made was so beautiful, so wonderful, such a stunning creation.

Johan knew he was losing touch with reality.

He put on a bigger and better act.

Be Joey Drew.

Be the man that would be better than you in every possible way.

Be confident, be intelligent, be suave, be smart, be cunning, and smile!

Smile.

Keep grinning, even though your smile is the most disgusting thing to darken the earth, such a pitiful and stretched smile.

Pathetic. Useless, unnecessary piece of scrapable coding.

The abuse he hissed within his own mind kept him smiling.

At least someone could tell how much of a burden he was.

Even if it was just himself.

People noticed his change in attitude, but quickly learned not to mention it.

A quiet, “Really now?” seemed more dangerous than any threat.

Were there not more workers here before?

Were there?

No one remembered that there were more workers.

Joey did not erase them.

He did not.

He did not.

He did not.

Please….

He did not.

He stared at the computer and the list of fired workers, fired for incompetence and lack of productivity, and he was terrified that he would delete them.

He did not want to, and he forced himself back from the thought of ever doing it.

Never. He could not give in to the addiction.

Then he realized what happened.

He no longer needed the computer to erase someone, he found that out much to his horror and abhorrence. He had been watching a worker, after doing nothing for a week, getting drunk in the public room. Johan was about to go over and fire, him, wishing to delete him instead, but not wanting to fall to the temptation, when the man was gone. Erased.

Without the computer.

Johan ran to his room, hiding from himself, shaking with disgust and terror.

He vomited. Blood, ink, and numbers spilled from his insides.

What had he done to himself?

What was he?

He shakily grabbed a knife, preparing to dig into his skin to find out what sort of demon was hiding in the body of a human, but threw away the knife as soon as the blade reached his skin.

It embedded with a crack in his mirror.

He stared at his reflection, nonchalantly noting that the knife was directly on his throat, cutting his head from his body.

It made him giggle.

Oh, what fun!

Lose one’s head?!

Fun! Magical, airy, freeing!

His giggle turned into laughter, and the laughter erupted into howls, the howls into sobs.

He dropped his head between his knees as he cried.

He felt the buzz of the drug being slipped into his system, and he jolted up violently, stumbling to the computer, trying to stop himself. He collapsed in front of the glowing device, removing the narcotic from his body.

He grounded himself.

He tangled his hair in his hands, screaming, screaming louder than he ever had, louder than when his father and later his son were killed, putting all his pain and frustrations into releasing through his mouth, screaming to say that yes, he was here, yes, he was hurting, yes, he needed help, god, please, help him! Someone, anyone, for the love of anything good, help him!

Help!

Please… help…

H-help….

Hel-

A knock on his door.

He leapt to his feet.

Who the hell?

“Mista Drew?” Wallace, Wally Franks, asked, his voice muffled and uneasy. “Are ya alright?”

Joey stumbled to the door, dropping the facade, pulling it open and miserably collapsing onto the janitor.

“Oof!” Wally staggered under his height, not his weight, as the man hardly weighed a feather, and stood, stunned, as Joey shook on him. “Well, uh… alright? You okay? Something happen?”

“Wally, you’re such a good boy,” Joey sobbed, his mind registering the fact the man he was crying on was older than him by a year. But he felt so old… so so old… so tired…. “You’re always positive, you always make everyone around so happy, especially your boyfriends, and it’s so wonderful, you’re such a good person….”

“Ya not so bad either, Mista Drew,” Wally questioningly offered, awkwardly patting his boss’ back. Joey laughed a moment before breaking down into another wave of sobs.

“Oh, shit, what are the comfort words,” Wally muttered, scrambling in his brain to look for the right thing to say. “There there?”

Another strangled laugh escaped Johan.

Wally’s eyes wandered into Johan’s apartment, and he gasped.

“Your place is a mess!”

“S’not that bad,” Joey wheezed, gripping the darker man tightly. Wally shoved him carefully back into his home, settling Joey on the couch. Joey grabbed his wrist, looking at him with an almost intoxicated expression, breathing hard. “Please… please don’t leave me alone….”

Wally pulled his hand away, eyeing the cane on the floor. He set it beside the chicano, and got to tidying the room. He was startled at the lack of food in the fridge, he was uneasy at the amount of bottles lining the shelves, but worst of all were the sticky notes of just ones and zeros. The numbers clearly meant something to Drew, whose head was currently in his hands as he trembled with silent sobs.

The room was clean after an hour. Joey sat him down, and mumbled a, “Wait here.”

He came out of his room with two hundred dollars, giving them to Wally.

“Thank you,” he quietly told the janitor, and Wally’s chest constricted as he saw the absolute sincerity in Joey’s eyes. “For everything. You’re a great worker, and such a nice person. All my wishes for you are for the best.”

“Mista Drew, ya don’t need to gi-”

Joey cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t be silly, Wally,” he huffed with a light smile. He looked so tired. “Keep the money. I don’t have anything to spend it on, anyways.”

Wally reluctantly pocketed the bills.

He tipped his cap and walked out.

“I’m outta here,” he said, shrugging and smiling, “See ya tomorrow, Mista Drew.”

Johan came to wish he never did.

The next day started normal enough, with disgusting coffee (nothing he put in it seemed to make it taste any better, so he went to his computer with a huff and reset his energy from twenty five to one hundred percent), going down to his office, and reviewing the meetings he had planned for the day.

He met with the doctor, who frowned and informed him that he lost more weight and his polio was worsening. Joey had nothing to say in response, merely hanging his head in shame at such a pathetic body. The doctor smiled and tapped him, telling him to keep his chin up.

He said he would try.

He was informed of a mecha leak in the spider ride, followed by an ink spill in the same location, and how they would have to wait a day for the ink and oil to seperate to drain it.

He had another two meetings before the one he dreaded approached.

Jonathan Derekson.

Johnny the organist.

He tried animating to calm his nerves, tried drinking some tea, tried to breathe, but nervousness clouded all his actions. He was terrified. So he straightened his jacket, adjusted his pin, and sat down, stopping his pacing.

Johnny appeared in the doorway, leaning in it. Joey’s vision blurred, his memories meshing with the present.

“Hello, Mr. Drew,” Johnny smiled, looking down at the tall man seated and pale in his office chair. “My concerns are on the organ. So if you please, I’ll join you upstairs as you are bound to use the…” his eyes landed on Joey’s cane, and his smirk grew as Joey flushed, “elevator. I’ll take the stairs.”

“Alright.” Johan forced his voice to be clear and not meek. Not unassertive. He had to be strong, no matter how much he wanted to lash out and avoid this man. He made his way out the door, waiting for Johnny to leave first. “I’ll meet you there.”

He got up achingly, pushing himself up with his cane. So slowly, little steps, his eyes drifting shut with exhaustion. How did he run out of energy so quickly? Why was he so tired? So… very… tired….

“Joey, wake up,” a hand on his arm shook him out of his stupor. Grant was gazing at him with worry. Not concern, but worry. He was already on the elevator, when had that happened? “Joey, are you alright? You look… well, putting it frankly, really unhealthy. Are you sick or something?”

Grant reached up to feel the sides of his neck, checking for a fever. Nothing.

Johan looked at him blearily.

“I’m okay, just tired,” Joey sighed, and smiled (SMILE SMILE SMILE) at Grant. “I’ll see you in a few hours Mr. Cohen. As a quick go over, things are well, I assume?”

“Yes, Mr. Drew,” Grant smiled back and nodded. His smile was so much nicer, so much more real, so much purer and cleaner than Joey’s could ever be. “Far better than if anyone else ran this business. I’m honestly shocked by how much you alone make a week! Two animations for each one of the animators’, and running this whole place on top of it! It’s rather unbelievable.”

“Anything can happen with a little belief,” Joey remarked, forcing his smile wider. Just keep believing it will all be over soon. Grant nodded. Joey wanted to ask him for help, for comfort, for something, anything to ground him. Instead, he got off the elevator, and said, “See you soon.”

He drummed his knees, his useless knees, as he waited for Johnny in the organ room.

Being slammed to the wall, a hand on his che-

Stop.

Choking on something that absolutely should not be in his mo-

STOP.

Chuckles and grunts and wood in his hands, gripping his pants in silent ple-

S T O P.

His hands slammed on the organ’s keys, panting heavily as he leaned over it, his vision pulsing. Breathe. Breathe. It was over. It would not happen again.

It would not.

There was nothing to worry about.

Nothing. At. All.

He looked at the stark white keys against his black hands.

He was not a mexican of a proper, royal, spanish descent.

No.

He always was from the lower class, his ancestors being whatever slaves were left of Mayans, one of his predecessors was a wife to a conquistador, who fell in love with her as they established an encomienda. The wars and fights!

He hated them.

He set his fingers to the keys.

His father moved them to Night Vale when Johan was two, and he loved it. The town was so warm and inviting, even though quite frightening at first.

He loved Night Vale, and hated, absolutely detested, when he had to leave.

He was seventeen.

His son was killed in his arms not two months before.

He had to get out.

He had to.

Running away was so easy. He only got shot once!

The scar on his arm from it hardly bothered him anymore, most of the bullet fragments dissolved by the toxic ink flowing in his system.

It was picking himself up that was difficult.

Other people would not have such difficulty.

Something was so wrong with him.

So very wrong.

Wrong can mean so many wonderful things! Like something inside out, like a skin that did not fit, blistering and infectious. It can also define something avvering from the truth, a liar, a facade, a faker. Being improper, out of the norm, an outlier, queer, those are all wrong things. Wrong is when one is out of order, a mess, broken down, falling apart, lost. When your morals are turned on their head. When you no longer can control yourself. That is wrong.

Johan knew he was so wrong.

Such a blight.

A curse. A ruin. Broken. Queer. Wrong. Wrong wrong wro-

An off key note drew him back to the right reality, not the one in his mangled and twisted brain.

He swallowed, replacing his long, bony, macilent hands on the keys.

He trembled.

He needed help.

He needed someone, anyone, to help him.

He was terrified to ask.

He let out a sob.

“Let me introduce you to the voices in my head….”

He did not even realize he was singing.

He could not stop.

Tears splashed from his eyes.

He yelled the verses that just came to him, lines he was certain would be written in the future.

He sobbed, hoping someone would hear him as he played and sang.

“So won't you save me from myself right now,” he asked the universes, hoping one of them would have one being that could hear his cry, how wrong he knew he was, hoping something could fix him, repair his coding, make him feel better, not feel like he was in someone else’s spot. “'Cause I feel like someone else, somehow….”

His plea died down as the last key faded.

His shoulders shook, so lost, so conflicted, hurting and aching internally and externally, mentally and physically.

Arms wrapped over his shoulders.

“It’s alright, Mr. Drew,” Johnny hummed in his ear, his voice sending horror and pain shooting through his body. Please, never call him that again, that was not who he was. Please, leave him alone, there were only two people that he would rather not have around more than Johnny. Johnny slipped on the piano bench behind him, his legs on either side of Johan’s hips. His hand pressed onto Johan’s mouth. No no no not again, please…. Johan’s vision doubled over, Johnny was in front of him but he felt him behind him, and reality was phasing into memory and memory was smudging into reality, and he could not tell which was which. He suddenly felt like a wronged animal. He had to get away. He had to escape. He jolted in an attempt, but his legs gave out. Damn polio! Damn it, damn it, damn him! Johnny chuckled, flipping their positions, pressing Joey to the piano bench. Joey whimpered, unable to fight back or scream. “Come on, it’s not like you didn’t enjoy last time.”

Johan saw red, yellow error signs swarming everything.

“I DO NOT WANT THIS!” he screamed, his voice shaking the very core of the studio. Johnny looked shocked, then angered, but Joey was too far lost, to fed up, too fatigued and ill. He tried to escape again, but Johnny was so much stronger and held him down with an enraged ease, so all Johan could do was scream. “I DID NOT ENJOY WHAT YOU DID TO ME! YOU FORCED ME TO MY KNEES, YOU MADE ME GIVE YOU WHAT YOU WANTED, I DID NOT WANT IT! I DID NOT LIKE IT! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! GET OFF O-”

Johnny’s hand pushed back onto his mouth. He cried out against it, writhing and struggling.

“I’ll make you like it, this time,” Johnny snarled with a feral grin, his free hand undoing Johan’s belt, making him scream again, muffled once more. Johnny’s hand felt him up, smirking at Joey’s discomfort and clearly hated unwilling pleasure as he struggled beneath him, tears blazing out of his eyes. “You can let yourself enjoy it, or I’ll force you.”

Johan struggled against him, a banging barely audible on the door.

He tried to call for help, but Johnny hit him, grabbing him by his lapel and slamming him onto the piano bench repeatedly, knocking the wind out of him, making him gasp and writhe. Johnny covered his mouth again, hooking a hand into his pants and trying to pull them down.

Johan saw hate.

Joey forced Johnny’s hand off his mouth, punching him as hard as he could.

“Get….” he felt pain and anger and hate hate hate hate hate hate HATE welling up within him, and power burst out of every pore, “OFF!”

There was a flashing, bright light, a miniature atomic bomb, rattling the walls of every building in the city. Johan could feel the ink pulsing out of him, he could feel his code rearranging and snapping into place, he could feel hate and PAIN.

He knew it was his own pain.

It was all wrong.

He whited out.

When he came too, there was the taste of blood on his lips. It was not his blood.

He dizzily got up, his ears ringing.

He saw the feet dangling in his pulsing vision.

Oh no… oh no no no….

He looked up.

Johnny’s body dangled before him.

Johnny was pressed into the organ, nearly flattened to it, his hands splayed with his fingers hanging limply in the skin, the joints dislocated, the metal of the piping warping around each visceral limb, as though an explosion forced him into the essence of the organ. His skull was crushed, his eyes forced out of and swaying from their sockets, his jaw slack and unhinged, his tongue slack and dripping red blood and clear saliva, a dark taunting pink. His blood splayed everywhere, his blood all over Joey, his black suit stained maroon. His blood was dripping in his hair and staining on his glasses, on his once white pants, and Joey? He turned over and retched. There was nothing in his system but ink and numbers mixed with acid, and blood.

Blood, the one liquid he hated most.

He vomited again, tears dripping onto the floor, coupling with the sound of Johnny’s blood doing the same.

He could hear pounding on the door through the ringing in his ears.

“Joey! Open this door! Johnny! Open up!” Jack’s voice barked, but he sounded so far away, like he was underwater. “Damnit, someone find Wally! Or his keys, at least!”

“Help,” Johan choked out. Silence suddenly took over the bable outside. “Help me… help… oh help… please… oh god, what did I do… help….”

“Joey, open the door,” Jack demanded, but in a softer tone. A strangled noise escaped the artist. Jack huffed in exasperation. “I’m getting Sammy.”

Johan pushed himself up, leaning against the wall, forcing himself not to look at Johnny’s mangled corpse.

He inched his way to the door.

“Joey, open the door,” Sammy’s soothing voice asked. “It’s just me.”

Johan gripped the handle.

“Sammy?” he whimpered, his voice cracking and high. A low hum of acknowledgement followed. “Please don’t get mad.”

“I won’t.”

Johan shut his eyes as tight as he could, pulling open the door, his head lowered in shame.

“What did you do?” Sammy gently asked him, Joey standing directly in front of the scene, blocking it from view. The blood glistened on his suit, and Sammy, suddenly sensing the urgency and (unfortunately, he did not notice) the delicacy of the situation, looked over Johan. His eyes widened as he beheld the gore on his employer’s clothing, how disheveled the articles were on his body from the molestation, and his head snapped up to look him in the eye, seeing the tears and the distress he was in. “What did you do, Joey?”

“I… I didn’t want to,” Johan whispered, and stepped back, moving to allow Sammy to see. Agonizing pain, guilt, anger, and loss drowned him as he tried to explain. “He… he was… he wanted… I couldn’t stop him… he wouldn’t get off… I… I….”

“What the goddamn fuck,” Sammy breathed, feeling disgust well within him. A fear of the unnatural joined it, and he spun to face Johan, gesturing at Johnny’s limp form. “What did you do?! What the fuck?! You murdered him, but how the hell?! What did you do?!”

“I-I don’t know, I’m sorry!” Joey stuttered, hunching over and gripping his head as it threatened to split. “I… he was… I couldn’t let him do it again, Sammy, I! He… ARGH! I don’t! KNOW! Please, please don’t tell anyone what he was going to do….”

“Everyone knows, Joey,” he informed him calmly. Joey stared at him in horror. Sammy pointed at the ‘Recording’ sign. The bright yellow ‘ON’ was lit up, making Johan’s stomach turn. “Everyone heard what was happening.”

“Sammy, please, then help me cover this up,” he begged. Sammy shook his head. “Then keep people away while I deal with it!”

“Joey… you need some help.” Sammy firmly stated, taking his wrist. Joey yanked it away violently, his eyes wide and fearful. “Come on. I’m turning you in to professionals.”

“Sammy, no!” Joey gasped, trying not to choke on his tears. Sammy scowled and took his wrist again, more staunchly. Johan, yanked on it as the music director began pulling him out of the hall, attempting to force him to the infirmary. “Don’t you know what they would do to me!? Sammy, haven’t you heard of how awful those places are?!”

“You need to go.” Sammy insisted, turning to him with a blank expression. Johan’s heart shattered again as he took in his mask. “You’ve gone too far.”

“I won’t even make it to the institutions… Sammy, they’ll take me to court,” he whimpered, even as Sammy dragged him further, no longer planning on the infirmary, but heading straight to the police. Allison and Susie stared at the two men, Thomas joining the women, exchanging a look, then the three of them collectively making their way to the pair. “Then they’ll kill me. I’ve got a low intelligence, I’m mexican, and I’m gay, Sammy, I’ve murdered someone in self defense, but they’ll kill me….”

“Take it as a mercy, then.”

Johan snapped, feeling… feeling… feeling….

He saw the coding flash before his eyes.

Just numbers.

Move some from here to there.

Do it.

Do it, everything will be better.

Everything will be okay.

You have no choice, move the numbers, NOW.

Johan gasped as reality sank back in. His hand was on Sammy’s shoulder, and the musician….

Sammy dropped to his knees, his jaw hanging open, and his eyes wide and dull.

Suddenly, shrilly, he shrieked, his hands tugging on his hair.

“BETRAYED! ABANDONED!” he shouted, anger and hurt simmering out of his enraged and distraught voice. “LEFT TO SUFFER, LED TO SLAUGHTER!”

Johan stared at the man he turned insane. He did this. He backed up as Sammy continued his screams of loss and forsakenness.

This was how Johan was feeling.

Sammy was merely out putting the data.

A hand slammed Johan’s head against the wall.

Thomas glared at him when the sparks died down.

“What the hell did you do, Drew?!” he snapped, gesturing an arm at Sammy. “What is this black magic bullshit!?”

“Hk… hhh….” was all Johan managed to choke out, tears and blood clotting his throat. Thomas smacked him again, letting him slide down the wall, and stormed over to Allison, taking his best friend by her arm. Sadness filled Johan at the sight of Susie reaching to her beloved, everything sounding so far away as his head spun from it’s abuse. Thomas was tearing them apart… stop. Stop! “Tom… you’re hurting th’m… stop….”

Thomas rushed at him, anger blazing in his eyes.

The kick landed on Johan’s skull before he could even register he was near.

Blood and numbers splattered out of his lips.

“Don’t you fucking dare start,” Thomas hissed as he coughed and wheezed. “I’ll be back for Sammy and Wally.”

Johan only was aware of the stress levels in the room rising higher and higher, Susie and Allison gesturing toward him in distress, Thomas adamantly shaking his head, and he grasped Allison’s wrist again, pulling her away.

Johan saw the stress rise.

He was hurting them.

Tom was hurting them.

All they wanted was to be together.

“St’p,” he slurred again. Thomas did not listen, and Johan felt anger build up in him. He pushed himself up to stand against the wall. He could only hear Allison and Susie’s upset voices. “Stop!”

There was another flash of all the numbers. Without thinking, Johan pushed the glowing ones and zeros into the blinking slot, shoving back the menacing, dripping ones, the ones that reminded him all too much of a fallen angel.

Another bang.

Allison was no longer in Thomas’ grip, as he slammed back into the wall, shattering something.

She looked at her hands.

With her, at the same time, Susie looked at hers.

There were only two hands.

The amalgamated being shrieked, stumbling back over a chair, slumping into in a faint.

Johan stared.

“Heh… haha… hehehehehesssssssskkk….”

What the hell was that?

“Ha! Hahaha! Heh, hehehe-HK!”

Johan slapped a hand to his mouth.

He shook with silenced laughter.

Thomas peeled himself off the ground. A shattered halo hovered above his head, holes cut into his hands, nubs of horns on his head. A fallen angel.

He charged at Johan with a cry of anger.

Johan no longer was where he stood, standing by the fuse.

Thomas whipped around to face him, dashing toward him, Johan vanishing one moment before impact, Thomas’ eyes widening as he realized the grave mistake he had made, skidding in an attempt to stop himself from slamming down the steps. He crashed into the door at the bottom.

Johan gripped the rail to the projection booth, panting heavily, breathing harder when he realized he did not feel the air entering his system, in fact, he choked on it, doubling over and coughing on the air.

He choked on a foreign object around his neck, dragging him back and up the stairs.

He was pushed down to the floor of the projection booth, Jack’s angered visage entering his vision, and Johan blearily realized the man was using his hat to force the air out of him. One of his hands moved to pin Johan’s wrists above his head, the other going and gripping his hair as the younger man thrashed to escape.

“Enough, Mr. Drew.” Norman’s voice thudded against his head, his large hands landing firmly on his throat. “We’re putting you down.”

If Johan had access to his windpipe, he would have laughed.

Putting down.

Like an animal.

Johan kicked and writhed to get out of the two enraged older mens’ grasps, but he could not, their combined strength out weighing his futile and weakened physical state. When was the last time he ate something? Air. Focus on air. Blackness swirled over his vision, pulsing and inky.

More glowing numbers.

He resisted the urge to use them, fearing the result, knowing only more pain and anger will follow the action.

Do not. Give in.

Can not give in.

Need air.

No no no.

Do not….

Please, no….

A rending sound filled the air as his hands moved of their own accord, moving the object on his right and swapping it with the one outlined in red before him.

He gasped in air, the pressure gone.

“Oh my god! Norman!”

Johan coughed and looked up, his blood freezing in his veins.

The projectionist’s head was now the very thing he dedicated his life to, his body slumping onto Johan’s, blood spurting where the projector met his neck. Joey scrambled back onto Jack, knowing full well he was moving out of danger back into it, but he needed to get away from the corpse. A dripping caught their attention, blood slowly seeping down the wall of the booth. Johan and Jack slowly both turned to look up.

Norman’s head, with wide, empty eyes, a clenched jaw, and look of shock, sat where the projector had been. His blood drained from his decapitated head, ever so slowly.

Jack stared for a moment before letting out an uncharacteristic wordless scream, having lost his two closest friends, one to insanity and the other to whatever madness this was, grabbing Johan by his collar, lifting him and slamming him down over the rail to the orchestra below. Johan let out a strangled sob, his hands scrambling against Jack’s chest in an attempt to stop him. Johan found no opening for mercy, and so, he pulled them both over the banister, the momentum pushing them apart. Johan landed on the piano, Jack on the floor. Without thinking, the taller man stumbled up and away, Jack getting up with a shout of anger. A shadow appeared over his head. Everyone in the room looked up.

And watched the piano fall.

The sound it made almost was funny, the keys all hitting at once with a dull thud, and the sound of multiple bones being snapped and crushed discordant beneath the tones.

All the musicians in the room at once turned to face the giggling Johan.

Why was he giggling, he had not even used the drug that kept him numb, this should not be funny, nothing in this situation was funny!

All of them charged, knowing this, this thing needed to be removed as quickly and in any manner possible.

Johan felt… lost, alone, cold, comfortless, searching for something.

Thus the first wave of searchers were borne of ink and pain.

He ran out of the orchestra room, feeling nauseated and sickening.

Thomas and Sammy were arguing, the once blonde director now with ink black, dripping hair. Wally stood between his two lovers, trying to appease them, but the man turned angel was hearing none of it.

Johan watched as the wrench came crashing down on the young janitor’s arm.

He slipped away, covering his ears and trying to blot out the cries of pain and torturous emotion ripping throughout the three.

Poor Wally.

He always was a good boy.

The lost ones began appearing as he sprinted away from the music department, the other floors becoming unstable and corrupted, ink leaking from walls as he passed, walls and floors ruined.

A hand shot out from a doorway, stopping him by his mouth, dragging him into the toy department. A pale Irish face looked at him with disdain, Shawn’s entire department behind him.

“Fuck ‘im up!” Shawn roared, and Johan lost count of how many times he had been kicked, struck, smacked, slammed, punched, hit, and otherwise beaten. He was shocked none of his bones had broken. He was on the floor, his arm twisted murderously behind him, leaving him gasping and shaking.  A hissing Irish voice filled is ears. “Say it.”

“Say what?” he wheezed. His head was smacked to the floor.

“Say yer sorry, ye arse!”

“I’m sorry! I am! I don’t know what happened, I don’t know what is happening, I, I… I’m sorry….”

The man shook with sobs, every motion bringing more pain.

“I don’t believe ye.”

“Please, Shawn, I swear, I don’t know how to control this!”

“‘Nuff o’ it.” Shawn barked, making Johan cry out as he pushed his arm up higher.

Bang.

There no longer was a pressure on Johan’s back, and he scrambled away, crashing into a shelf, Bendy plushies collapsing over him. He shrieked and clammored away, so sick of smiles.

An entire room of lost ones, searchers, and bloated ones looked at and regarded him solemnly.

He backed out, running, and running, until his useless, lame, pathetic, weak legs sent him sprawling down to the ground.

He curled up and cried.

He wanted to cry, at least.

He wanted to feel something, anything.

Nothing.

He stared at his hands numbly.

He knew where he could find alcohol. Shawn had alcohol. But there was no way in hell that he would go back into that room.

Grant also always had some form of it in his desk.

Joey pushed himself up, slowly stumbling down more, shaky steps going down, down, down….

He paused by the accountant’s door, knocking in case he was within.

The bottle greeted him, smashing over his head.

Wrong shoes wrong shoes no no no no no no he was not gay please do not smash the bottle over his head again, please no, you were supposed to be a good person not a beast, stop st-

The insanity transferred to Grant.

Joey slammed shut the door as cackles and howls and garbled words slipped out.

“What… what would HE SAY?! WHAT WOULD HE SAY?!”

Joey vomited again.

His own words echoed back to him for the third time that day.

He crawled to the lift.

Lacie greeted him on the lower floors, she and all the workers of Bendy Land.

This time, Johan was not just surprised none of his bones were broken, he was shocked.

The pain was unbearable, he felt his limbs beaten and torn at, he felt his clothes rip and he felt his muscles burn, he felt pain and pain and pain and pain.

Lacie grabbed him by his hair, raising an arm to punch him.

“Wait,” he croaked. “Please….”

“No,” she growled, hir fist flying to his face, and energy burst from him moments before the hit landed, and the blast rattled everything, from the games to the rides. “What the fu-”

Lost ones surrounded him once more, and there was a hollow thud as Lacie’s body landed on the animatronic she had been working on, Bertrum and hir together.

Bertrum was the only being still standing, walking delicately through the crowd of inky monster turned beings.

Bertrum stared at him, shock and terror in his eyes, replaced with sadness and sorrow.

He extended a hand to the man he saw as his nephew.

Johan stumbled onto him, shaking and sobbing onto his shoulder.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Bertrum asked him. Johan shook his head. Bertrum sighed, taking him to another room. The filled spider ride loomed over them. “Johan… go to your machine, upstairs, and undo all this mess.”

He stared at him. No one should know abo-

“Yes, the computer, dammit!” Bertrum rubbed his forehead. “I know it must be hard, but you’ve flown too close to the sun, and it’s time to reset your wings and try again.”

“You don’t know what I’m going through!” Johan yelled, tears pouring down his face. “I killed everyone! I killed Jack and Johnny and Shawn and Norman, I made Grant and Sammy go insane, I don’t even know what I did to Susie and Allison, Wally is dying and Thomas is a toon, and I don’t know what to do, I miss Henry and I’m crazy! I killed Lacie, Bertrum, your fucking spouse, I fucking killed hir, don’t you understand, I don’t know what to do!”

“Calm dow-”

“Don’t you fucking dare tell me to calm down! You should!”

Both of them were suddenly by the open top of the spider ride. Bertrum’s terrified eyes met his as he plummeted down with a splash. Johan screamed, his arm reaching down and into the inky and oiled abyss.

He struggled, Bertrum’s arm grasping his.

The ink splashed onto Johan’s bloodstained clothing, both men struggling against the slippery substance. Bertrum was the closest thing to family had since Aramis had been killed, he had grounded and stabilized him, and now he was literally slipping out between his fingers. Johan could not let more pain in. He was alone and afraid, and could not be more alone than he was, he needed some support, and he loved Bertrum. Bertrum was good and kind and protective of him. And he was his Uncle Bertie.

He had to save him, together they could fix this, Bertrum could help him fix his mess.

“Hang on,” he gasped, pulling on the older man, both striving to get him out of the ink and oil. “I’ll get you out of there!”

The world flicked again, Johan no longer feeling solid.

Bertrum slipped out of his hands.

The last thing Johan saw was his face, choking on the ink, drowning in the oil.

The green glow of the computer kept him up that night, as he re wrote everything.

And again. And again. No pattern seemed to work. Nothing he did was good.

Failure. No wonder Henry left.

Disgusting freak.

Johan stared at the numbers, and merely rewrote one line of code.

Save.

He scribbled a note.

He went downstairs, ignoring the glowing pained eyes of the lost ones.

He limped into the organ room.

Johnny’s body was gone, his entire code replaced within the organ’s.

Johan sat and played a note.

A moan of pain welled from the instrument.

“We come full circle, don’t we,” Johan hollowly laughed, enunciating each word with a note. Another groan. “Johnny… I hate this. I don’t hate you, how could I, with what I had done to you? But you… you! You wanted to me to make you moan in pleasure, but what about the pain I would go through?! Why not moan in pain, like I have!? Nightmares and terror are all you gave me! I closed my eyes and saw you in my horrors, I could not sleep, I could not eat, I cannot and will not forgive you! I will not apologize! I can’t! I can’t! You stripped from me the last shred of humanity I had, and now you, you, take the lack of humanity on yourself! I… I hope… that you can forgive me. I’m not apologizing. But I hope you can.”

Johan returned upstairs to his computer.

He picked up the note, and hesitated, but searched for the file.

His heart pounded.

Undo everything, Bertrum?

No, he will one up that.

Delete himself.

The file finished loading.

He swallowed saliva he no longer needed, and pressed delete, and felt everything change.

He felt ones and zeros ebb off of him in waves, he felt his form break, he heard the whispers and the taunts louder than ever, he saw more shadowy shapes than before, and he felt…

Error.

Pain shot through his system and he scrambled through the code.

Where did it go wrong!?

All he wanted to do was sleep forever.

Error, duplicate code, unable to delete Joey Drew.

But… he did not try to… there was no….

There was no Joey Drew.

He deleted Joey Drew.

Error, corrupted coding, cannot make changes.

What is happening?

He searched for Joey Drew.

All his coding, at first. Then branching off. Strains of Johan’s coding appeared everywhere in all sorts of small interactions, anchoring him.

Joey Drew was not Johan Ramirez anymore.

But some parts of him, the glimmers of humanity, were, and so, since Johan was deleted, the coding refused to allow him to edit the world, but since some parts of him existed in the man the only existed from his fears, he remained.

Everything reset, going black, and Johan was alone, afraid, and nonexistent.

Joey Drew woke up in an upscale apartment in the heart of Brooklyn.

Johan Ramirez hated him, the deepest kind of self-loathing.

[scarletraven1001]

The Final Price (Chapter 5)

Chapter Summary: Vegeta will rest at nothing to get Bulma back... Revelations are made, hearts are laid bare, and the two conflicted souls surrender to each other amidst their fears for their unknown future.

Entry for the @tpthvegebulmayhem, Week 3.

Prompt/Genre: Someone’s been eating my porridge / Mystery.

Chapter Warnings: Rated E - Profane language; Crime and graphic violence.

All Chapters:  1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

Also on Ao3.

8-8-8-8-8

Chapter 5: Bonded Souls

8-8-8-8-8

Note: This is part 2 of 3, of my Week 3 entry. There are several lines added on here that explain some things that were not fully addressed in my original submission to the Mayhem. 

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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Vegeta appeared into Bulma’s room as he so often did nearly every evening.

He would usually spend his entire day training, either alone or with his men, but on this particular day, he had done nothing but wander around the mountains of Earth, longing for his home planet, but knowing that his moping was futile because there was no force in the universe that could give him back all that he had lost.

The only thing left for him was revenge… and oh, how he wanted to wrap his fingers around Frieza’s neck as he wrung the life from him, torturously slowly, like the lizard demon had done to the Saiyans that he had kept as playthings all those years ago.

How Vegeta wished to trap Frieza in a hell of his own creation, as the despicable lizard had done to him, leaving him no choice but to either waste away in despair, or to exist with nothing but the bitter thirst for cold blood coursing through his every vein.

But more than anything, Vegeta wished that he were once again a fully-living man, not a being with a conditional existence that blossomed and faded at a benevolent god’s whims, one who needed another being’s vitality so he could be restored to his full and former glory.

He would give anything, to be a real mortal once again.

To be a man that needed sustenance, who could sweat and bleed, who could touch another without inhibitions…

To be a man who could care for and protect Bulma.

He shook his head angrily at his wayward thoughts, the futility of it all making his rage rise into an all consuming flame deep inside his heart.

There was no hope for him.

He knew of his choices. There were only two possible outcomes…

And it was becoming increasingly clear, with every day that passed, that he may be fated for the worst possible end.

He looked around his surroundings, noting the clean sheets and straightened up knick knacks, and he realized in a flash that Bulma had yet to come home.

Her housekeepers kept her room clean, and she systematically decimated the neatness within five minutes of her arrival.

He grinned as he thought of how intelligent and yet utterly unorganized she was, how she was the very epitome of a woman raised in privilege, and how she, like him, had experienced what it was like to have a very swift fall from grace, even though her own fall was temporary.

He was glad that he was able to keep her from falling too hard into devastation, at least.

He went downstairs, listening hard lest anyone be in the same vicinity, as he craved to have some of the rich, starchy soup-like concoction that she had made for him the previous morning.

He peered into the kitchen, before he opened the large refrigeration device, and set about looking for the “Tupperware” that she had placed into the very back, so he could come and take some at any time.

He grinned as he spotted the plastic box, then sat down on one of the chairs in the dining area, spoon in hand as he opened the box.

It was half-empty.

“Someone’s been eating my porridge,” he grumbled as he still dug in, regardless. “Fucking Earthlings.”

He turned an ear up as he heard Bulma’s family conversing in the background, ready to spring away at the slightest sign of anyone approaching.

He stilled, spoon halfway to his mouth, when he registered exactly what it was that they were discussing.

“…Yes officer,” a woman’s voice, which he recognized as Bulma’s mother. “She was last seen by her secretary at four in the afternoon. She was still at work.”

“We cannot place an official complaint until she has been missing for twenty four hours, Mrs. Briefs. Are you sure she didn’t just go out and forget to take her phone?”

“No, officer, Bulma isn’t like that,” Dr. Briefs answered. “She wouldn’t leave her phone unattended then skip off somewhere. You know that our family had huge legal issues, and we are of course, afraid that our daughter would still be targeted.”

Vegeta straightened, raising two fingers to his head so he can detect Bulma and retrieve her…

Only to stare into the distance, stunned, as he realized that he could not sense her.

Her ki was gone…

Her ki was miniscule to begin with, and it was hard to pinpoint her at all times due to how insignificant her ki number was, but he had always been able to easily find her, even in the midst of chaos.

It was as if she was…

He bristled in fury.

It almost felt as if she was dead.

Panic began to set in as he tried to zero in on the amulet he gave her, only to harshly slam into a psychic wall, the likes of which he could clearly remember, in spite of not having encountered it for three decades…

Frieza.

With a flare of power, he raised his fingers again, materializing into the middle of Uranai’s house with an anxious shout, “Men! To your Prince, now!”

Less than a second later, all three remaining Saiyans stood before him, baffled at the furious energy surrounding him.

“My Lord, what-” Raditz started, but Vegeta cursed, cutting him off.

“They have taken her. They have taken my Moon.”

The remaining Saiyans stared at him in shock, digesting the words and the ramifications of such a problem.

“We need to find her. That woman who tried to kill Bulma had said that the name was Cold. Nappa, did you find anything?” he asked, the flames of his power rising, singeing the floor beneath his feet as he tried desperately to control his rage.

They will pay. Whoever they are, they will pay.

“Cold is an alias, my Prince. But I stand by my previous lead. I believe that they are hiding behind a medium enterprise being led by a man named Frost Chiller. I have reason to believe that this man is actually Frieza.”

“Then I shall go there now. I shall destroy his empire once and for all!” Vegeta growled.

“Prince, no!” Raditz said. “You know as well as we do that the time isn’t right yet. It is why we have been waiting to attack…”

“I can wait no longer. They have Bulma,” Vegeta hissed, about to raise his fingers to his forehead once again.

All were stunned when two strong hands held back Vegeta’s, pushing them down to keep him from leaving.

Kakarot.

“You will unhand me this instant, Kakarot,” Vegeta spat, but Kakarot shook his head, defiant.

“No. Your majesty, I know why we need to look after Bulma now, but please... She is such a nice girl. If we go in now, not only will she die, but we will all die. We need a better plan.”

Vegeta wrenched his arm away from Kakarot, eyes blazing with pure hatred, but he tried to calm himself, knowing that the boy was right.

“You have an hour to come up with a plan, Kakarot. Otherwise, I go in and rescue her, by myself.”

8-8-8-8-8

When Bulma woke up, a part of her really wished that she hadn’t.

Her head pounded mercilessly, and she felt her insides rioting, bile rising to her throat as the nausea overwhelmed her, making her see her surroundings behind a deep haze of red.

She was flat on her back, and she tried hard to move, but a heavy feeling in her limbs kept her rooted to the hard ground.

It was so utterly disorienting, and it took her a few moments to remember exactly why she was in this predicament.

“Those fucking bastards poisoned me,” she hissed in fury, even as her throat protested the activity.

“I’m gonna kill them. Then I’m gonna make Vegeta kill them again,” she thought mutinously.

A soft creaking sounded off to her right, and Bulma mustered up all of her strength to turn her head in that direction.

Two large men guarded a small door, and Bulma realized as she looked around that she was in a bare room, laying on a concrete floor, being watched by two, strange-looking men.

“Hey Burter, look, she’s awake,” one of the men said, lifting his arms up so he could fix the ponytail that he had his long hair up into.

“Oh hey, you’re right Jeice,” answered the other, a larger man with a bald head and a very flat nose.

“Hey there, princess. You hungry?” the one named Jeice jeered, before both burst into laughter.

“We got some chocolate for you here, if you want some,” smirked Burter.

Bulma tried to part her lips. “Fu-fuck you,” she rasped, making the men howl in laughter.

“Later, princess. For now, we keep you here,” said Jeice, a note of malice in his eyes. “Lord Frieza needs you alive.”

“But as soon as he kills the Prince, we can do what we want with her, right?”

She felt a shard of worry strike her at those words.

She coughed, before she defiantly muttered, “You can’t kill the Prince. He’ll kill you all.”

Burter just laughed again. “He can try, but he won’t be able to even touch Lord Frieza without the Blue and Red Moons.”

“Blue… and Red?”

Bulma had heard many times of the Blue Moon. But Red?

Jeice smirked cruelly. “Why doll, didn’t he tell ya?”

Her face must have showed her confusion, because both men started chuckling, before Jeice spoke again.

“It appears to me, that they have left the Blue Moon in the dark, Burter,” he grinned, before he turned to her. “Lemme tell you a little bit about your Prince, Ms. Briefs.”

Bulma tried to hide the anticipation in her face.

Could it be, that she would get her answers from these two men?

“Listen. Now, we know that you are the Blue Moon,” he said, and Bulma frowned.

Mai had mentioned that “Cold”, her boss, had called Bulma “The Blue Moon”.

Bulma knew that a Blue Moon was either the second full moon within a calendar month, or a more literal one, when the moon appears blue due to scattered particles in the air.

“You know the Saiyans, their powers follow moon cycles. I think they call you the Blue Moon because you have been tainted by the Prince. His life force flows within you, that’s why he keeps you handy. They also call you the Blue Moon because they need to keep you around when the full Red Moon appears,” Jeice said.

She frowned as Burter chimed in. “Yeah, and the Red Moon is when the Saiyans are strongest. The Red Moon will be coming soon, and those monkeys think we’re stupid, that we don’t know that they are biding their time until they attack during the eclipse.”

“We’re not scared of them though. Lord Frieza already stuck your Prince into a ball and annihilated their kind decades ago. He isn’t about to lose to them now, no matter what color the moon turns.”

Bulma’s eyes widened as the two men dissolved into highly amused laughter.

This… Frieza… was the man who had betrayed Vegeta and his men all those years ago.

As for Vegeta not claiming his price…

It made so much sense.

Vegeta had been saying that he was waiting for the perfect time… that he wasn’t ready to claim his price…

He was truly waiting for a particular phase of the moon.

She thought back on the day that Vegeta had shown up in her bedroom, translucent and weak, and she remembered that it had been an extraordinarily dark night…

A dark night… when even the moon seemed to be in hiding…

The new moon.

He was weak, because the moon was hidden.  

She also began to understand why she had been singled out as the one who could free him from his imprisonment, why the spirits on the Spirit Bridge did not immediately sense her, and why Nappa had said that they thought they felt Vegeta when she arrived at the island house.

Uranai had told her, that she and the Prince shared a spirit link.

It truly made a lot more sense, now.

She was somehow a part of Vegeta… or had a part of Vegeta in her.

Was this the reason why she was so drawn to him?

Jeice’s laughter pulled her from her reverie.

“Did you also know that the reason why your family was targeted by the fund scammers was so they could take you out before you freed the Prince?”

“Yeah, too bad that idiot, Lewis, admitted everything. It would have been easier to make her disappear if she was penniless.”

“Oh, look at her Burter! She looks shocked. Reckon the Saiyans never told her?”

“Probably not, Jeice!”

Bulma tuned them out as she concentrated on her limbs, trying to see if they would work, and she realized with annoyance that her arms still refused to move.

She kept on trying to lift her fingers, but the entire time, in the safety of her mind, she was calling out to only one person…

“Vegeta… help me!”

8-8-8-8-8

Vegeta shot up, eyes wide as he heard a voice in his head.

“Bulma!” he thought, looking around, recognizing her voice immediately.

He would know her voice, even in the midst of a billion other voices.

The waxing gibbous moon guided their way to her, a thick patch of silver light that gave him hope as they travelled in a manner that he deemed too slow, but was also the safest way to avoid detection.

He turned to his left, finding Kakarot driving the hovercraft that was carrying them to Bulma. One other hovercraft, ironically produced by none other than Capsule Corp, was a few meters ahead of them, carrying Nappa and Raditz.

Nappa had apparently spent the past thirty years on Earth making an absolute killing in the body-building industry, and owned a small army of Capsule Corp vehicles.

“Is something wrong, Prince Vegeta?” Kakarot asked from his side.

The younger man’s brows were knitted in worry, and Vegeta ran a hand down his face, exasperation filling him at the thought of their plan.

“No… But I thought I heard Bulma,” he admitted, looking off into the distance as Kakarot drove the small vehicle.

“Oh,” Kakarot said. “You know, sometimes, it’s kinda like that with me and my wife, Chichi.”

Vegeta raised a brow questioningly.

“When I started feeling drawn to her, sometimes I would hear her in my head, so I’d go to her, and I’d find out that she was thinking of me. Raditz and I realized then, that the Saiyan bonding is possible with Earthlings,” Kakarot said offhandedly.

The Prince narrowed his eyes. “I am not feeling drawn to anyone-”

“Whatever you say, highness.”

Kakarot’s infuriating nonchalant response nearly made him blast the fool into oblivion.

He was suffering through this slow vehicle because Kakarot had logically said that if they went in to try to rescue Bulma in their full, powerful forms, Frieza would sense them from miles away and would undoubtedly try to harm Bulma.

However, if they snuck in this way, ki suppressed way down, they could sneak her out, so they could face Frieza at their own terms on a later date.

They were to stay hidden, and Raditz would use his acquired technological methods to gain access into the compound where they believed Bulma was being hidden.

Uranai had bribed the spirits with many valuable things, to get as much information as they could, and their spirit sources had led them to a small villa on the edge of West City.

The only problem that remained, was that stealth had never been Vegeta’s forte.

He was having a difficult time suppressing his ki, what with his aggravation and the fact that his current form did not exactly have all of the control of his original body.

But he needed to try harder, to get to Bulma.

8-8-8-8-8

Sweat was dripping all over Bulma’s body as she pushed herself beyond all of her known limits, just to move a single finger.

The drug they had used on her was powerful, and Bulma worried that this long period of physical sedation may have lasting effects.

She would have to study it, when she gets back to her lab.

“Focus, Bulma,” she chided herself as her mind began to wander, and she tried again, focusing on moving her finger…

Her right pinky finger twitched.

“Yes!” she thought.

However, her celebration was cut short when she heard a powerful explosion coming from somewhere very close by.

Her eyes widened, and she turned her gaze to her two guards, who had now stood at attention as another blast came from within the building.

“Fuck! Is it the Saiyans?” Jeice asked, as Burter looked up in panic.

“Who the fuck else, Jeice?” Burter responded, reaching up to open the door.

“The fuck are you doing?” Jeice screeched, slapping Burter’s hand away from the knob.

“I wanna check outside!”

Bulma tuned them out once again as she concentrated harder on moving the rest of her limbs.

Vegeta was here.

The men continued arguing, but were cut off when a cellphone started ringing.

“Mr. Frieza?” Jeice said, and Bulma stilled, listening.

Frieza was the name of the man who Vegeta needed to fight.  

“Just leave her here? Alone? Alive?”

She felt confusion fill her at that. Were they being instructed to just leave her?

“Yes sir,” he spoke into the phone again, before he turned a questioning eye at Bulma.

“You know,” he said to her still prone form. “I really don’t understand everything, but you’re a lucky little bitch. The boss just told us to leave you here for your Prince to find.”

Burter approached, pulling on Jeice’s arm. “Let’s go Jeice.”

Bulma watched as the two men began to levitate, before they swiftly flew to the door, then sped out of her sight.

Apparently, they were aliens, too.

Several more explosions sounded, coming closer and closer, and Bulma took a deep breath.

“Vegeta!” she screamed, knowing that the Prince was close… he was going to save her.

In the next moment, she felt his unmistakable aura fill the room, and tears of relief filled her eyes as she heard him shout.

“Bulma!” he cried, rushing to her, powering down from his golden haired form, kneeling beside her as he checked her body for injuries. “Are you alright?”

She looked at him, a watery smile on her lips, as she nodded. “I’m fine, but I can’t move… they drugged me with some sort of root…”

“Namekian root,” he hissed gathering her into his arms.

Bulma curled into his chest as much as her paralyzed limbs would allow her, sighing as the masculine scent of him washed over her, comforted her…

She stiffened, remembering the words of the two men from earlier.

She had a part of Vegeta inside her. She needed to understand what it was before she let herself succumb to the rapidly growing feelings in her heart, the fondness that she felt for him more and more keenly each day.

She felt her stomach drop, and she quickly realized that he had used his teleporting powers to take them out of the building.

“Men!” he called loudly, and Bulma felt his ki flare around her for a moment, before the three Saiyan men from earlier were again before them, all sooty and looking like they had just escaped from hell.

“We have her, let us go, now,” Vegeta commanded, before he shot up into the air with her in his arms.

It was a strange sensation, flying without a plane, and she was both fascinated and terrified by the feel of the wind in her hair as she flew through the sky, safely tucked into the arms of the alien prince.

She realized that he was flying rather slowly, apparently making a leeway for her as the extreme speeds that she knew that he was capable of would undoubtedly injure her.

She noticed that the three other Saiyans were nearby, also flying at the same leisurely pace.

“Where are we going?” she asked, nuzzling her face into his chest as she spoke.

“To the island,” he answered, eyes trained straight ahead.

A brilliant idea popped into her head, and she frowned as determination filled her.

“No, don’t,” she said, and Vegeta turned to her, brows raised in question.

She cleared her throat as she continued. “Take me to Capsule Corp.”

“Bulma, your family cannot see me, you know this,” he answered.

“Please,” she said. “I will just tell them that you saved me, but we need to deal with this somehow… Also, I can house all of you until the next Red Moon.”

His eyes widened. “You know of the Red Moon?”

“I also know more about the Blue Moon. Vegeta, we need to talk,” she whispered. “Take me to Capsule Corp, and I will set you and the other three up with decent living spaces and a training ground until the full Red Moon shows up in a few days. Let me help you.”

“You have already suffered enough,” he growled.

“But so have you,” she soothed, and she felt his shoulders sag slightly as she realized that her words had gotten through to him. “Let’s go to Capsule Corp.”

Vegeta clutched her tighter against him as he mulled it over. “I suppose… if we were closer to you, we could watch over you more easily. Now that Frieza has begun to actively target you, there is no telling what else he plans to do.”

He turned his head to the side, and yelled out to his men, “Saiyans! We are going to Capsule Corp.”

They made the rest of the trip in silence, until all five of them finally touched down onto the front lawn of the main house.

Vegeta approached the door, still holding Bulma, and Bulma heard her mother’s panicked voice from within the house, shrieking at someone that her daughter still had not made it home.

Bulma did not have her keys with her, so she pressed the doorbell, waiting for someone to open the door for them.

Panchy herself came to the door, staring in shock at Bulma and the large men surrounding her, before she started screaming for Dr. Briefs.

As soon as they were inside, Vegeta sat Bulma down on a chair, and she calmly explained to her parents that yes, she had been kidnapped, and yes, it was probably orchestrated by the men who tried to frame her father, and no, they did not need to call the police.

Bulma also explained the four Saiyans as being soldiers who were about to be deployed to war.

Panchy cried buckets, hugging each and every single one of the large men as she thanked them for saving her daughter.

“Let me see again, you are Vegeta, you are Goku, you are Nappa, and you are Raditz,” Panchy clarified, pointing to each man as she spoke their respective names.

“You are all so big and scary looking!” she said in delight, marveling at the enormous men and their ridiculously ripped bodies. “But you are all angels for saving our Bulma.”

“I agree,” Dr. Briefs piped in. “Is there anything we can do to repay you?”

Bulma sat up straighter at that. “Dad, could we let them use Capsule 4 for a while? They need to do some strength training for their deployment in a few days, and Capsule 4 would be great for them.”

Dr. Briefs frowned. “Do you think they can handle it?”

“Do they look like they can’t? Also, Capsule 4 has four bedrooms, they could sleep there until they need to leave.”

Dr. Briefs immediately agreed, immediately asking someone to prepare Capsule 4 while Panchy flew to the kitchen to prepare food for their guests.

Bulma stayed behind with the Saiyans, smiling gratefully as Vegeta held his hands up to her, a warm glow emitting from his fingers, and she realized that he was pulling the drug out of her system when she began to feel her fingers and toes once again.

“Capsule 4 is an experimental venture. We call it the gravity chamber,” Bulma explained. “It simulates up to fifty times the Earth’s gravity, and we intend to sell it to the military for their training. It is surrounded by the toughest polymer and metals on Earth, and I am pretty sure that you could use your hand explosions or something in there without being detected by anyone.”

Vegeta stared in shock at her. “You have this sort of technology?”

Bulma nodded. “The prototype, which is Capsule 4, was finished last week. It was one of the projects that were put on hold when the government seized Capsule Corp from us, and my father and I just finalized the programming a few days ago. You guys can test it out. However, even if the gravity function does not hold up, you still have a training room and a place to rest.”

Panchy slinked into the living room then, stopping their discussion. “Oh boys! There is food in the kitchen!”

All men turned questioning, hopeful looks at Vegeta.

The Prince sighed. “Go and eat. You are dismissed.”

All three were gone in a second.

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma sighed deeply as she emerged from her bathroom, rubbing a soft towel onto her head to dry her hair.

After the three Saiyans ate, and Vegeta had fully healed Bulma from the effects of the Namekian root, the Capsule Corp guards escorted all four Saiyans to Capsule 4, so they could get settled in for what remained of the night, and could begin training the following morning.

Dr. Briefs had volunteered to assist the Saiyans in Capsule 4 the following day, so Bulma could stay in her room, rest, and heal from her harrowing experience.

Panchy had still been insisting on calling the police, but Bulma had given her the excuse that Vegeta and the rest had used illegal means to save her, and she did not want the police to get involved because of this.

Now, as Bulma prepared for bed, she thought back on the events of the exhausting day, realizing that there was so much that she still wanted to discuss with Vegeta, but she was also so exhausted that she could barely keep her eyes open as she dressed in her sleeping clothes.

A mere second after she had dressed, she felt the familiar crackle of fire and energy in the air, and she turned just in time to see Vegeta materialize into her room.

His dark hair was a mess upon his head, and he looked uneasy, fidgety even.

Bulma realized that he felt guilty for all that had happened to her on that day.

“Hey, Vegeta?” she called.

He looked up at her, eyes soft, while his body spoke an entirely different language, defensively crossing his arms across his chest.

“Thank you, for saving me,” she said.

“Tch,” he spat, looking away from her, an expression of rage and disgust in his face. “Do not thank me, woman. You are in this situation because of me. If anything, you should be cursing the ground I walk upon.”

“I don’t blame you for anything, Vegeta,” she said, walking up to him.

Slowly, she lifted her hand, placing it upon his chest, watching his face as a vast array of emotions flitted chaotically across his eyes.

“You should,” he muttered.

“But I don’t,” she whispered. “However… I learned a few things today… and I really want to talk to you about them. Could you… could you help me understand?”

She swallowed, before she continued. “Those men told me about the Blue Moon, and the Red Moon. They said… they said I had a part of your life force in me. I… want to know…”

“Bulma,” he rasped, and she started slightly when he reached up to touch her hand on his chest, squeezing her fingers even as he refused to meet her eyes. “I will answer your questions. But can we… can we wait until tomorrow?”

Bulma looked curiously at him, trying in vain to get him to look at her.

“You… you were injured just a few hours ago. I want you to rest. Tomorrow night, I will come to you again, and I will answer your questions. I suppose it is high time that I did,” he said gently, pulling his hand away from her.

She smiled, and she almost sighed in relief when he finally glanced at her, and he too gave her a tiny grin as their eyes met.

“I will see you tomorrow then, Vegeta,” she agreed.

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma watched the Saiyans train in Capsule 4 through a monitor that she and her father had installed prior. The feed was linked directly to her tablet, and she scrolled all day through all the cameras to better be able to see all angles.

All she could say, was that these men were incredible.

They took to the increased gravity like fish to water, and their actions were impossible for any Earthling man to ever hope to follow.

Dr. Briefs immediately figured out that the men were not ordinary soldiers, but didn’t question Bulma too much, since he was just happy that she had these men help her out of a tight spot the previous night.

Bulma stayed glued to the screen, analyzing the four alien warriors.

Nappa threw the most powerful punches, shaking the very foundations of the building, while Raditz displayed amazing stamina, outlasting Nappa in all their endurance trainings.

Goku had impeccable aim, and his ki blasts - as she had finally learned that they were called – were so powerful that they nearly blew holes through the reinforced walls, and it took both Nappa and Raditz working in tandem to hold his ki blasts back.

And then… there was Vegeta.

His movements were by far the most fluid and refined, and a single charged attack from him could blow all three Saiyans away, both literally and figuratively.

He was smart with his movements, his hits calculated and yet devastating. His body was poetry in motion, and Bulma felt her throat go dry when he removed his armor, revealing the amazing lines of his chest and abdomen.

The one thing that she found strange about him though, was that in spite of all the exertions, Vegeta, never once, broke a single bead of sweat.

She could hear him screaming at Goku, that he could “ascend” as well, as he mercilessly beat the other Saiyan into the metal floor of the domed training hall.

It all looked so brutal, and yet, watching them helped Bulma understand what was truly at stake.

In two days, the sun will set and give way to a bright night with a full blood moon.

That night, is what the Saiyans have been waiting for, all these months.

That night will be the time when their powers will be at an all time high, and they will attempt to gain their revenge against their common enemy, the being who destroyed their home world.

And Bulma hoped that, when the time arrives, they will be ready.

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma waited anxiously for Vegeta to appear in her room that night.

She was brimming with questions once again, and she was desperate, so unbelievably desperate, to know the answers.

Shortly before midnight, Vegeta appeared.

He was wearing his usual blue suit, but he had foregone his white gloves, boots and breastplate. For the first time, Bulma realized that the attire was not actually a full body suit, but a two-piece outfit composed of a tight long-sleeved shirt and form-fitting pants.

Bulma herself had worn a night dress, a soft red silk that hugged her body gently, and she sat primly on her knees in the center of her bed as Vegeta arrived, motioning for him to take a seat beside her.

He sank onto the bed, his hands grasping the soft cotton of her sheets, and he seemed lost in thought as he slowly ran his hands over the rich material.

“Back in Vegeta-sei, I too slept on soft sheets,” he murmured, eyes distant even while he stared down at her pristine white blankets. “We had servants, cooks, and courtesans. I was to be King, and I was treated as such from the day I was born.”

Bulma kept silent as he straightened, crossing his arms across his chest as usual, and Bulma marveled at the hard lines and scars that littered his large hands.

“Frieza is the purger who destroyed my planet. We had been a part of his network for centuries, but the Saiyans have had enough, and we were fighting for our freedom. We were not winning, but we were not losing either. However, on the day when it all ended, he had lured me onto a different planet, where I, Nappa, Raditz and Kakarot had foolishly followed him. As soon as the four of us were gone, he used his full powers to… to…”

He swallowed hard, and Bulma placed a small hand on his shoulder, lending him her strength, encouraging him to speak.

“I was devastated. Mad with grief and fury. I used my instant transmission to reach him, and I found him near death, having used all his energy on destroying my world. I gathered my strength for a final attack, but I did not realize that he had tricked me once again… his minion, a sorcerer named Babidi, had been waiting to ambush me. Babidi used a spell to push my entirety into a tiny ball, where I was to exist in the middle realm, neither dead nor alive.”

He was shaking now, and Bulma came forward, moving to sit beside him and she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder as he carried on.

“I used my gathered energy to kill Babidi, but it was too late, the spell had already taken effect. Before I was sucked in, I pushed out my life force into a blast of ki, thinking I could use it to tie me to the world of the living so I could find a way out, but it failed.”

He clenched his fists. “My life force… it flew off into the galaxy, searching for a soul that it could join with. A… a compatible soul. When I arrived in the netherworld, I made a deal with the King of Hell that I could come back to the world of living to seek my revenge, but I had to be freed by the being who held a part of my life force.”

He turned to her, then, without warning, gathered her into his arms, burying his face into her hair as he shuddered, and Bulma felt tears fill her eyes as she felt his pain through his tight embrace, through the deep and heavy breaths he was releasing.

“I made a miscalculation. We believed at first that my life force would join with the soul of a man similar to me, a warrior, or a prince. I never imagined that it would find a soul that would be a complement to mine, instead.”

Bulma took in a shaky breath as the implications of his words sank in.

“Vegeta… are you trying to say…”

“We call you the Blue Moon, Bulma, because the fragments of my life force merged with you. I attain full power during the full moon, and you are the second moon that I need in order to become whole again. I… I never would have thought to foresee that my spirit would look not for its twin… but for its mate.”

She pulled back with a sharp gasp, staring in shock at Vegeta.

“Its… mate?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

He pulled away from her as well, looking blankly at a spot on her wall, trying to avoid her eyes, as he nodded. “I felt it, the moment you touched the orb that held me. I made you kiss me that night because… Because I wanted to feel it more.”

Bulma’s heart pounded madly in her ears, as she finally began to put a name to all the strange feelings that stirred within her heart whenever Vegeta was near.

“This is why Frieza had tried to have you discredited, and killed. He must have sensed my life force in you, but knew that he couldn’t touch you because you were in such a high profile position. He is scouting Earth, and I suppose that he couldn’t afford to destroy it yet. Knowing Frieza, he most likely has plans to take over this planet the way he did countless others. It is also how Uranai found you, and the reason why the Spirit Bridge did not immediately try to absorb you, because it sensed me in you. I had been in the middle realm long enough that I had siphoned some of their powers, and they thought me to be one of them, by now.”

Her lips trembled, and she reached up, bravely letting her fingers caress his powerful jaw.

She caught his eyes as she turned his head to face her, and gathering her will she asked him…

“Vegeta… this soul-merging. Are you saying… that we are, in effect, soulmates?”

He tried to look away as a furious blush stole across his cheeks, but Bulma held fast, holding his face in her palms, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“Vegeta, please! I need to know. Did… did your spirit bind us by accident and cause us to feel drawn to each other, or did it seek me out because it was meant to be with me?”

“…The latter, Bulma.”

Her eyes widened, and she raised one of her hands to her trembling lips, holding back a sob.

His soul had traveled through literal galaxies to find hers…

She could hold back no longer.

With a soft but reckless cry, she flung herself at him, and as he caught her, she held her arms out, reaching around him…

And she wrapped her arms around his neck, using his surprise as leverage so she could slant her mouth passionately against his.

8-8-8-8-8

To be continued…

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[asimplesimmerson-blog]

Broken People

I had a feeling when I saw her that she was the one. The exact everything I’d read about. A few differences here and there: the facelessness wasn’t well documented, that was certain. And neither had I imagined her corporeality to be so ill defined; a thrill of red to the right, a soft quaking of steel tremors to the left; flitting restlessly in the humming darkness. I suppose she was the darkness. The stony silence was suddenly a full-throated sigh. The rocks clutch at the brim of her skirt; cover their nakedness behind her buzzing hips.

              And here I am, hundreds of feet below surface level. My lamp slowly dying; overwhelmed by this viscous darkness that keeps tearing through its light like a hand through smoke. Little particles of it dance across the floor and vanish, like a living thing with its guts being pulled from their casing. And as I watch this bizarre phenomenon taking place, I realize it isn’t just dying. The light is being eaten; swallowed in ravenous gulps.  

As this is happening, I feel in me that pang of hunted horror that every hungered after thing dreads. Cold scorched nostrils reel in the terror and thrust it out in cloudy gusts, growing ever larger as the panic leaps between the gaps in my teeth. My mouth opens; someone should hear me. If anyone, God. One last shout into the world just to let it know I lived. But nothing comes.

But there is also in her a shuddering grip of something else. Survival is comprised of two very important factors: fear, the driving force of life, and sex, which ensures the continuation of life. These are two inherently distinct survival mechanisms that very very rarely, if ever, get conflated. I’ve had a girlfriend or two that liked a handprint left on her ass that she could admire the next morning, but that is a very peculiar type of fear-sex situation. Not often when a man is lost in the woods with his heart glued to the roof of his mouth, pupils dilated to manic proportions, does he stop to consider that whatever is lurking just out of periphery is there to slip its tongue between his teeth.

But right now, I feel it. I feel that rising heat in my gut; a quickness to my breath. That feeling of expectancy; like the dry chill across the front of my tongue the first night I saw Rachel, standing there at the bar with lips pursed wryly at the corners like it knew a delightfully dreadful secret that the rest of her face didn’t. Rachel. I am thinking about Rachel. But no, I’m not? I can’t be. Not the love I felt for her the first time she fell into my arms, sobbing into my chest, while I kissed the crown of her head. Not the heavy pressure of her sleepy head on my chest when she stayed with me that night; the sound of rain catching in my gutters, lulling us to sleep. In fact, I’m not thinking of Rachel at all, I realize. The memories are surfacing as the thrill between my legs grows, but this is just a desperate attempt to rationalize; to latch onto something familiar when a situation so undoubtedly alien occurs. No, I’m feeling her legs wrapped around the back of me; hot breath against the hitch in my throat. The slick unknown tangled in my fingers with a belt buckle banging against my wrist. Rachel is here, but only for the convenience of knowing what I want. The horror of this realization chokes me senseless for a moment

until I realize this is exactly what I’ve been looking for.

I’ve found her. The huldra. The Siren. The Medusa. There are a thousand names for her. Every myth just a bit different, but all so inherently the same. I also know that I need to leave. Self-preservation demands that I turn on my heel and run. It’s the only way to deal with this kind of monster. I know that too well. It’s how Rachel finally got away from me.

But I’m here in this stinking pit for a reason. Decades of research have prompted this meeting: Late nights in haunted forests. Years and years of smelling like the underbelly of a rotten log. Fear driven all-nighters in places where I couldn’t scream for help even if I wanted to. The stakes had always been high. I wasn’t about to walk away now.

So I speak to her instead:

“Hello?” that seemed a reasonable enough introduction to a hungry, swirling mass of sexual energy, but it was met with silence. I step forward and try my luck again.

The darkness recoils somewhat, but still no response.

“I just want to talk. I’ve—”

“LEAVE.”  The stalactites rattle. It isn’t a voice. Just a rush of air escaping the cave.

“I’ve been looking for you. For a long time.” I take another step deeper into the darkness. Still she retreats from me; presses herself into the walls. The cracks between the rocks shimmer with veins of her. My lamp is still breathing low, but somewhat easier now that she’s backed off, “I’m not here to make you do anything. I honestly just wanted…to see you.”

“w-woman?” the breeze that whisks by me is coarse, unrefined, but distinctly incredulous.

“Yes, I’m a woman. And are you…woman?”

“d-doesn’t ma-atter. Leave!” the wind is shrill. Scared perhaps? I’m not too sure. There isn’t enough inflection in a rush of air to determined nuanced emotion.

“please,” I gently lower myself to the ground, groaning slightly as I realize the floor is about three inches deep with water, “I just want to talk.”

Silence. I accept it as acquiescence.

“How long have you been down here?” I ask, fishing for my camera. She might not show up on tape, but I can at least bring something back home. For who? For Rachel? She doesn’t ever want to see me again. But I’m already filming.

“Al-ways.” She answers curtly. Bits of her ooze from the little nooks she’s crammed herself inside.

“Why? Why are you down here?”

“Wh-y you uuuup?” the sound of her makes the water ripple around me. My teeth chatter. The water is quickly seeping through my jeans, surrounding my most delicate areas. For a moment I regret not pursuing a more tropically situated monster.

“well, for one, it’s warm up there. I like that—”

“warm yyyyessss!” the sudden rush of wind takes my breath away. I pull my coat closer around me, but it isn’t doing much good. “L-ike warm!”

“What are you?” I ask, hoping to tempt her with a warmer topic.

“c-cold.” She sighs.

“I can relate to that.” I feel icicles forming around my nostrils. Rachel always said you can tell if the temperature is below zero when your snot freezes inside your nose. I had asked her if she’d consulted the scientific method for that theory. I feel her laughter; taste her tongue. The warmth of her hands as they slide up my arms.

“Is this you? Is this you making me think about…” I stop to suck on my teeth, trying to decide if an amalgamous sex monster actually has any reference for what constitutes human sex. I decide that it probably doesn’t, “this feeling?”

“yes.” She replies. The lack of hesitation takes me by surprise.

“Why? What are you? What does this accomplish?” The water has risen past my thighs at this point. My entire lower body is engulfed. I’m outright fitfully shaking but only partially from the cold.

“Did you know,” Rachel narrows her eyes, and I lean forward to hear what she has to tell me. Girls like Rachel aren’t necessarily out of my league, but you must approach them with the utmost caution lest they be of a…straighter variety. She hadn’t recoiled when I leaned up against the bar beside her, which is always an excellent sign. She takes a delicate sip of her drink; just the tips of her dark lips wetting the straw which allows a small stream of soda water to trickle out the side of her mouth. She tactfully wipes it away with the edge of her thumb. In the same, calculated movement, she catches my gaze and smiles, just ever so slightly. I swallow. Hard.

“Did you know,” she continues, mildly clearing her throat, “Medusa is a story about feminism.”

I scoff. “I mean, I took a gender studies class, but that doesn’t change the fact that medusa gets her head cut off.”

She shrugs and turns back to the bar.

“Not saying you’re wrong in any way,” I stammer, backtracking. I’m not about to lose her, even if she is bringing up basic third wave feminism at a fucking monster-con, “I’m just saying it’s a shame that we lose all the good ones.”

“A real shame.” She turns back to me; a coy half-smile poised at the edge of her mouth. I have a feeling she knows my game, but I’m not about to let that eat me up inside. You do what you have to do to keep a pretty girl’s attention and I’ve always been good at turning situations in my favor.

“Men ruin her. Then they blame her for being ruined. Then they kill her. Classic patriarchal scheming.” I speciously muse, taking the opportunity to soak in the heavy curve halfway down the middle of her blood red dress.

“It’s just a real shame nobody simply asked her to give her head away.” She replies, ignoring the weight of my scrutiny.

“Give her head away?” I stifle a quick laugh, “I’m…not sure that’s…I’m…I don’t think that’s how things work.”

“You’d be surprised what broken people will give away if someone just asks,” She brings her drink up to her mouth, but this time she holds the straw ever so gently between the points of her teeth. Like a wolf bitch with her marrow-loving jaws around the neck of her pup.

“That’s…” I furrow my brow, “an interesting take on the story. I suppose?” I’m not sure what to make of that turn in conversation, so I steer back to something I’m more than comfortable navigating: small talk.

“So what do you do?” I ask cordially, waving down the bartender so I can preemptively buy her a new drink before she sucks the one in her hand dry. That’s always the excuse they use to leave you.

              She bites down on her straw with an almost excited snarl; peeling her lips back from those sharp teeth.

              “I hunt monsters.”

 The memory breaks. My arms shoot from water. Newborn crystalline sculptures of what they once were. I want to scream, but I’m gasping; floundering in the darkness. The cold surrounds me like a vice. Tugging my limbs down into the tenebrous lake that has now risen well past my shoulders. I try to stand, but the muscles in my legs are useless against this cold. The wind is whipping past my ears; slapping me across the face; digging into my eyes.

“Stop!” I’m hoarse, barely able to shape my mouth to form the words, “I’m not here to hurt you!” The wind slows enough that I can open my eyes. Not that it matters. Without my lamp, I’m blind.

“Th-en wh-at?” The voice sounds closer; more like a voice than just the scraping of air against the cavern.

“I just,” I gasp as the tears come. Without a hand to wipe them away, they freeze halfway down my cheeks just to sit there and burn, “I needed to find you. I’m not a fucking monster hunter! I just needed to show her that I found you. That—so that she—she’d love me again. This is the only way. You can do that for me. Please, just let me get her back. Please. I don’t know what you are, but surely you understand this. I fucked up and I need her! I fucking need her! Give her to me! Please! Please!” And my pleading transcends to a raucous squeal without shape or intelligence. I’m wailing senselessly with the ever-rising water lapping at my open mouth.

And I feel her rather than hear her. The capricious lilt in her voice. Her soft bottom lip gently sliding along the base of my earlobe.

“Yes, I can do that for you,” She pulls away from me. Her! Rachel! There in the darkness with me! Soft light, something reminiscent of moonlight, streams from the pores in her skin, setting the cavern ablaze. Her long red hair ripples like a throng of garter snakes around her shoulders; writhing all the way down to the small of her back. She stands, and in the dim light I can see every curve of her naked body. It’s her.

But The darkness I’d been conversing with begins to pour from the cave walls; thousands of little rivulets slithering up the back of her. They bury into her joints and soft points, working her muscles like fingers beneath a table cloth. She sways from side to side like a marionette. I’m both horrified and transfixed as I watch her hands grope her newly formed body. And all those sinewy little ropes hanging from the wall begin to detach. They slither through the holes they’ve made in her skin and disappear.

The water is also beginning to recede. It isn’t until its nearly gone that I see the stream of it traveling up her legs; twisting around her kneecaps, across her rounded belly. Her mouth is unhinged at a startling angle, waiting for the water to pour in. All the while she stares at me; hands groping at her breasts like an animal; yellow eyes gaping like two hungry mouths in the dark. I’d never seen anything so ineffably horrifying in my entire life as the rebirth of Rachel, my loving bride.

She takes a shaky step in my direction; heels buckling like a toddler who’s learning to walk. The vile lurching motion elicits a fearful moan deep from inside me. But still, I’m locked in place; my limbs still buckled with cold. Her legs are too new to take her more than a few steps, and she lets herself fall with a sickening slap against the slab of rock below. Apparently unfazed by any sort of human understanding of pain, she starts crawling toward me. The sides of her mouth are wet with water and spit as it’s pushed back up from her stomach. Hand over hand, she’s dragging herself toward me; fingernails digging into the rock; ripping from their beds. Instead of blood, water seeps from the delicate skin underneath. I manage to skitter back a few feet, but not fast enough to outpace her. She’s upon me in a second; her leaking face sliding up my pant leg and into my lap. Her hand slicks around my wrist. And then I scream. I fucking scream loud enough to tear my throat. I feel the trickling blood running down into my lungs, but I continue to scream. There’s no fucking reason not to.

“let me be warm again?” She purrs, resting her head on my chest.

Still screaming. No stopping on that front.

She lifts a hand to my face. I whip my head away, but her hand follows. It wasn’t wet like I imagined it would be. In fact, it’s more like velvet; like she is covered in a soft layer of fur. The fingernails she’d lost look like watery little globules now, clearly in the process of regeneration. Soon they’d be just as solid as they once were. I chance a glance at the face I’d found so terrifying only moments before. The yellow eyes had simmered to a gentle hazel. My heartrate falls just a bit. And I start to cough as I let my guard down. Blood bubbles over my chin. She wipes it away with that same thumb she had used to wipe her own mouth the first night I met her.

“Shh Shhh.” She cradles me. Pulls me into her chest. And I sob there, still too cold to make sense of any thought. Everything is too cold. I’m so fucking cold. She pulls my face up to hers. Kisses me. I let her. Warmth returns to her lips as she presses them against mine. I start to kiss her more fervently. The taste of her. It’s the exact taste. I reach my hands to grip the back of her head; to tangle my fingers in that soft, familiar down at the base of her neck. She smiles into my kiss and I know. This is her. This is Rachel. Without a doubt, this is Rachel. I laugh and draw her closer to me. We tumble back onto the black stone, banging our heads and laughing even harder because of it.

“You’re so cold, Rachel.” I pull her even tighter to my chest.

“I’m not that cold,” she giggles, struggling to free herself from my embrace.

“I didn’t mean for you to end up here. But I found her. I found the Medusa. And she brought you here!” I can barely form the sentence. Again, I pull her closer. My hands keep slipping for some reason, like they’re e losing their grip too quickly. It must be the shock of it all.

“It’s the cold,” she remarks, noticing my frustration, “Just give yourself a second.”

“No, it’s too cold for you to be down here,” I’m panting, pawing at her, “I have to keep you warm. I’ll be fine. I made it this far.”

“You made it this far,” she repeats, giving me a quick peck on the cheek, “so let yourself rest.”

“I can’t. I have to keep you warm.” The room is starting to get dark again. I know we need to start heading out soon. Though, I’m unsure how to attempt that without a lamp.

“We should go before the light fades,” she starts to get up, but I yank her back down into the safety of my arms.

“There’s time for that. Let me give you my coat though. You’ll need it in here.” I quickly slip out of my coat and drape it over her naked body, “There. That’ll keep you warm. Let’s lay here for just a second. Let our body heat warm it up before we head out.”

She rolls her eyes, typical, but obediently sidles up to me. I take her again in my fumbling arms; relish the steady rise and fall of her chest. God, it is so cold.

“You ask nicely, and you can get anything you want.” I whisper, teeth chattering so loud I doubted she would hear me. But to my surprise, she whispers back,

“Only if you ask broken people.”

I shrug, “details.”

She’s beginning to feel so much warmer the longer we lay here. That’s great because we should really head out soon. God, it’s cold. I am so cold.

[shady-tailors-shack]

Therapy with an Assassin

A resounding crash echoed from the ruins of the village. Malakesh's punch shattered the concrete sending a spiderwebs pattern of disjointed cracks along the wall His Lies made much the same web didnt they? "I'm not going to so stop. Simulation over-" "The simulation is not over until your session is concluded. By my count your stress level and overall hormones have been let go of and as such have caused a-" "I know the science so shut up, ladies sake..." The clone had been forced to run a makeshift therapy session. Mal's mind was a mess and needed a bit of introspection. "So, let's touch on a few more issues, specifically your black box within the corner of your mind. We both know what's in it." "Yeah, so why the fuck are you bringing it up?" Malakesh walked to the clone, his knuckles busted yet rearranging themselves on their own. His healing resetting his bone and forcing his bleeding to halt, there was to be no evidence of his night. "Because my programming has detecting a bit of a soft spot relating to those murders." "Yeah, 2 million in 3 months. Kinda forces you to..." He couldn't finish the sentence as the shock hit him. He'd pushed those 3 months to as far back as he could. He couldn't face those memories, not yet... "Well... It's time we addressed the uh... flash drive of sorts... containing that box." "No. We're not giving it to them... They hate me as it is, they don't need to add more war crimes to add to my trials." "But haven't you thought about it?" The voice changed. Why? Glancing to the clone, it's form had grown hazy yet more feminine... it was him... an aspect of him. "Yeah. And it's a shitty idea. Don't pressure that." "Oh but you're so full of them aren't you? Let's list off some shall we?" "How about n-" "Fighting Equilibrium on your own as soon as you met her. Wow that was shitty wasn't it?" He'd had his ass handed to him, but it was also the night he'd died. After he had disappeared for a night or two to think, he tossed the thoughts to the back of his head and went after her in as awful a fight as he could've been in. "You let little Valmara plant a laser in your chest and took it. You died and thought nothing of it..." "Yeah? What of it? I accepted my death and got pulled back without so much as a hindsighted question. They wanted to keep me apparently and yet they never act it-" "Well you've given them few reasons to. You found the shady edgy persona based on your armor and demeanor and stuck to it." He didn't have much else to say against that. Yeah... He went full shit show. He tried to help, got shut out, said fuck it and cultivated the title of assassin... And everything with it. "So... what about it..." "It fits you. A mass murdering science project with a conscious? It's not poetic but I'm sure stories would paint you as tortured and humble. The enigma of the group eh?" "If I have my way poetry won't remember me..." His snarled words were reflections of his choices. "I've done enough and made enough enemies, I wont let literature remember me, just my actions." "Well that's much of the same now isn't It? By remembering your actions they're remembering you." "No. They will know what I've done, but not the name or face associated with the action." Lashing out rapidly, the clones chest held a fist sized hole in it before melting down. "You... do realize that that accomplished nothing." "It made me feel better didn't it?" "At the cost of energy and Nanites." Running the therapy sim in and of itself was a waste of energy and nanites, but it helped him as well. "Can we just move on? I need to get back to the party-" "Let's talk about them then. Why do you stay?" "-I... what?" "Why. Do you stay?" Mal turned to face the carbon copy of himself staring him down. When the Sim wanted to it could be downright scary... "I... Because they need me." "Lie. They've covered every base you cover. Stealth, precision driving. Marksmanship, assassination, diplomacy, language, cooking-" "Ok when you're done." "I am." "Fine. I stay because I feel i can help. If it's just another body for the pile then its at least another second for them to figure something out." At least a tinge of that was true. "But they never do do they? Brute force and zero tact seems to be the way of things, am i wrong?" "Yeah! You're absolutely wrong, look at Nad-" "The one time he had to prove to you why you shouldn't do something was met with pure brute force and mental strength. The aspect was it not? He tried to demonstrate how fruitless your efforts of saving the Aspect of Dreams by forcing his way into her mind and failing miserably." And it was true wasn't it. It echoed out way to vividly for him not to remember. "He did his best-" "Wrong. He simply did what he wanted. The party went along because they believed simple show of force was everything. So much so that when faced with something far stronger than them like the Arch-Angel or even the Fragment of Xil, they folded. They didn't fight until backed into a corner even though they'd faced far worse odds." So why did he stay? "Yeah... Which is why they need me then isn't it. To show them the alternative. To find the way through the situation that doesn't involve blind fighting every target." "No. They can do that on their own, they dont need you at all and have made that very clear." "Then what the hell should i do huh? Leave? The few times ive tried they hunt me down and drag me back. This group is an abusive relationship that refuses to let go!" "Try again" "Try what? Huh? Leaving? Like hell. Only way they'll leave me be is if they assume ive died and they've dealt with my fake death one too many times." Anything else for the clone to try and debunk? Psychoanalyze? Can't be much- "Final point before we conclude your session. Your relationship with the previous director and what you believe your purpose to be." I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that thjs wont end well for Malakesh. "Fine." "Go on then... We're waiting." "The Director created me to kill yet gave me skill set befitting a biological weapon. I can kill single targets, eliminate entire cities, and subvert groups and cults with impunity. Yet he also have me the mental wherewithal and skills befitting a guard with a subset allowing me to guard those same targets without being noticed." "So you're a tool in all sense of the word?" "Yeah fuck you too Mr. Therapy Bot." Though the sim had a point. What was he to begin with? "You were woken up with a singular order. Kill. And you followed it. You didn't disobey, you didn't know how. Yet here we are with you not exterminating everything in a twelve mile radius." "What of it." "The mercenaries made you soft." "They made me aware of whats right and wrong fuck you. I'm not just a killing machine, I am perfectly capable of free will-" "Yet any time you're given an order you follow. Not without incentive that is." "Survival is a wonder incentive isnt it?" How long had it been since he thought about those early days with Boss? "So then, what do we want to do with that wonderful memory?" "What?" "You saw him again, Boss? What happens when the party finds out you were the cause of one groups deaths. Same group that saved you and you killed them-" "They couldn't be allowed to talk." "So rather than explain things to them you opted to kill them." "Under the ambush yeah. I'll admit. 3 of them died by my hands and the rest caught in the crossfire." "That's a lie as well isn't it... You killed them all. Your presence alone killed them. The moment they found you they were dead." "Not true, they chose to help me-" "Without knowing they'd choose something that's being hunted. They chose to help you because of morals but I'm positive that knowing the full details they'd've slit your throat while you laid in that net unconscious." "End Simulation, code 7." Malakesh was barely holding back tears as he barked out the kill code. The clone disintegrating in seconds as he fell on his backside, sitting up with a heavy head. "I know... Im just scared..."